READ: Understanding Flirting"Flirting: A Personal History"- Dolly Alderton

* "Flirts can feel themselves going into “the bit” and
can sense their friends roll their eyes at “the bit”.
Whether they’re the woman asking unsuspecting
bar staff what time they “get off” or the man
telling a woman that her “face looks very
familiar”, it will be a tried and tested shtick."
My mum has this story she likes telling. When I
was eight years old, I noticed there were builders
outside working on our house. She heard the front
door open and close and looked outside. There I
was, standing in my best dress, chatting to them;
asking about the work they were doing and
offering them snacks and drinks. I kept popping
out, all afternoon, just for a hair-twirl and a chat.
From then she knew that I was destined to be a
flirt.
She was right; that is what I am. A committed
one. I am a fully-paid-up member of this club
along with Geri Halliwell and Robbie Williams and
Nigella Lawson. Rod Stewart pouring the drinks,
Carey Grant on the decks. Russell Brand passing
around the nuts, Rod Hull’s Emu telling funny
stories. We are all in here, having a right old
laugh. Giggling at each other’s jokes and
complimenting each other’s shoes and arses.
The routine is not subtle, I am no great
seductress. My brand of flirting is a bit Carry On;
the friendly, chatty sort that has secured me a
life-long friend in the owner of my corner shop and
means I am more often than not remembered by
my friends dads as being “good fun”. A flirt works
out their routine and will rehearse it until they see
results; making friends at every turn, shaving
down prices of bar bills and rent. Blagging fags
and tickets and taxis.
Flirts can feel themselves going into “the bit” and
can sense their friends roll their eyes at “the bit”.
Whether they’re the woman asking unsuspecting
bar staff what time they “get off” or the man
telling a woman that her “face looks very
familiar”, it will be a tried and tested shtick.
Sometimes people are charmed by it and
sometimes it falls flat on its arse, but the ones
who will find the performance most exhausting
and embarrassing are the ones who are closest to
the flirt.
As you grow up, things start getting in the way of
all the no-strings-attached coquetting. Firstly, you
fall in love and you realize that this is a particular
hobby that isn’t easy to keep up when you’re in a
relationship. The closer you get to someone, the
more apparent it becomes that your idea of
harmless fun makes the person you care most
about feel insecure, jealous and more often than
not, just really embarrassed.
You also develop an annoying thing as you move
into adulthood – empathy. Bloody empathy. It’s an
amazing and yet incredibly irritating realization
that you are somehow connected to absolutely
everyone, not just the people in your life. That no
one is anonymous, that you owe total strangers
nothing but respect and kindness. The moment
inevitably comes when you understand that you
CAN’T just flirt with whomever you like — they
might have a serious significant other, or they
might have genuine interest in you that is
unreciprocated. Your idea of harmless fun comes
at the cost of their upset, their jealousy and more
often than not, just their serious embarrassment.
If you spend the rest of your life as a full-time, full-
on flirt with people other than your partner or with
other people’s partners — you are putting your
need for a bit of fun above everyone else’s
feelings.
When I began to realise all the above, I felt
surprised and guilty for all the times I had got it so
wrong. Because, here’s the thing; flirts — proper
flirts — they very rarely do it because they want
to make a move on someone. They do it to feel
good about themselves; they do it to create an
instant rapport with someone because they want
to feel surrounded by closeness, all the time. At
work or parties, even while they’re just waiting in
line at the post office. They create dialogue and
ritual to give them an instant sense of social
intimacy. The irony is, when this kind of person
comes to actually fancying someone, they’re
usually utterly f*cked. Like the day I got in the lift
at work with the guy I had a crush on. There I was,
the woman who considered herself such a
smoothie that a seller on Ebay once accused her
of “stringing him along”, in a confined space,
finally facing the man I had stared at across the
office for two years. And what was all I had to say
for myself? “These bloody lifts!" before I rolled my
eyes and bolted out at the ground floor.
Perhaps for some people, flirting really does mean
nothing. But being a grown-up and even slightly
altruistic means taking into account what your
actions mean to others, not just what they mean
to you. It's not about semantics, it's not about
intention and it's certainly not about a loophole
that will get you out of trouble. If you spend the
rest of your life as a full-time, full-on flirt with
people other than your partner or with other
people’s partners — you are putting your need for
a bit of fun above everyone else’s feelings.
So now – I flirt with caution. I flirt in moderation
and I chose who I flirt with carefully. And if I were
to ever get a boyfriend again, I’d probably give it
up altogether. I read something once about the
difference between pleasure and joy and how as
we get older, we find more fulfilment in the latter.
I didn’t understand it at the time; I thought they
were the same thing. Well, I get it now. Pleasure
is self-gratification. An instant hit. The cocaine-
laced-sugar-laden Cadburys cream egg of
sensations that will leave you feeling giddy and
needing to top it each time. Joy is a feeling that is
sustainable. A high that doesn’t need to be
trumped, but grows gradually and more often than
not is shared with another person. Flirting with
someone who doesn’t know you but makes you
feel a million dollars? Sure, that is pleasure. But
forming a connection with someone, building
trust, allowing them to find out every horrible
thing about you and letting them adore you
regardless? Well, hell. That's joy alright.