Sometimes you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone. A person, place or thing you perhaps took for granted exits your existence, and only then do you appreciate what they meant to you, how important they were. This is not one of those times. New research has revealed that the handshake is in danger of becoming extinct, and surely we’re united in planning to dance on its grave, shouting “Good riddance!” and spraying champagne, Grand Prix-style.

A survey of 2,000 parents and their teenage children, by ACS International Schools, provides much hope for the future, as today’s teens seem to have their priorities correct. An impressive 59% “go to lengths” to avoid small talk; 28% don’t like answering the door or phone if they don’t know who’s calling; and 24% find giving a handshake excruciating. It would be interesting to find out the percentage of adults who agree – 98%? The other 2% being those who consider Sun Tzu’s The Art of War a business manual, and are focused on putting their free hand on top of the handshake to assert dominance, before the other party can beat them to it.

For everyone else, shaking hands is weird. It’s thought to have begun in the 5th century BC, as a symbol of peace that proved neither of you was carrying a weapon – although you could have a weapon in your other hand, and, mid-shake, your opponent would be close enough to stab. TLDR: it didn’t even make sense when it started.

Hand-shaking is awkward – counterintuitively formal and intimate at the same time. It’s hard not to feel faintly ridiculous doing it, as if you were cosplaying grownups. It can be genuinely distressing for both parties, especially if there’s – shudder – clamminess. Tricky to decide whether that’s more awful for the clammer or the clammee, which is how you know a situation is truly terrible.

Shaking hands is also oddly familiar: you are going palm to palm with a stranger. You don’t know where they’ve been, or whether they washed their hands after being there. Some make an ostentatious show of wiping their hand on their thigh pre-shake, which in theory should make things better, but in practice just makes them worse. However, when it comes to the handshake, there’s no question of consent – if someone proffers their paw, it’s impossible to get out of it without causing a scene, or offence, or both.

Then there’s the issue of eye contact. A direct, locked stare while shaking hands is too much; looking elsewhere could be seen as rude. And among these social landmines, there’s an extra pressure: some judge people by the power of their handshake, even though, clearly, what constitutes a “good handshake” is subjective. One person’s impressively forceful is another’s bone-crushing. Your gentle is their wet fish.

The reason the handshake has lasted this long is because it’s the least bad option available. Hugging or kissing someone you have just met should be illegal. I refuse to believe there is anybody who wants to do that, unless they’re on MDMA. It’s not only presumptuous – you also have no idea whether they’re a single-cheek kisser or a double-cheek kisser, and the journey to finding out can easily involve a stopover in head-buttville. Other greeting choices include the fist bump, but absolutely shouldn’t. Its sickly relation, the Covid elbow bump, is too retro to be pulled off with conviction six years later. Shame. That was probably the one that got away, the perfect solution (except in sleeveless summer.)

Of all the traditions we thoughtlessly adopt, being societally obliged to physically touch somebody when introduced to them is one of the most confusing. The parents in the study are concerned about their kids’ social skills; 86% of them report that their child is more confident behind a screen than face-to-face. I mean, who isn’t?

Being a human is sporadically embarrassing, perplexing and disconcerting for everyone, to varying degrees, but on we go. We usually survive, and people can’t tell your buttocks are clenched unless your trousers are seriously tight. To help us on our way, though, as we navigate through, is it too much to ask that everybody keeps their hands to themselves?

Polly Hudson is a freelance journalist