nytimes.com: How to Humiliate Friends, One-Up Rivals and Pick Just the Wrong Gift

April 3rd

i do like this.

there was also terrific advice on wine one-upmanship in the nytimes many years ago. you look at the wine with distaste, and announce, "it is a cheeky little number, but it dies on the middle palate." this is completely meaningless, but it sounds profound

How to Humiliate Friends, One-Up Rivals and Pick Just the Wrong Gift

By ADAM COHEN

Published: April 3, 2005

hen a young person visits, you should throw him off balance by saying, "You want a wash, I expect," in a way that suggests he has not quite mastered personal hygiene. An older man should be told how fine it is that his wife is still "moving very briskly about." And visitors of all ages should be encouraged to talk about their friends, after which you should say that you "wished B. was here" because you never tell "stories behind people's backs."

These pointers come from "Lifemanship," one of a series of acerbic life guides written by Stephen Potter in the 1940's and 1950's. "Lifemanship," which has just been reissued by Moyer Bell, wryly mocked Dale Carnegie's "How to Win Friends and Influence People," and other self-help manuals of its day. Potter's books do not focus on friendship or success, but on less exalted goals: "winning without actually cheating" ("Gamesmanship"); "creative intimidation" ("One-Upmanship"); and making "the other man feel that something has gone wrong, however slightly" ("Lifemanship").

The absurdist "Monty Python's Spamalot" may be the toast of Broadway, but it is Potter's caustic brand of British humor that is especially in step with our times. His targets - wine snobs, literary poseurs and weekend athletes - are more numerous today than a half-century ago. His major themes - the drive for self-improvement, competitiveness, faking it and sheer malice - are a virtual checklist of modern culture.

Potter, a onetime writer for the BBC, styled his writing as the research findings of the nonexistent Lifemanship Correspondence College, on topics like "How to Make People Feel Awkward." "Lifemanship" offers laboratory-tested techniques for excelling in cocktail party talk, no matter how uninformed you are. One tactic is "languaging up," which Potter defines as "to confuse, irritate and depress by the use of foreign words, fictitious or otherwise."

"Lifemanship" guides the reader through the important social milieus of an upper-class Briton of the middle 20th century. Its section on "Week-endmanship" offers strategies for outshining the other guests at a country house, while sloughing off as much as possible. One ploy is to ostentatiously clear the table on Friday night and wash a few dishes - which, if done right, can ensure that you are not expected to lift a finger for the rest of the visit.

When a Lifeman is called on to write a book review on a subject he knows little about, the key is pretending to know more than the author. Potter recommends comments like, "I am surprised that Mr. Sprott does not give more credit, in the main body of his text, to that fine teacher and impeccable scholar Dr. Kalamesa of Joinstown." This is "considered quite fair," Potter says, "even if you have never seen the name of Kalamesa before, which of course you never will have, except in some footnote or appendix to Sprott's book."

Potter began his series in 1947 with "Gamesmanship," a word the Oxford English Dictionary credits him with coining. In that book, he made clear that appearing to win is at least as important as winning. But he also had advice for how to - as the O.E.D. defines the word he made up - win "by means that barely qualify as legitimate." One strategy is "limpmanship," which includes both the use of a minor injury to win difficult contests and, conversely, adapting a game when your opponent is injured in a way that, although apparently favoring your opponent's injury, "will yet benefit you in the end."

Potter reached his creative zenith with "One-Upmanship," which extended "upmanship" principles to everyday life. He offered shrewd advice for the would-be wine connoisseur. "A good general rule," he says, "is to state that the bouquet is better than the taste, and vice versa." When giving gifts, a main goal, he notes, is "to make the receiver feel there is some implied criticism." For the middle-aged man who will not admit he needs glasses, he suggests a glasses case. Children can be tortured by giving them presents a year or two below their age group.

The humor of Potter's books is rooted in the British obsession with decorum, and reluctance to confront awkward truths. In a culture where such a premium is placed on keeping up appearances, there is particular sting to Potter's admonition that the ideal gift for a woman whose youth is fading is "patent food which announces clearly on the front label that it has been specially treated to be made more easily digestible."

Beneath all the posing and the oblique put-downs, Potter's subject, gently approached though it is, is humiliation - how to dish it out and how to avoid being its target. It is a topic that resonates strongly in America today. On television, we watch admiringly as Donald Trump, Simon Cowell and an unending parade of bachelors, bachelorettes and "Survivor" tribesmen eject losers from the charmed circle. We are addicted to shameful falls from grace, like Martha Stewart's and Michael Jackson's. And at social occasions, toasts are being replaced by "roasts," an invitation to tell mean-spirited stories about the honoree.

A half-century ago, Potter had an uncanny sense that modern life was headed in this direction. He was, of course, a parodist. It seems clear, in the end, that the real targets of his barbs are not the people who are one-upped, but would-be Lifemen and Gamesmen who feel the need to outdo each other so assiduously. What is undeniable, though, is that Potter's books are clever, and they make better gifts than a diet book or a bottle of mouthwash.