Feel-good marketing is killing the integrity of the compliment

In saner moments, when I’m not arguing with my jeans, I’ll remember that this message was put there by a designer or a marketing person who thought it was a good idea to flatter the wearer.

A few weeks ago, I noticed a message sewn into the waist of my jeans. “You look good in these jeans,” it said.

That’s weird, I thought. Talking jeans. Chatty jeans even.

Since discovering the message I think about it a lot, every time I whip down my pants. And that sounds weird right?

It’s not that I’m fishing for compliments inside my pants. I’m just trying to work out who thought this was a good idea.

Sometimes I glance at the message and think, that’s nice of you. Other times, I think, that’s presumptuous of you. Then I might think, how do you know? How do you know your message isn’t squished between a muffin top of fat (which may be why I failed to notice it for so long). Other times I wonder if the jeans would carry this message on a, say, size 18 pair. Are these jeans fattist? Or am I?

In saner moments, when I’m not arguing with my jeans, I’ll remember that this message was put there by a designer or a marketing person who thought it was a good idea to flatter the wearer.

I’ll bet it’s called feel-good marketing. And, frankly, it’s typical of our times. It’s a misplaced compliment that can’t possibly be true half the time; that was not invited, not appropriate; could be construed as an invasion of privacy but makes the sender feel good about themselves.

Compliments come easy now.

Advertisements are flattering about our lifestyles, desires and midnight forays into the bad drawer of the pantry.

Compliments are tossed around the social spaces with no regard to truth or to timing or to whether the recipient of the compliment thinks the said judgment holds any weight.

Social media is so affirming, it’s like the platforms know exactly what we want, they agree that it’s a good idea and we have such good taste to want it. And all this positivity is leaching into casual conversations – you look so good in that. That is boss. Or just, banger. Whatevs. 

Compliments are tossed around the social spaces with no regard to truth or to timing or to whether the recipient of the compliment thinks the said judgment holds any weight. It feels good for a while but soon, very soon, everyone realises the compliments mean nothing except to the profligate dispensers, who get to feel better about themselves, for being kind and thoughtful and generally making the world a better place.

Perhaps I curmudgeon too much.

I do like compliments but only when they come firstly, from someone whose opinions I find sound; secondly, from someone who says it spontaneously, even with surprise, and finally when I recognise an element of truth in the observation.

Compliments must be calibrated. They are not confetti. It’s OK if they are given at a time when you feel crap and you realise the person is trying to make you feel less crap because, even if you don’t believe that you look good in those jeans, you are touched that your friend has seen your crappiness and has tried to relieve it.

I should send my rules for compliments to marketers but it wouldn’t do any good. They know they don’t sell their stuff to people like me. They have to be smarter than that to get me to tap. But if they take one message to heart – rather than to waist – it is this. Don’t expect me to feel grateful for a faux compliment. You may schmooze easily but I don’t flatter easily.

And if I feel annoyed, if I feel that no one should invade my muffin top – much less my quiet reverie of dressing – without asking or knocking or warning.

Don’t get judge-y about me. I didn’t ask you into my pants.

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