The world craves more compliments; just don’t make it awkward | Emma Beddington

I hope you won’t take offense at my remark that you look particularly sharp today. No, that’s not quite right—let’s begin again.

Lately I’ve been mulling over the nature of compliments: their purpose, their delivery, the ones that lift and the ones that fall flat. The spark for this reflection was Barbara from Stroud, whose street‑interview clip went viral after she answered how to brighten someone’s day. “If I notice a person’s shoes, coat or hat and I like it, I say so,” she explained. That simple, sincere observation, offered by an evidently pleasant woman, amassed millions of views and a cascade of praise—including a shout‑out from former England goalkeeper Mary Earps—highlighting a widespread appetite for tiny gestures of kindness.

In a parallel development, Marks & Spencer announced the appointment of Gillian Anderson as its “chief compliments officer.” Her remit, as outlined by the company, is to foster goodwill among shoppers and staff alike. The announcement was accompanied by a brief video in which Anderson, delivering a measured “Will this do?” demeanor, compliments a passer‑by on her M&S attire (“I love that dress”). The piece, while light‑hearted, underscores a corporate attempt to embed positivity into everyday interactions, a contrast to Barbara’s grassroots approach.

What separates a memorable compliment from a perfunctory one (or worse, an unwelcome intrusion) is authenticity. A genuine compliment cannot be reduced to a checklist item or be motivated by hidden agendas. Specificity also matters. A generic “You’re beautiful” may be acceptable in the right context, but a precise observation—such as “You have a remarkably well‑balanced ankle”—lands with greater impact. Comedian Milo McCabe has turned this precision into a performance art, adopting the flamboyant persona Troy Hawke to deliver lines like “You have a marvelous weight distribution between your feet,” “Your head has the poise of a composer,” and “You resemble a benevolent motorcycle‑club version of Father Christmas.” McCabe told the New York Times that he “gives his full attention to a person” before the compliment emerges, and the oddity of the remarks often makes them stick. I recall being delighted when someone remarked on my “cute ears,” a comment I believed for years until a recent photo of my cartilage shattered the illusion; an online acquaintance still recalls a doctor’s off‑hand praise that her “breasts could stop a bullet.”

Vulnerability also plays a role. “I suspect many people would like to try it but feel a little shy,” Barbara reflected when asked why her comment resonated. The fear of appearing intrusive or creepy can hold us back from offering unsolicited praise. I’ve found myself watching a fellow gym‑goer practice handstands, and each time our paths cross in the changing room I feel the urge to acknowledge her effort, tempered by the awareness that timing and tone are crucial.