I stopped on the woman’s video. There was nothing special about it. She didn’t flash copious amounts of skin or dance provocatively (a surefire way to boost Tiktok followers). There were no fancy graphics or music tracks or sound effects.
She was simply in the middle of a rant, and I do love a good rant.
Detailing her normal day, she proceeded to lament her frustration with men. Not one man, or a group of men. All men. As a man myself I already felt attacked without any context or even knowing this woman’s name, so I continued to watch.
While walking down the street she paid a man a simple compliment. Something about his smile or hair. Then, according to her, the man took the compliment as an obvious sign of her attraction toward him. Of her punching in the launch codes to elevate the relationship.
She found it disgusting and insulting. Just because she was paying a man a compliment didn’t mean she found him attractive or wanted to date or proceed beyond the innocent compliment.
The woman continued in her prosecution of men, in that it wasn’t just him. All men reacted the same way. And so, because of this final straw, she would be swearing off complimenting men for the rest of her existence.
As the video repeated itself I brought up the comments, already knowing my reaction but wanting to see if others shared my perspective. The comments did not disappoint.
“We act that way because women never compliment us, EVER.”
“I can’t even tell you the last time someone complimented me.”
“You wouldn’t know how to handle compliments either if you never received any.”
“We’re never complimented. So yeah, if someone says something nice I’m more likely to fall in love with them.”
The comments continued. And these were not one-off comments. They had thousands, some tens of thousands of likes.
I refrained from posting a comment. Enough had already been said.
That men don’t receive compliments.
It’s Been A Long Time
It’s not something I normally think about. When was the last time I received a heartfelt compliment? I don’t walk down the street, hands dug into pockets, head down as I search the cracked pavement like the surface of my memory for hints of lost appreciation.
Even if I did, I’d come up empty. Pavement rarely ends, and my search would continue in stride. Because honestly, I can’t remember the last line of admiration fed to me by a member of another sex.
I should clarify. A member of another sex with “mom” not in their byline.
Perhaps I don’t think of it because it’s best not to. Like thinking of food when hungry, it’s not going to do any good. If it’s not there, thinking of what’s missing will only make matters worse.
Admirational starvation thankfully doesn’t kill. At least on the surface, it doesn’t. Yet it is truly amazing what a little, unexpected compliment can do. It doesn’t take much rain in the desert to sprout beautiful flowers of yellows and reds and oranges from the tips of ancient cactuses. Cactuses built to protect and ward themselves off from the elements. To expect the worst.
Since coming across the video I’ve conducted a bit of unscientific research. In that, I’ve asked men I’m friends with whether they can recall the last time they were complimented. One married man said he didn’t have a clue, but could easily tell me about the critiques and put-downs he’d received from his wife. Another paused, before telling me an old man at the gym complimented him on his arms (FYI, older men at the gym generally mean no harm, and they will offer the highest level of praise to anyone willing to listen). When asked specifically about receiving compliments from someone other than men, not a single person could think of one example.
Heck, looking back at my failed marriage, you know what the one compliment I remember my wife giving me is? That I was a pretty crier. Yeah. That’s it. I’m so glad that as I discovered her infidelity my tears of sadness could bring her some level of joyful satisfaction.
Not a great example, but then again I don’t exactly have a lot of complimentary examples to pull from. And I’m not special or different or unique in that sense either.
If you’re a man reading this right now, chances are you can relate. If you’re not, why not try your own experiment and ask a male friend if they can think of their last compliments. Chances are, they either won’t remember, they will have one specific memory in vivid detail, because it doesn’t happen often, or they will assume it’s some kind of trap and recoil back into their shell.
Oh That’s Too Bad
Growing up with only sisters I’ve generally found it easier to talk with women. Post high school I’d say I’ve made exactly one male friend. There are many reasons behind that. My d-bag radar is finely tuned, I work at home and rarely go out with the intention of meeting men, and because I don’t have kids there aren’t any forced playdates with other dads. Because I’ve long found it easier to just talk about anything with women, many will open up to me, looking for a male perspective. I can’t tell you how often someone has, with disgust dripping from their teeth, told me of a man randomly complimenting them on the street. How the man obviously just wanted to get into their pants or that he had zero chance in the world of ever achieving a date. All because the man said she had a pretty smile or a nice laugh.
Depending on the person I was talking with (because you have to know your audience), I would fan contempt for the man. How dare he compliment a total stranger! And yet, deep down, I would always wish someone would come up to me and compliment me in the same way.
That single compliment would make my yearly quota.
And maybe that guy was trying to score something. Shoot his shot. Take a chance. Or maybe he was just trying to be nice and make someone feel good about themselves.
I don’t know. And I don’t know what it’s like to feel disgusted at a stranger complimenting me. Wishing it would stop. I definitely can’t imagine receiving so many compliments that I no longer wanted them and that they enraged me.
Most men, I’m willing to guess, are in the same boat as me.
I have no clue how this has come about. And I’m not trying to say men are totally awesome and amazing (again, my d-bag radar is finely tuned, and many men are neither amazing nor awesome). But for me, having a stranger say something nice to me, heck, having someone I know say something nice to me, carries so much weight, because it just doesn’t happen. It’s that drop of water in an expansive desert.
I’m not talking about, “hey, I like your shirt,” or “nice shoes.” Na. That’s complimenting the clothing. Let me write a thank-you letter to the sweatshop kids in Vietnam and tell them the brunette on Billinghurst Avenue really dug their stitching. I’m referring to a heartfelt compliment that is unique to the person.
It is enough to make any man’s day. And, who knows, if complimenting men becomes normalized, maybe we’ll stop assuming the once-every-five-year-compliment means the sayer is into us.
It’s a win-win for everyone.