A loyal few of you might remember a quote I posted some time ago, reading 'Sjokoladepiken; you could flirt with a shoe.'

This came from my close friend aeva86 during one of our many conversations about flirting as a social tool. I’ve been planning to write a full-length entry on the subject of flirting ever since, but only this week have I actually done anything about it: I’ve been sitting at my computer for hours while trying to stitch together first an insightful, witty, quotable and mildly brilliant piece. After taking into consideration the advice that I shouldn’t set such high standards for myself, I swiftly rephrased that to ‘moderately readable’, and yet I failed miserably. So miserably, in fact, that my computer refused to save it. I almost fled Livejournal in search of a less demanding hobby, like Nordic walking, or colour-coordinating post-its. ‘But Sjokoladepiken,’ I thought to myself, ‘you’ve promised yourself you’ll complete this, so you’ll just have to find a way to do so. Remember what Grete said, and write about what you know.’ So, having discarded the whiny, self-indulgent, incoherent mess that could have stained your opinion of me forever, I will instead stick with what I do best: Nonsense.

Ok, now put away that judgmental face, or else I’m stopping right now. Good. Thank you. So let’s back to the flirting and the shoes. Besides being two of my best friends in the world, they are some big-time attention hogs who tend to get cranky when neglected.

First, though, I have a confession to make: I’m not very good at being able to tell when I’m flirting and when I’m not. On the whole, ‘flirting’ can mean so many different things, all depending on whom you ask to define it. Some would say that deliberately trying to seem fascinated by what Nameless Other Person von der Party Full of Strangers is saying (even though you might not be quite sure what exactly it is he’s going on about) is borderline flirtatious, simply because it’s a more deceptive way of handling social interaction than, say, standing silently in the corner so that everyone will understand that you don’t know anyone there (and aren’t really interested in changing that). Then there is the other, more full-on approach: ‘Do you mind of I sit on your lap? I might be a little heavy, but you look quite strong. Would it be very rude of me to ask you to flex?’ You know: sluttiness. There, I said what we were all thinking, wasn’t that brave of me?

At that end of the scale, though, I think we all more or less agree. At the other, more low-key end of the flirting spectrum, you will at one point encounter the very fine line that is drawn between what is called flirting and what is purely a form of socially intelligent behaviour that involves a specific body language with the intent to ease interaction. Not only is this line so thin that it is almost invisible (except in garish changing room light), its position also changes according to situation. It’s like the spring fashion; nobody really knows whether or not the ballerina pump is still hot. Vogue has it on its ‘discard immediately if you want to keep your self-respect through fashion week’ list, but InStyle is for the fifth season in a row celebrating the wonderfully ankle-slimming phenomenon that is toe cleavage as if Audrey Hepburn’s ghost had come back from the dead to tell the fashion editors that if they couldn’t squeeze one more season of hotness out of her signature shoe, she would pay Anna Wintour a visit and let her know that jeans in fact are a real no-no, causing figure-conscious women all over the world to embrace pocketed leggings and formal bike shorts in their absence.

I have this strangely familiar sensation that I’m losing focus. I was going to talk about what separates flirting from other behaviour in said grey area. Uhm, moving swiftly on:

I suppose the best way to determine what is and isn’t flirting is to look at the intention. While a lot of your everyday conversation-enabling behaviour is in the best interest of the majority, genuine, non-ironic flirting is always purely selfish. Not necessarily in a bad way, but it is: The flirters want something from the flirtees that they don’t believe they would get without a little pulling of strings (cue disapproving frowns). Some flirt to get laid. Some would bare a thigh for a free drink. Some, like myself, usually only flirt for the sake of the extra attention that enables you to have a conversation with a stranger that is more interesting than for instance one about the weather. So why is wanting more and actually doing something to get it so very, very unacceptable? People do it all the time, and more importantly, this happens on both sides of the ‘magic divide’.

Let’s think: Is flirting worse than, say, sucking up to the boss in order to try for a raise? Or telling a story at a party which is strictly speaking a slightly tweaked version of what actually happened? Aren’t these things just your basic Survival Strategy 101? What is it one does that is so immoral, or gets that is so undeserved? Does a little sexual tension really throw people off that badly?

I am the first to admit that there are times and places where flirting is out of the question. It is wrong to flash cleavage to the spotty fourteen-year-old in the supermarket to get a discount on peaches (so to speak). Your friend has recently dumped her boy, and you bump into him at a party: You want to stay far, far away (and fully clothed), even if he is the super-hot flex guy. There are plenty of situations where flirtatious behaviour would be mortifyingly inappropriate, you know, NATO conferences, funerals, that sort of thing. I have to point out this one small detail, though: People know that.

People also know that ending up as the wallflower is, frankly, a terrible waste of talent (and hairspray).

To be continued…