What if I really like your boots?

I recently saw this blog at Slate.com that tells women how to talk to other women. I'm half-kidding.

Basically, the writer Katy Waldman believes that a cultural problem exists in the way we talk to girls and women.  It seems that we overwhelmingly compliment female appearance in small talk or conversation.  Rather than ask about her ideas or her plans or her food preferences, we tell her we like her boots.

This is very true, and I get why this is problematic, I really do.  We tend to call little girls "cute" and tell them that they have "pretty dresses/shoes/sweaters/hair" as a way to open conversation with them.  However, I know I'm just as likely to tell a boy baby that he has a "cute smile" as I am tell a girl.  I think we are just programmed, generally, to call children cute, even when they sure as hell aren't.  (You've been there, too, haven't you?)

I do know that girls are more negatively influenced by our tendency to compliment their appearance.  A friend of mine makes sure to tell little girls that they are "smart" or "clever" before (or after) she compliments their darling pink bracelets or their cute boots.

Still, what if I really like your boots, girlfriend?  What is the matter with me telling you so?

I enjoy clothes, shoes, and outfits.  I don't think it makes me less of a successful, professional, or educated woman to enjoy how I look or how I dress.  In fact, it helps me in all of those areas.  When I feel as though I look good, my mood improves, my productivity increases, and I speak more readily and clearly to my friends and colleagues.  Vanity be damned, it works.

So when I see someone, especially a woman, wearing a nice blouse or sporting *amazing* knee boots, I tell her.  I stop her on the street.  I look up from my magazine in a waiting room.   I take time to say, "hey, I like what you are wearing. You look nice."

Just the other day, I heard a woman working in a store tell a female customer that she liked her boots.  The customer's face brightened, they smiled at one another, they compared notes on the features of boots, and they left the interaction happier for it. There wasn't any hint of commission attached. I think the language of fashion is a coded language that some women can share, a way of affirming an aspect of our styles, choices, and creativity.  So why should we squelch that?

If I like your boots, I will tell you.  You've been warned.