When is a compliment not a compliment?

For no reason at all, I have just remembered a funny incident that happened to me a few years back. So I thought I’d write about it, and about some related incidents. Because we’ve all been there, I’m sure. I’m talking about the back-handed compliment: the type of exchange that makes your heart flutter, makes you feel as if you’re bathed in magic and sunlight and glitter… then shoves your self-esteem into a skip full of filthy carpets and half-eaten burgers.

So, here’s the incident that always makes me laugh, whilst also making me wonder WHAT WAS HE THINKING? Because in this case, I really don’t think the guy wanted to insult me. He was too drunk, for one thing, and he had very kind and soulful eyes while he was talking to me. I think he thought he was being nice but couldn’t quite find the words. But anyway, judge for yourself.

It was a Friday night, and I had been working late in the office. So I got on the tube at drunk o’clock whilst stone-cold sober, absolutely shattered and slightly irritated by everyone and everything on the Throwing-Out-Time Express. There was a man stood near me, swaying all over the place and clearly half cut. I didn’t feel he was a threat to me, and he didn’t scare me in any way when he started to speak to me. I thought, as you might fairly reasonably assume, that he was drunkenly and harmlessly trying to flirt with me. He was cute, and a bit younger than me, so I was flattered, even though he probably didn’t know whether he was looking at a woman or a lorry at that point and it was all a bit excruciating and I didn’t really want to engage because talking to strangers is my worst nightmare. Anyway, here is the dialogue. It’s short, but it’s pure gold.

Him: Hello. You have very beautiful eyes.

Me, slightly awkward but aware I was getting off the tube soon, so humouring him: Er, thank you.

Him: You remind me of a famous film star, with your beautiful blue eyes.

Me: Oh, Ok. 

Him: You look like… you really look like [struggling to remember].

Me: [waiting]

Him: Mickey Rourke!

Well, the Ambassador was really spoiling me here, and I went merrily on my way with the knowledge that I reminded a complete stranger of a man in his sixties who’d had more terrible plastic surgery than the Bride of Wildenstein. It’s a miracle I got my head through the door to exit the tube. I can’t be upset by it, though, because it’s just too funny. Not to mention random – I’m not saying I’m a supermodel, but I really can’t see any resemblance to Mickey Rourke. I was once told I looked like a female Rowan Atkinson and at least I can see the accuracy in that.

And there are other similar instances that make me smile (even if they didn’t at the time).

The Ginger burn

The Spice Girls broke out when I was at university, and even though I was about six years too old to legitimately care, I did become quite the casual fan, in a tongue-in-cheek way. And I especially loved Geri. I loved her clothes, her make-up, her hair (I’ve never been one for the natural look). I even went to the extent of bleaching the front ‘tendrils’ of my hair with Sun-In for her signature blonde-striped look. So, you can imagine my delight one night at the uni disco, when some random guy said to me, “You look like Geri Spice.” Be still, my flattered heart! But then he followed it up with: “Don’t blame me, he [points at mate] said it.” OUCH. There were similar scenes the following year when I went to study in France. I was telling a new acquaintance how I loved Geri and she said, “Yeah, you look a bit like her.” Followed swiftly by: “Sorry!”

The age gap

Short but sweet: a guy I once worked with told me: “You remind me of xxxxx [co-worker], because you’re both similar in that I can’t guess your age. You could be really young, or you could be quite old.” Readers, I was 26 at the time of this conversation.

The double whammy

I can’t lie – this isn’t a back-handed compliment in the strictest sense of the phrase, but it was delivered by someone who was pretending to be polite and friendly to me, so I’m counting it. I can’t divulge exact details of who the culprit was, but it was a bloody shocker.

Me, at a group outing in a pub garden, meeting this woman for the first time.

Her: Where are you from?

Me: Sheffield.

Her: Oh, I was once offered a job in Yorkshire, but I didn’t want my children growing up with that accent.

CAN YOU IMAGINE MY FACE?

And then, as if that wasn’t charming enough, we got this little piece of career advice.

Her: What do you do for a living? [She already knew that Eddy was a writer for a kids’ paper]

Me: I’m the deputy chief sub editor of Glamour.

Her: Oh. Maybe one day if you work hard you can do something more creative, like Eddy.

I mean, COME ON. She clearly wanted to rip me to pieces, and I was absolutely mystified by it. But years later, I think this is hilarious. Imagine going to such lengths to troll someone you’ve just met. And she was my mum’s age. Very odd indeed.

The work one

This is great, and I’m sure we can all relate to it. Again, I can’t name names, and it’s not really a personal insult, but it’s pretty back-handed in its message.

Me, in the office, raising a reasonable point: “Are you happy for me to change this?”

This person, looking at me with raised eyebrow: “Sure. I’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

Isn’t that one genius? I’m genuinely impressed by it. It’s an alpha move. Full praise to that one. *Notes it down for future use!* I’m positive that I’ve got more of these tales, so I’ll update this when I remember them!