From Iran to the US: 5 Experiences of Reverse Culture Shock

Updated: 11 September 2022

It was inevitable that this day would come. The day that I’ve been in Iran for so long that it’s actually things in the US that shock me, or else I don’t know what’s culturally appropriate or not anymore. To some degree, it’s always been like this. For you hyphenated folks reading this, you can probably relate. I think there’s always been a sense of this limbo. As kids, my friends and I would stare at our parents like we were watching a tennis match, wondering why we always had to go through this back and forth over who was going to pay the bill at a restaurant. Why do they have to be so dramatic? But then I couldn’t help but be slightly annoyed when I offered to treat my American friends, and they’d gladly accept without even once swearing on their death that they wouldn’t hear of it. It’s only courteous, after all. After 7 years (gasp!), I’m finding fewer things that surprise me or stand out about Iran, Iranians, and life in Iran. Or maybe I’ve already written about them so much that they’ve become normal. Regardless, it’s now reverse culture shock that I experience. And these are just a few of the instances from my last trip. 

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A casual holiday

Back in the US, there were times when I couldn’t tell if some of my Middle Eastern students were coming to class straight from the club or not. Meanwhile, I’d see American students on campus and was sure they had rolled straight out of bed. In general, Americans tend to be more casual. So you can imagine my horror when I see decked-out Iranian women at the gym. I feel underdressed with no make-up in my workout clothes and sneakers. Whatever… I’ve always thought as a whole, Iranians overdress. (Or do Americans underdress?) Like that time [not in Iran] when there was a Sunday brunch and everyone showed up in all black like they were going to an evening mehmooni (get-together). I felt so out of place wearing a colorful spring dress and espadrilles. 

On this particular holiday in the US, we went to an [American] family friend’s for a late lunch. I hadn’t brought any special clothes, so I was dressed about as casual as it gets. And I honestly felt a bit self-conscious. Surely they wouldn’t mind, though. They’d understand that I was just visiting and probably didn’t bring anything. 

When we got to their house, I felt an insane amount of relief to see everyone else as casual as I was. Even wearing Alabama sweatshirts. (Or was it Auburn?) I had to laugh at the uneasiness I felt before. Had I forgotten everything? Did I honestly expect everyone to be dressed in black from head to toe? Well, truthfully, yes, I did. It had been a while. This was probably the first shock I had.

To taarof or not to taarof

On a short layover between flights in the US, I grabbed a ridiculously overpriced (and tiny) pot of hummus and pretzels to eat on board so I wouldn’t pass out. Snug in my middle seat, I took out my in-flight snack and paused. Wait- do I need to taarof window seat and aisle seat before I start? In Iran, a lady next to me on the train once offered me some of her almonds. Another time while I was sitting on a bench outside Tehran’s Grand Bazaar, a lady sat next to me and pulled out a packet of cookies and offered me some. On the way to work, the Snapp driver took a Tupperware full of âjeel (mixed nuts) out of the dashboard and offered me some. Then there was the other time on the train when one passenger poked his complimentary drink with a straw and taarofed it to the passenger next to him even though that passenger had the same complimentary drink. There was the Snapp driver whose blood sugar dropped during the ride and therefore stopped at a grocery store to grab something to eat, only to return with a snack for me as well. (And you want to know what I did? I poked my straw in the juice box and offered it to him first even though he had also gotten one for himself!) And there have been so many pieces of birthday cake from generous strangers that I’ve lost count! 

Internal monologue: This one’s easy- you offer them some hummus first. It’s only polite. But wait, I know it’s been a while, but I’m fairly certain they don’t do this in the US. Yes. Yes. I’m pretty sure here, they’d have the same reaction I had to the first generous stranger who offered me birthday cake in Iran: Stranger danger! So I think the answer is that I shouldn’t offer them any. I can have my hummus all to myself. The worst-case scenario is that they’ll think I’m rude. I can live with that. 

When “hi” is not enough

While visiting my sister, I got out of the elevator on her floor to see the maintenance guy working on something. “Hi!” I said. “Hey, how are you?” he replied. As I shut the apartment door behind me, I wondered, huh… Was “hi” enough? No khaste nabâshin? There must be something like that I could have said. But wait, no, this is one of the most asked questions I get from my students in Iran. “How do you say khaste nabâshin in English?” We don’t have such a thing, I tell them. It’s really cultural. “Well, what did your students used to say to you after class?” they press on, unsatisfied with my answer. Hmmm, nothing really. Or maybe just a “Thank you.” And that’s probably because they were all foreign students. Only in college do I remember sometimes saying “thank you” to my professors, and that was only if the class was small. And before college, there was none of this. We never even stood up for our teachers when they entered the room like they do in Iran.

Back in my sister’s apartment, I have the same feeling of dejection that my students have when I tell them there’s no English equivalent of khaste nabâshin. “So I guess I’ll just say it in Persian then,” they say. And I think to myself, yah, I guess “hi” was all I needed to say. Still, though, it seems a bit awkward. 

Mani-pedi

I went for a mani-pedi with a friend who later brought to my attention that the lady doing my nails was on her phone the whole time. Even though I had noticed, it didn’t strike me as odd. My friend insisted that it was unprofessional and unusual. I realized she was right. I had even written about this as one of the cultural differences- and one that annoys me, no less. And as I’m typing this post, that document is sitting in my drafts folder with the tentative title “Cultural Differences 3.” I think it’s fair to say that since I started that draft, things have changed considerably for me. It would appear that I’ve gotten so used to salespeople in Iran constantly being on their phones on the job that the mani-pedi lady’s action didn’t even register with me.

The smell of a suitcase

I guess this last one isn’t reverse culture shock. But it’s reverse something. You might have no idea what I’m talking about or think I’ve straight-up lost it. But I actually wonder how many of you out there do know what I’m talking about or have experienced something similar.

When I was little and we’d visit Iran in the summer, my cousins used to joke and say that our suitcases “smelled like Âmrikâ.” At the time, I just thought they were being funny or silly. How can a suitcase smell like Âmrikâ? And what does Âmrikâ smell like anyway?

But now, every time I return to Tehran and start unpacking my suitcase, I smell it. 

Âmrikâ. 

In no way am I hinting at something else, like saying I smell “freedom” or something like that. But there’s an actual distinct smell. And I wonder if it has to do with the things that I bring back from the US. Because Iran has a smell, too. And I’m guessing it’s because of the things I bring from Iran to the US. 

The last trip I took outside the US and Iran was to Germany. And either Germany didn’t have a smell, or I wasn’t paying attention. Probably the latter. Or maybe it’s a feeling one has towards a place they call home. Either way, there’s a sense of comfort in both of these smells. And although I’m still not able to articulate what the smell is exactly (because I’ve literally sat there smelling things, trying to put the smell into words), as a first step, I’m glad I finally understand what my cousins meant all those years ago. 

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