"Oh my god, you're actually really smart!"

A boy who loved me once told me that the novel I was writing was a well-written little something that lots of women would like.  I thanked him for taking the time to read my little something.  After all, he was a busy person, always with a plan running through his mind, always with a list of things that were flashy and important.  Well, not everyone's taste is the same, I thought.  And, perhaps it really is something only a woman could appreciate - who else would really want to read my minimalist, quasi-utopian society, piece of feminist prose?

I am obviously no longer with this boy.  It shouldn't have been the story that gave it away - the past tense use of the verb 'to love' ought to have given you the first clue.  This little anecdote about my little something had very little bearing on my relationship with the aforementioned boy-of-before.  No, I'm not reciting this tale today as a means of bettering you and I, or bashing the boy-of-before.  This story is just one of many I have, one of many that many have, about the backhanded compliment, a loathsome piece of shit comment that I'm quite sure actually slithers sideways out of mouths before it nestles firmly behind the self-confidence of the children we were with the childish fancies we had.

The backhanded compliment is obviously a friend to no one.  Some brief research has led me to understand that the insult-disguised-as-compliment was originally referred to as a "left handed compliment".  In her article, "A Left Handed Compliment: A newly discovered, early nineteenth-century litograph by John Lewis Marks", Janet Snowman writes "A major interest of A Left Handed Compliment is what it tells us about the perception of left-handededness at the beginning of the nineteenth century" and notes that some artists at this time would work with mirrors while creating their etchings in order to avoid hatchings (sloping lines) providing evidence of their left-handedness.  Snowman comments that the litograph in question is likely an insult of some kind, stating that "left-handed means a reversal of normal properties and an inversion of sense and relationship..." So, first and foremost, on every occasion of uttering a left or backhanded compliment, a slur against the subdominant hand in society was made - obviously at the time a trait thought to make one weaker - and furthermore against homosexuality (Snowman writes that left-handed was "a term for homosexuality").

What's more, Snowman tells readers left-handed compliments allegedly quite often had a sexual undertone.  This ought to come as a not-too-great surprise to us - consider the library of anti-female compliments that women have been subjected to over the years: being able to throw like a girl, or being smart for a girl, for example.  The nature of such an affirmation of one's abilities is obviously firmly rooted in patriarchy.

Who woulda thought the origins (of which Snowman writes there is very little to go by) of this everyday, off-the-cuff slight of a phrase would be so loaded?

Of course, in modern society we rarely, if ever, whip out a good zinger and first consider all the many and varied subtexts we could also imply if we wished.  Instead, the backhanded compliment is simply one of two things: a funny turn of phrase between buddies, or an asshole move when one really could have something nice to say.  You may have guessed I'm unconcerned with the witty banter friends get on with.

I find myself perplexed, troubled, some might say bewildered with the backhanded compliment between people that doesn't act as a source of joviality.  I question how far one gets with a parade of masqueraded insults.  Do you believe this girl or that boy or he or she didn't catch that?  Or were you hoping to set up your great escapade into your future interactions on such a douchebag riddled trajectory?  Can someone just explain to me the gain one might see when telling me "oh my god, you're actually really smart!"

Yes, the quote in the subject line is not but a figment of my wildest imagination.  This is a gem I stumbled across earlier this summer.  Being that I am a flirt and was enjoying being doted on in the form of drink-buying and being told I was pretty, I didn't tell my flavour of the week many of the things that were running through my mind.  It's my honesty, you see!  I find it troublesome to deliver a cleverly disguised slight in a perky voice, either for fear of what karma might do to me or with worry that my nanny can feel my complete disregard of the "you catch more flies with honey..." maxim that she worked so tirelessly to teach me.  So, when the glasses of wine are free flowing I tend to keep many of my real thoughts to myself, but yes I know I am actually smart - I mean, I know I technically bought these law and music degrees, but like, actually, I had to study and learn to sing opera and all that, ya know?

A friend of mine at law school relished in a good backhanded compliment - the kind you pass between friends, the kind that even symbolizes you ARE friends in the first place.  But my friend would vigorously defend such tongue-in-cheek comments as "growth chirps", they're just to make us better people!  Seriously!  Thus, when faced with a backhanded compliment I like to size up the other and say to myself - could this person be better?  COULD they, Emily?!  Suddenly I realize, my silence...just as heavy-laden as my novel being great for women or my actually being smart.  Let's just call it a growth chirp, shall we?