Who me, smart?

It's said that men tend to over-estimate their intelligence while women under-estimate it. Well, personally I'm one of the under-estimators. However often I'm told how intelligent I am, I never really believe it. I'm quite sure it's just a bit of flattery far removed from reality.

I suppose the reason for my self-doubt is that I fasten on every mistake or misunderstanding or moment of confusion as obvious evidence of my limited intelligence. Surely if I was that intelligent these things wouldn't happen?

On the other hand, when I instantly grasp something complicated or have some brilliant insight, instead of seeing it as a sign of intelligence, I see it as a peculiar fluke or stroke of luck that only emphasises how gormless I usually am.

I also assume intelligence means being quick on the uptake. If I'm in a new job or situation, and I'm not picking things up fast enough, I conclude I'm a prize dimwit. Surely other people grasp things much quicker? I forget that maybe the problem is the complexity and unfamiliarity of what I'm being told, not my brain.

I'm fooled too by people who pretend to understand something that's gone way over their heads. They listen to someone yattering away and nod frequently as if they're totally up to speed, while I'm mentally floundering. Obviously they're much brainier! It never occurs to me that they just don't want to admit their ignorance.

If anyone raves over a book or film or artwork I didn't like, again I assume they must be more intelligent, they've caught all sort of nuances and subtleties that mysteriously passed me by. Their attention must be way sharper than mine. But is it? Perhaps those clever nuances they've spotted are more imaginary than real.

So go on, reassure me that I'm highly intelligent. I still won't believe it.

I'm listening

It's common nowadays for people to say they just don't care what others think of them. And they say that as if it's a very wise and mature attitude.

I really don't know where they're coming from. I don't share their attitude at all. To my mind, sensitivity to what others think, and to the effect my opinions and behaviour might have on them, is part and parcel of being a human being.

That doesn't mean I'm a slave to other people's views. It doesn't mean that if someone criticises me, I immediately backpedal and apologise and rush to satisfy them. It doesn't mean that if they come up with some totally bigoted, ignorant, intolerant diatribe, I'll bury my own views and mutter something harmlessly neutral.

But it does mean that although I like to express my views as honestly as possible, I'm considerate of how others might react and I won't be deliberately provocative or taunting or dismissive merely for the sake of it.

It also means that if someone has views diametrically opposed to my own, I won't just dismiss them out of hand as ignorant nonsense, I will at least examine them carefully to see if there's any truth in what they're saying.  Because even the most prejudiced individual can have unexpected insights into something I haven't really thought about.

And it means that if I know someone's feeling vulnerable, or hurt, or distressed, I'm not going to upset them even more by saying something they wouldn't want to hear even if they were feeling more resilient.

As Ursula said, if people don't care what others think, how come they're all ears if what others are saying is in their favour - if it's flattering?

Who are they kidding?

Vile bodies

Why do women criticise their own bodies so mercilessly? I think most men get very impatient with this constant self-loathing, particularly when they've failed to notice any of the so-called imperfections.

Enormous bum? Hideous nose? Huge feet? Where do these obsessions come from? Presumably from endless comparisons with unreal supermodels who bear scant relation to ordinary women.

All my ex-girlfriends made much of some alleged deficiency which usually was invisible to me. No amount of reasoned argument would convince them they were just fine as they were.

Celebs interviewed in the media will invariably mention some part of their anatomy they'd love to be rid of, it's so loathsome. It seems to be female etiquette never to say that actually you're quite happy with your body. That would suggest a goodie-goodie-two-shoes surfeit of complacency.

I think it's time for a women's self-acceptance week, in which women are forbidden to criticise their bodies and can only appreciate them, listing all the features that are attractive and likeable. Plastic surgery would be banned for the week, as well as all media articles telling women how to improve their bodies.

Men would make a point of complimenting women, though predictably the recipients would see it as phoney flattery and wonder what the man was trying to get out of them. "You're just saying that", "Ha ha, pull the other one" and so on.

Or perhaps we men should spend a week being as relentlessly self-critical as our womenfolk, systematically pulling ourselves to pieces and wishing we looked more like Brad Pitt or Leonardo DiCaprio. It would be interesting to see the reaction....