COMMENT IN PRAISE OF FLIRTING
Fun philanthropy: Why we should recapture this delightful lost art
I am a terrible flirt. Simply terrible. There: I’ve said it. Although, why “flirt” is so often appended with “terrible” is a mystery to me.
I prefer the term sensational flirt.
If I get in an elevator with you, there’s every chance I’m going to comment on the colour of your tie; the set of your jaw; the tune you’re whistling; your interesting socks; the fresh whiff of Barbadian limes you exude — and that accent? Kiwi?
I am also just as likely to remark on the colour of your purse; the line of your coif; the song you’re humming; your interesting scarf; the fresh whiff of Ecuadorian roses you exude ... and is that Baudelaire’s Flowers of Evil tucked under your arm?
I am an equal opportunity flirter.
Yes, I am a sensational flirt, indeed. I’m hoping you’re a sensational flirt, too.
Heaven knows: we need more flirts.
So, what is flirting? And how did its reputation end up so tarnished?
Here’s what flirting is not: it’s not seduction. In its best practice, seduction has malignant intent. Seduction involves enticing someone into an activity they’re probably going to regret. Seduction is the verb that pours you that third drink. Seduction dims the lights. Seduction whispers that there’s a hot tub on the patio.
At some point in a seduction, someone is going to go, “Whoops! I thought we were dancing.” Seduction can proceed — gently — just as soon as the seducer separates you — gently — from your senses.
Flirting is also decidedly not flattery. Flattery hinges on insincerity. It’s an “ends justifies the means” application of admiration. Flattery hails from the Old French, meaning “to stroke,” and is a noun not to be trusted. The flatterer wants something. Buttered up, there’s a chance you’re going to surrender it.
So, that’s what flirting is not. There’s a school of thought that says politeness has become so rare that people mistake simple manners for flirting. I suspect this is true. Here’s a story I love: an elderly woman is dining with friends of all ages. After their orders are taken, one of the younger women confides to the elderly woman that the waiter was — tsk, tsk — flirting with her. Granny shoots back that she damn well hopes so,
“After all, I’ve gone to some trouble,” she says, sitting up just a little straighter. And there you have it. We all go to some trouble. Wouldn’t it be nice if someone noticed?
Flirting is benign. In its truest practice, it has no self-serving agenda. Flirting is philanthropy on the smallest scale. In essence, it acknowledges the attractive qualities within another person but it does so for the general delight of both parties.
My life has been made grand — cinematic, even — as a result of flirting. Flirting lets you connect with people you’d have little reason to connect with otherwise. I was just a kid in London when I ran into Yul Brynner a day after seeing him in The King and I. I gasped as I came face to face to him in Sloane Square. He bowed deeply, and pronounced “Etc. Etc. Etc.” The world-class flirter then kissed my hand. Ask me how often I still hum Shall We Dance?
You’d be forgiven, however, for confusing flirting with, say, kleptomania. We saddle flirt with pejoratives like “terrible” and “shameless,” words better suited to larceny. I’m accused of flirting shamelessly. Women register this complaint. I counter that I flirt with men, women, children and dogs; I don’t amend my practice. I’ve discovered that a flirt will flirt back with aplomb — it’s the best sort of swordplay — but even the deadest of the deadwood welcomes the encounter. There’s a world of people out there who complain that life is a lacklustre series of errands. They grumble that nothing good ever happens, that people are callous and uncaring. They advocate for keeping your guard up and your head down — and they’re missing all the fun.
Make these candidates your objective. Flirting is an urban renewal project we can all participate in. At the very soul of flirtation is the conviction that there’s something noteworthy — something amazing — about every one of us.