Stop telling women they’re beautiful

Photo by Drop the Label Movement on Unsplash

Or rather, stop telling women you don’t know very well that they’re beautiful. Is that right? I’m not sure if that’s right or not. But here’s the thing—if all you can say about a woman is that she’s pretty, it can feel like that’s all she has to offer, like that’s all you see or care about. Let me give you two examples and some fun research to listen to.

#1. The dumb example.

I don’t have any kids, but I do have a dog (male) and a cat (female). When I walk in the door, I see my dog first, running in to greet me from some cozy spot where he was napping (usually the floor, right in front of an expensive bed I bought the lil’ dummy). And I say, “Hello Charlie! Who’s a good boy?”

Then I look for my cat, who’s napping in her favorite spot by the window, and who did not get up to greet me but who very graciously lifted her head in acknowledgement of my presence (sometimes). I walk over to her and say, “Hello Evie! How’s my pretty girl?”

Even I, a #woke #millennial, genders the adjectives I use to describe my pets, who couldn’t give a flying fuck about any of this. But why is “good” the attribute a male pet should most aspire to, while “pretty” is the best a girl can do? It feels so natural, doesn’t it? What’s the first thing people tell children raised as girls—that they’re a beautiful baby, such a pretty little girl, she’ll be a real heartbreaker, you’ll have to beat the boys off with a stick (ew).

So from now on, I’ll try to tell my cat what a good girl she is, whether that’s technically true or not. Stop clawing the carpet, Evie, you have literally three things in YOUR bedroom designed to be scratched.

A good boy

An equally good girl

#2. The real example.

I was on a short film set this weekend (brag), and on the first day we were gathered in a big circle after a couple hours of rehearsal, listening to the location manager give some instructions about the plan for the next few days. It was all, “Please check in to this room in the morning, park in the white spots not the yellow ones, don’t catch on fire when we have real torches on set, yada yada.” Then, seemingly out of nowhere (maybe there was some transition about getting ready for the early call time), the location manager called out one of our actresses saying how beautiful she was, that she probably just wakes up like that with her beauty and her perfect hair. It went on a little too long, and I at least felt immediately uncomfortable.

He probably thought was funny, or that he was being nice.

But.

She was being singled out, in the crowd of a dozen, for her appearance for no real reason. I mean, she’s an actress, so maybe she’s used to it, but as one of the 4 women out of the 12, my stomach anxiously tightened in a literal gut reaction.

And I didn’t say anything, because it wasn’t my set to control, and I didn’t want to make it more awkward in the moment by pointing it out. I should have talked to her afterward, to see if she was ok, but I didn’t. I should have talked to him as well to tell him that was weird. Hopefully next time I’ll be braver.

On top of the awkwardness of being singled out, he was focusing all his praise on her looks, which is, again, something that typically only happens to people who present feminine. Ask yourself next time, my dude, whether you would say the same thing to our lead male actor—would it be weird? Can you imagine me saying something like that to our male lead?

Did I want to tell our lead actor he was an adorable little British Scrumpet that I would like to put in my pocket and carry around? Sure, we all did. But I didn’t say that to him, because that might have made him feel weird, and wonder what my true intentions are (excuse me, I just told you, Scrumpet), and whether I might act on those intentions.

It may not feel as great as you think it does to be complimented on your looks by someone you don’t know very well (or at all, this was their first meeting). All our lives we lady-types have been told by society that women are only valuable if they’re attractive, and by only telling her she’s pretty you’re validating those messages.

Her beauty has very little to do with her, actually. Chalk it up to good genes, maybe good makeup skills (or the good makeup skills of someone she hired), the free time to go to the gym, the means to purchase and access to healthy food.

Maybe you were so caught up in her looks that you failed to notice what a good actor she was. How independent she was. How she was in fact the only actor out of six who made the entire room, including the director, audibly laugh during some improv scenes.

I don’t want to speak for her, but I’d rather be complimented on things I’ve accomplished, skills I’ve honed, on my intellect or my kindness. I hope those things are worthy of note, beyond my very average face or my hair that I’ve definitely washed in the past two days.

#3. Some research.

Listen to this episode of the excellent podcast Ologies with Alie Ward all about Kalology—the study of beauty standards— for more perspective on how culture puts beauty pressure on different groups of people, how we all struggle with it, and how it’s a big dumb scam that only benefits sellers of cosmetics and clothing and skin care products. How some (many? most?) women have to walk the thin red line (what a bold pop of color!) between looking attractive enough to be listened to but not so attractive that you won’t be taken seriously.

It’s fucking exhausting.

Wrap it up.

So what, am I like, never allowed to tell a woman she’s beautiful ever again? Of course you can. And I don’t speak for all women, just trying to give a perspective on what it’s like to receive these kinds of compliments. I’d happily accept such comments from a close, trusted friend or family member because I trust that the only motive behind their words is to make me feel good. But if some dude on the street just shouts at you as you walk by—who knows what he wants? Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.

I have never once, not once, in my life seen a person and felt so compelled by their visage that I had to say out loud “YOU HAVE A GOOD FACE.” What do you even do with that? I will gladly take a compliment on my outfit, or an article of clothing, my style, my swagger, my unique aura of mystery wrapped in a flaky pastry-like enigma—these are all things I’ve chosen carefully and if it’s clear there’s no weird intent behind it, please compliment away.

But I promise you it’s ok to just hold it in. My day will not be affected in the least. And that’s literally all I ask of strangers.