So here’s a thing…

I’ve never thought of myself as attractive, “hot,” or in any way that otherwise remotely defines me, as a person, by my looks. When forced to define it, I suppose I am a sufficiently attractive individual.

This missive is not by any stretch of the imagination a hunt for compliments. I am being frank. I am comfortable with my intelligence, my wit, my writing, coding abilities and design abilities, my cooking, friendship, mothering, partnering and otherwise creative abilities. These things define me, to me. My looks never have.

That said, of course I care about my looks. I work in a professional environ. Of course I bathe and primp and wear makeup (I was a drama geek— I LOVE costumery) and clean clothes and dread breakouts and I also do the little things I know my husband finds attractive—like brushing my teeth and wearing that one nice dress or those awesome CFM shoes— because it makes me happy. It earnestly makes me happy, giddy, googly to feel good about me and share it with the man of my dreams. Truth: I like me. I also like my partner, and I like when he gussies up for me.

That said…

Do not confuse the fact that I have a vagina with the misconception that plying me with compliments of my physicality will make me preferable to you in a hiring situation. Or in ANY workplace situation. In fact, when a person comments on my looks— even in a platonic nature— I feel amazingly uncomfortable and suspicious. Especially when that person is older, male, and came from a time when there were very few female bosses, because such comments scream how antiquated that male’s notions of workplace relationships are.

I make room for men like that in public situations in my personal life. Some man calls me “honey” at the coffee shop. I get it, it’s diminutive, but he’s also trying to be kindly in some old-timey way. That same man calling me cutie or darling doesn’t offended me, because he refers to the men as “handsome” or “sport.” He’s that way with everyone. He’s a pet-namer.

You, though, are different. You are an asshat. When, in my workplace, you comment on my level of attractiveness, or repeatedly state that you are my “only man” (a double entendre referring to the position as the only male blogger on our site and a veiled reference to being some special man in my life)… I find you crass. And limited. And old. Very, very old. And I am ashamed that you think that veiled sexual commentary is appropriate.

And when I call you on it, and request that the behavior end, what you SHOULD do is apologize for your offending comments. What you ACTUALLY do is try to play it off as not meaning what you clearly meant. Unfortunate choice, because now on top of insulting my professionalism, you have insulted my intelligence.

And that, Mr. Lamewad, is something I DO pay attention to, far ahead of my being a “real cutie.”