Compliments with Mr Collins
“…you may imagine that I am happy on every occasion to offer those little delicate compliments which are always acceptable to ladies… They arise chiefly from what is passing at the time, and though I sometime amuse myself with suggesting and arranging such little elegant compliments as may be adapted to ordinary occasions, I always wish to give them as unstudied an air as possible.”
Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, Chapter 12
As the heir to the Longbourn estate, distant-ish Bennet cousin, Mr William Collins, is on a mission to find a wife. A visit to the Bennet household, with five potential options, is the most obvious course of action and it is here that he sets course for matrimony. Unfortunately, cast by Austen as a simpering clergyman, in thrall to his wealthy benefactor (Lady Catherine de Bourgh) and keen to let all and sundry know about her munificence, none of the Bennet sisters are prepared to ‘swipe right’. He settles first on Jane, but is quickly bumped in the direction of Elizabeth, as Mrs Bennet has all but chosen her hat for Jane’s as yet unconfirmed (as in they haven’t even made eye contact for more than three seconds) impending marriage to Mr ‘is that a massive country pile in your breeches or are you just pleased to be in the same room as me’ Bingley. Now, we all know how Elizabeth’s love life goes, so there’s no need for a ‘spoiler alert’ in recounting how, after Mr Collins’ proposal, she gives him a solid ‘Absolutely f*cking not’. His response? “You are uniformly charming!”
You see, one of the main problems with Mr Collins is not that he is a bit boring, or a clergyman, or metaphorically getting out his tape measure around the house he could very legitimately kick them all out of if Mr Bennet decides he’s had enough of sitting in a chair and being sarcastic, it’s that he is so ingratiating. His personal brand of ‘lady chat’ is indeed, full of compliments, because, as stated earlier, he thinks he knows what gets those Regency lasses’ knickers fizzing (if they were wearing any… which they were probably not), but there is always an ulterior motive. They are not coming from a place of genuine kindness or appreciation, but are designed to further his own status and standing within society. The Bennets are wise to this; they do not consider him a “sensible” man. Therefore, when Mr Collins praises the dinner (I think in the film adaptation with Tom Hollander as Mr Collins, he is given the line “Excellent boiled potatoes”, which I think would make an A+ slogan tee), and wants to know which sister made it, Mrs B is affronted an assures him they can afford a cook. The subtext for the reader is: ‘I’ll take the one that can cook’.
When we pay compliments purely to elevate ourselves they will always reek of ‘Eau de Bollocks’. A compliment bestowed should come from genuine warmth. Or admiration. Or support. It should never be used as leverage for our own social or financial gain. Social media algorithms necessitate that we do actually engage with other people, but consistently posting on profiles purely hoping for reciprocal likes/ retweets/ reposts or re-stacks feels as icky as Mr Collins smelling your hair. Similarly, incentivising being nice to people instantly negates any resulting feelings of positivity; it feels too transactional to have even a modicum of truth about it. For example: a school I worked at many years ago wanted to promote more cohesion and jollity amongst their student body so they held a ‘Compliments Day’. For every compliment paid, the pupils would get a sticker… which they could then trade for doughnuts. For one day I was bombarded with ‘You’re such a great teacher!’, ‘I like your hair today!’ and ‘No, I like her hair! And her eyebrows. Which are also hair! So I like more hair than him. Can I have two stickers?’ The next day, everyone was back to hating each other.
And yes, we also all know that we are very bad at being on the receiving end of people being nice to us (‘What? This jumper? I found it in the bin! In which I also live. That’s why I always look SUCH a mess. HA. HA. HA.), and, at a push, can mumble a quick ‘Thanks very much. I also like your, erm, teeth. Very clean.’ But I wonder if we put a real concerted effort into recognising the power of a proper compliment- with zero agenda- whether we might even be more open to receiving compliments ourselves.
Of course we cannot completely let go of our cynicism and why would you want to? No one should aspire to be the human equivalent of a golden retriever, but if you are genuinely moved to give one, an unsolicited, heartfelt compliment is always worth it.
Although, unlike Mr Collins, maybe don’t use the “most animated language” to express “the violence” of your “affection” in the queue for a self-checkout. ‘Excuse me, I love your dress’ is totally fine.
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Watch Mr Collins being Mr Collins