It’s a Friday morning around nine o'clock as I walk into the bagel place. I'm giving my order as I hear the only other customer in the corner of the shop say, “I hope this doesn’t go to your head, but you’re a really pretty girl." This man must've been confused by lack of response, or maybe didn't understand my discomfort, because he continued, "I mean you were really blessed with some good looks.”

Now, at this point, there were a lot of things I could have said, (like thank you, sir, for your incredibly shallow, slightly creepy, and totally unnecessary comment?) but instead, I felt like the safest bet was to say nothing at all. I gave an uncomfortable smile and turned around, hoping he'd get the hint.

Normally, I can appreciate any attempt at kindness. I can forgive an awkward try at some small talk. I can even typically fake some politeness in return, but there was something about this encounter that continued to bother me long after I had left.

Maybe it was the way he acted as though I should have been thrilled to be called pretty, as if being pretty was all that mattered. He probably thought that with these comments he was making my day, starting a nice conversation. He thought he was giving me the ultimate compliment.

This is when I began thinking: I don't want to be called pretty.

After all, what does being pretty actually get you? It's a nice try, but it falls incredibly short. There are better compliments to give. Better words to use. Greater messages to send.

Pretty is shallow, superficial, but I am not.

I don't want to be told I'm pretty because pretty doesn't make a difference in the world. Pretty doesn't change lives. Pretty doesn't make you successful. Prettiness doesn't make your dreams come true. It doesn't make you happy. I want to be told I am pretty smart or pretty passionate. Tell me I'm pretty funny, or maybe just pretty fun. Tell me I'm pretty loyal and pretty kind, that I'm pretty inspiring.

As for the man in the bagel shop, I don't know if I'll ever quite understand your need to sit there and openly comment on your opinion of how someone else looks, considering I sit in that bagel shop all the time, and am always able to restrain from objectifying other human beings. I am able to recognize that my two cents on someone's appearance is not called for, or asked for or meaningful in the slightest. No, your comments did not go to my head or make me think highly of myself. Yet they do sit in my mind as they continue to play out in disbelief that this encounter even occurred. However, I must agree with you that I am blessed, but you were wrong when you said it was because of my looks. It has everything to do with who I am, what I am, not what I look like.