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Is a compliment just lowly feigning?

Compliments are interesting creatures, aren’t they? Done properly, they have enough magic to make both the giver and receiver feel especially connected; done clumsily they can condescend, or seem transactional, like gifts given in expectation of reward.

I recognize that in today’s world, decrying transactionality is akin to Ludditism, but I can’t help but think the reward is in the giving. I have written about this before in terms of gifts[i], not compliments, but perhaps it is just my advancing age; perhaps there comes a time when whatever life I have left seeks absolution for its previous missteps. Perhaps thinking that ‘paying’ someone a compliment, should not mean just producing a vassal. It seems to me that a compliment should make the recipient feel seen, not in debt for being noticed.

And yet in spite of my elderly musings, so culturally ingrained is the feeling that a compliment is burdened with obligations, there is accumulating evidence that it may have arms longer than its words.[ii]

I suppose there are still some things my residual guilt may never be able to change however. Complimenting has never been a religion with me; for one thing I am far too shy to manage it without a blush; and for another, I usually mangle the words which further deepens my embarrassment. I sometimes try to compliment only with my eyes -without leering of course, although there is always a danger that any look longer than a blink or a quick glance might be misinterpreted; I’ve given it up with strangers at any rate.

But Helen has always been a different case for me. I’ve known her since university; I should have known then that we’d both end up on a similar trajectory with failed relationships and thwarted ambitions. Even our respective retirement hopes have wrinkled like our faces. So I have decided it’s time to do something about it, however unlikely it might be to make any difference.

We were never close -either geographically or emotionally- but we did occasionally meet whenever fate, or boredom brought her into town. I thought her recent invitation to meet me again for coffee would offer a good opportunity to cheer her up, and knowing how I forget the proper words to engage in proper complimentarity, I jotted down a few helpful phrases in the note section of my phone. I figured I could leave it on the table by my bagel, and refer to it whenever she turned around to wave at somebody she thought she recognized.

“Helen, it’s good to see you again,” I said as I saw her coming over to my favourite table in the Food Court.

I stood to give her a little hug, but managed to knock the table and spill some coffee from my cup.

Her eyes rolled as usual at my clumsiness. “You never change, do you G?”

I managed to disengage myself from the embrace so I could answer with a polite shrug. “I think it was just an unfortunate reaction to how good you look, Helen…” Phase one was underway.

“You mean I don’t usually look good?” She managed a chuckle and then thought she’d better reply in kind, I think. “You never seem to age, do you…?” I wasn’t sure whether she was being sarcastic, but the cadence of her words could have been deceptive; so I just smiled.

“You always look good, Helen… I’ve always thought you had such a great taste in clothes…” Because I couldn’t refer to my notes, I found myself forced to improvise; I was rapidly running out of compliment material, and my hesitation made me overuse the ellipsis and the word ‘always’. She noticed of course, and shook her head disapprovingly: before she retired she’d been a high school grammarian, or something. I’d actually never clarified what she’d taught.

Her eyes quickly scanned my bulky sweat shirt and rumpled jeans and I could tell she was trying to decide if she could reply in kind without suggesting the opposite. She settled on, “I’ve always admired your curly hair, G; you’ve got so much, and even at your age there’s hardly a bit of grizzle.”

Well, I suppose that was pretty good under pressure. I didn’t want to mention that I was sure she was dying hers, so I smiled again while we both sat down, and I snuck what I hoped was an unnoticed glance at my phone.

“Expecting a call?” She missed nothing; I imagine it was a skill you had to develop if you were going to succeed as a high school teacher.

I quickly put the phone down again, but I’d forgotten about the music I’d been playing in the car in on the way to the mall, and as soon as I opened the screen, my finger must have hit the Play button, and it immediately started to blare out the rest of a Rachmaninoff sonata I’d been listening to. I quickly turned it down before I managed to turn it off entirely, but Helen’s eyes suddenly lit up.

“Rachmaninoff!” she blurted out before she could regain her composure. “Piano Sonata in B-Flat minor… and is that…?” I could almost see her riffling through her memory Rolodex. “That’s gotta be an old recording of Dmitri Ratser playing it! I’ve never heard anyone play it as well, or as fast as him, you know.” Her eyes were twinkling as she looked at me. “Even Vladimir Ashkenazy never managed that…”

I couldn’t help staring at her for a moment in surprise and I saw a similar astonished look on her face. “Yes, it is Ratser as a matter of fact. I managed to find the performance in the early days of the internet and later copied it onto my phone.” I imagine I sounded amazed at her interest as well. “I never realized you were so interested in music, Helen.”

Her smile was genuine, for a change -not a trace of sarcasm. “You never asked, G. We always seemed to argue about things whenever we met -we never discussed anything… Well, never anything important, anyway.” She reached across the table and touched my hand for a moment. “You know, when I saw you sitting at the table today, I was steeling myself for just another episode of meaningless bantering with you.” She shook her head slowly. “All these years…”

“I really meant it about your taste in clothes, you know…” I managed to say without blushing. Somehow it no longer seemed like a forced compliment -just a fact.

“And I’ve always liked your curly, unmanageable hair…” she said, rolling her eyes at the honesty of her remark.

[i]https://musingsonwomenshealth.com/2024/01/24/looking-a-gift-horse-in-the-mouth/

[ii] https://www.bbc.com/worklife/article/20210722-why-we-dont-dole-out-many-compliments-but-should

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