No one knows quite how to dole out gushing, unbridled praise like an American. I grew up in the epicenter of this way of life, California, and from a young age was taught that a compliment (warranted or not) was the best way to make your way in the world, whether that was at work, school or in relationships. No polite greeting should be considered complete without an added “I love your shoes!” or a handy “Now, that is a great top!”
Frantically complimenting people and ourselves is sort of a national pastime, second only to baseball. Researchers have found that, compared with those from other English-speaking countries, American English speakers are the most likely to incorporate compliments into their conversations. It was also found that Americans often opt for the more extreme word when constructing a sentence, so things are “great” not just “good”, or we’ll “love” something not just “like” it.
Interestingly, our praise culture has turned out to be an American export with particular staying power. It was recently reported that in China, where young people are less and less interested in elements of American culture such as Taylor Swift and the iPhone, they are more excited than ever about integrating our approach to praise. Large groups on the internet and in person have begun forming for people to compliment each other American-style.
The world they are emulating certainly reflects the one I grew up in. From the time I was very small I was told that everything I did was “totally awesome!” or “amazing!” or “so, so, so great”. As you can imagine, you get used to a certain kind of lifestyle, one that results in a blindness to hyperbole and a dizzying sense of self-confidence about most things you do.
For example, when I was 14 I tried out for the role of Cinderella in my school’s production of Into the Woods. I was devastated when I learnt that I had instead been awarded the role of Unnamed Stepsister Number Five. When my dad picked me up from school that day he consoled me by saying that, actually, it had nothing to do with me. In fact I was probably just too good and they’d needed to give someone else in the class a chance to shine. I nodded, mournfully but bravely agreeing, despite knowing that I’d arrived at the audition with little to no dance skills and only about 50 per cent confidence that I was singing the right lyrics.
In my school days I was also an exceptionally average athlete. My childhood bedroom is a graveyard of participation trophies reminding me of this. Even my well-established tenure as a bench-warmer on the varsity volleyball team ended with a conciliatory and unrelated music prize for singing the national anthem at one game (and again messing up the words). But everyone got a prize that day so they had to scrounge that up for me.
It’s fair to say that my confidence took a hit when I first arrived in the UK. I was very confused to find that no one seemed to be complimenting each other (or me) incessantly. I tried using compliments to make friends, get dates and do well at work, something that had historically been a winning tactic, and felt people recoil. “Love your outfit today!” did nothing to move the needle on my new relationships. Any compliments I got back were also usually peppered with sarcasm.
My childhood bedroom is a graveyard of participation trophies.
At first I struggled to get my head around this new world where unfettered praise actually just came off as insincere. But I soon found that when there are fewer compliments going around, they actually feel a lot more genuine when you do get them. If someone tells you they like something in the UK, they usually really mean it. While sometimes brutal, there is ultimately a kindness to such restrained praise. There’s a moment in the cult classic Mean Girls when the main character, Regina George, compliments one of her classmates’ skirts, then immediately whips around to her friends to whisper, “that’s the ugliest effing skirt I’ve ever seen”. The more time I spent in the UK, the more I began to wonder if I too had been wearing ugly effing skirts for most of my life and no one had been straightforward enough to tell me.
In addition, the British offset any harshness associated with negative feedback by cushioning the delivery with humor, which helps to balance the inevitable sting. Rather than shielding those around you from the reality of a lackluster showing, most people here will merely offer either nothing or an honest(ish) review, which is a much more helpful jumping-off point for improvement than being showered with praise.
Over time I was convinced that our approach across the Pond, while perhaps motivating, had left me with fewer tools to help me grow into a better, more evolved version of myself. When you’re never made aware of any areas of growth to begin with, it can be hard to, well, grow. If my highly supportive dad had given me a more honest review of my abilities as a thespian, might I have doubled my preparation efforts or gone for another, more attainable role with less chance of disappointment?
I will admit that sometimes the plucky, uninhibited self-confidence I built up from years of unwarranted compliments has been helpful in some aspects of my life but I’ve come to appreciate the value of receiving fewer, more authentic nuggets of praise over a lot of empty celebration. Maybe if we had reconsidered our relationship to relentless positivity in America, we might be in a less dire political situation, where candidates don’t feel the need to bring up who’s better at golf during national debates.
I for one have committed to trying to override my programming to be as effusive as possible since moving here. My American friends might say I’ve become less generous with my compliments but I’d reframe that. I’d say I’m just helping them embody a growth mindset.
Chiara Brown is a commissioning editor and writer for The Times of London
