When a man in group chat I have never met tells me I have big kissable lips and would have done well in a kissing booth pre-Covid, he probably thinks he’s being charming. What he’s really doing is testing whether I’ll accept being reduced to decoration. The compliment is wrapped up in the idea of earning my way through looks rather than brains, which for many women lands less like romance and more like regression to the 1950s.
So I answered back, dryly asking if he thought I could not earn my way using my knowledge and experience. A reasonable question, but one that shifts the spotlight onto the uncomfortable subtext. His response was “I’m sure you’re very smart,” which sounds supportive at first glance but is really the conversational equivalent of patting a child on the head. He had to reassure me after suggesting my lips could be monetised at a funfair.
I pressed again. Why suggest inferior work if I do indeed have intelligence? He scrambled. “Kissing booths are more of a charity work,” he insisted, as if the problem wasn’t that he reduced me to a booth attraction, but that I misread his benevolence. It wasn’t my intellect at stake, it was my failure to recognise his joke as philanthropy.
I pointed out the obvious gap. So you don’t think I do any charity work. The ball was back in his court, and he dropped it… big time! The mask slipped and out came the exasperation:
“Twisted way of thinking here. Sorry not sure why you’re doing that. Have a great day.”
What started as a clumsy attempt at flirtation ended with him accusing me of twisting things. The old classic: blame the woman for not appreciating the line. Hope she will move on, but clearly I didn’t…My reply was short:
“Funny how you call it twisted when it’s me just not buying cheap lines”.
That was the point in miniature. Many women have learnt that a cheap line presented as flattery is still cheap. When I decline to play along, I’m not twisted, I’m simply not for sale.
The psychology behind it is simple. He opened with a remark that placed value on my physical attributes. I reframed the conversation to highlight intellect and self-worth. He attempted to regain control by redefining his comment as innocent or charitable. When that failed, he retreated into defensiveness.
The humour lies in how predictable it is. These conversations are almost scripts, repeated endlessly across chat threads. Compliment lips, mention a booth, throw in charity as a back-up, accuse her of twisting things, sign off with “have a great day.” It’s like a tired play that has been running too long. My one line at the end was the unscripted improvisation he hoped he would not get.
In the end, it’s a reminder that calling things out is a woman’s best defence. I don’t need to lecture, I don’t need to rage, I only needed to expose the silliness of the line.
I doubt he will understand what he did and sadly he will eventually find someone who thinks being sexualised by a stranger is cute.
Photo by Priscilla Du Preez
