I take a lot of intrinsic pleasure from what I do. I enjoy the entire process, from selecting or designing a project, breaking down the elements of the build, hunting down just the right materials, and finally putting it all together into something that I can stand back and admire. If I were to continue making things just for myself and my family that hardly anyone else would ever see, it would still be a very satisfying hobby.
That being said, there is nothing quite like the gratification that comes from having a stranger admire my work. When some random person, who has no familial obligation to say nice things to me, offers even a moment of their time and attention to tell me that the art I’ve created has peaked their interest, the feeling is amazing. I love compliments. I love them so much that I don’t remember most of what Karen Gillan actually said at ECCC this year, but I do remember that the random guy in line before the panel asked my husband, “Where did you get your costumes?”.
So why is it that certain seemingly complimentary statements and phrases are more likely to make my skin crawl than glow? We’ve all been given a backhanded compliment or an accolade tinged with sexism, but that’s not what I’m talking about here. What I want to address is something I have heard over and over, so many times that I’d have expected to be used to it by now. Yet every time someone says it, it is a jarring noise, a wrong note in the melody of conversation.
“I wish I had your talent.”
It looks like a compliment, doesn’t it? The statement has every superficial appearance of gracious admiration. Like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, however, this little cluster of words is something far less cuddly underneath. First of all, it’s self-deprecating, and no one I’ve ever enjoyed the company of likes listening to someone else put themselves down. It’s awkward, uncomfortable, and reeks of insincerity. Complimenting someone else should never involve belittling oneself.
The major failing of this kind of compliment, however, is that it actually minimizes the effort and skill of the person it’s directed at. Despite the intention of the speaker, it becomes a kind of insult.
Every time someone says to me, “I wish I could do what you do,” I want to reply, “You can” because it’s true. Anyone who wants to build costumes can do so, provided that they’re willing to learn, and practice, and make mistakes, and keep trying. That’s how I got to where I am. That’s how I will continue to get better. That’s how every person who makes awesome stuff became awesome: the hard way.
Every time someone says to me, “I wish I had your talent,” what they’re really saying is, “I wish that your skills would come easily to me.” This, of course, implies that my skills were acquired without effort, or that I was simply born with them. It negates decades of experience I have in trial and error, the countless garments I have irreparably screwed up and had to start over, the dozens of books I have studied to improve my methods and knowledge base. It ignores the fact that I sometimes lay awake at night for hours, mentally deconstructing and piecing together my next project. It assumes that I no longer make mistakes or get angry at my work. To put it simply, it disregards what actually makes the art impressive: the time and effort that went into it.
So when someone admires my work by lamenting that I have a talent they do not possess, I am not flattered, I am annoyed. I don’t want to be. The little voice in the back of my head that sounds a lot like my Grandmother tells me that the intention of the speaker should matter more than what was actually said. But words have power, and when we use our words carelessly and enable others to do the same, that power gets unwieldy. I think it’s important to say what we mean, and acknowledge when something that we say isn’t communicating what it should.
So let’s stop wishing for the talents of others and instead, try to acknowledge their dedication to their crafts. Give compliments that are simple, straightforward, and pure. “That’s a beautiful dress,” or “You did an awesome job” conveys admiration without all of the baggage of subtext. If envy is an emotion you are feeling and need to express, at least frame the statement honestly: “I wish I could bring myself to practice art the way you obviously do.”
That being said, there is nothing quite like the gratification that comes from having a stranger admire my work. When some random person, who has no familial obligation to say nice things to me, offers even a moment of their time and attention to tell me that the art I’ve created has peaked their interest, the feeling is amazing. I love compliments. I love them so much that I don’t remember most of what Karen Gillan actually said at ECCC this year, but I do remember that the random guy in line before the panel asked my husband, “Where did you get your costumes?”.
So why is it that certain seemingly complimentary statements and phrases are more likely to make my skin crawl than glow? We’ve all been given a backhanded compliment or an accolade tinged with sexism, but that’s not what I’m talking about here. What I want to address is something I have heard over and over, so many times that I’d have expected to be used to it by now. Yet every time someone says it, it is a jarring noise, a wrong note in the melody of conversation.
“I wish I had your talent.”
It looks like a compliment, doesn’t it? The statement has every superficial appearance of gracious admiration. Like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, however, this little cluster of words is something far less cuddly underneath. First of all, it’s self-deprecating, and no one I’ve ever enjoyed the company of likes listening to someone else put themselves down. It’s awkward, uncomfortable, and reeks of insincerity. Complimenting someone else should never involve belittling oneself.
The major failing of this kind of compliment, however, is that it actually minimizes the effort and skill of the person it’s directed at. Despite the intention of the speaker, it becomes a kind of insult.
Every time someone says to me, “I wish I could do what you do,” I want to reply, “You can” because it’s true. Anyone who wants to build costumes can do so, provided that they’re willing to learn, and practice, and make mistakes, and keep trying. That’s how I got to where I am. That’s how I will continue to get better. That’s how every person who makes awesome stuff became awesome: the hard way.
Every time someone says to me, “I wish I had your talent,” what they’re really saying is, “I wish that your skills would come easily to me.” This, of course, implies that my skills were acquired without effort, or that I was simply born with them. It negates decades of experience I have in trial and error, the countless garments I have irreparably screwed up and had to start over, the dozens of books I have studied to improve my methods and knowledge base. It ignores the fact that I sometimes lay awake at night for hours, mentally deconstructing and piecing together my next project. It assumes that I no longer make mistakes or get angry at my work. To put it simply, it disregards what actually makes the art impressive: the time and effort that went into it.
So when someone admires my work by lamenting that I have a talent they do not possess, I am not flattered, I am annoyed. I don’t want to be. The little voice in the back of my head that sounds a lot like my Grandmother tells me that the intention of the speaker should matter more than what was actually said. But words have power, and when we use our words carelessly and enable others to do the same, that power gets unwieldy. I think it’s important to say what we mean, and acknowledge when something that we say isn’t communicating what it should.
So let’s stop wishing for the talents of others and instead, try to acknowledge their dedication to their crafts. Give compliments that are simple, straightforward, and pure. “That’s a beautiful dress,” or “You did an awesome job” conveys admiration without all of the baggage of subtext. If envy is an emotion you are feeling and need to express, at least frame the statement honestly: “I wish I could bring myself to practice art the way you obviously do.”
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