The Wit's Guide to Compliments
Or, if you can't say anything nice
Why are there so many insults and so few compliments, he wondered nervously. Management consultants recommend a ratio of 6:1, or half-a-dozen morsels of praise to every shard of criticism. Relationship psychologists promote a five-to-one ratio to ensure a happy marriage. Yet when you comb the memorable collections of quotations, the positive comments are as thick on the ground as bullfighters in the Yukon.
Why is that? After casually sharing some gossip over dinner, the playwright Noel Coward noted that his catty observation would “appear in print one day and merely perpetuate my reputation for being a prime bitch.” But he was OK with that:
“I don’t really care. It isn’t difficult, you know, to be witty or amusing when one has something to say that is destructive, but damned hard to be clever and quotable when you are singing someone’s praises!”
If you don’t care enough to be nice, it’s naturally quite difficult. But there’s a greater truth here: No one actually wants a clever compliment. They’re called Yes Men, not Yes, And Men. As Coward also said,
“I can take any amount of criticism as long as it is unqualified praise.”
Praise is always welcome and seldom questioned. No one demands specificity or panache in the list of their virtues. “You’re the greatest that ever was” will do just fine, thank you. And a little hyperbole goes a long way.
“I can live for two months on a good compliment.”
— Mark Twain
If you do want to deliver a memorable plaudit, there are two clear options. The perilous path is the honest one, wherein you provide your subject with an accurate appraisal of their charms. This is damning with faint praise:
“I know of no manner of speaking so offensive as that of giving praise, and closing with an exception.”
— Richard Steele
The more welcome compliment is the inverse: Praising with faint damns. If you’re saying something mildly nasty, people will assume it’s true. So you can insult the object of your affection:
“Working with Julie Andrews is like getting hit over the head with a valentine.”
— Christopher Plummer
“President Johnson was given to stretching the truth to as thin a soup as was necessary to feed a lot of people.”
— Bill Moyers
Or you can gently insult yourself:
“Your eyes shine like the pants of my blue serge suit.”
— Groucho Marx
Or, for a real tour de force, insult absolutely everyone else.
“What, when drunk, one sees in other women, one sees in Garbo sober.”
— Kenneth Tynan
“George Washington errs, as other men do, but he errs with integrity.”
— Benjamin Franklin
To avoid praising with faint damns, we may look to the Reverend Sydney Smith, one of history’s Great Wits and a man professionally required to sidestep damnation. He once described a young lady’s smile as “so radiant that it would force a gooseberry bush into flower,” and underlined an aged parishioner’s good health by noting that “He is remarkably well, considering that he has been remarkably well for so many years.”
The key to his bouquets was their scarcity. Like a barbed compliment, an unexpected one cuts through the noise. As Smith observed:
“Among the smaller duties of life I hardly know any one more important than that of not praising where praise is not due.”
Speaking of…
Not being nasty
Wooing with wit
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“Democracy is an abuse of statistics.” — Jorge Luis Borges
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Get Wit Quick No. 161 prefers a thin soup, if given the option. Complimenting a co-worker’s appearance can be fraught, but if you tell someone they look sharp, it’s generally appreciated. A young Christopher Plummer referred to his breakout film as The Sound of Mucus, but he mellowed in his old age. My book Elements of Wit: Mastering The Art of Being Interesting was terrific, except for the parts that weren’t. If you can’t tap on the ❤️below, don’t tap anything at all.