How Lovely.

When did the l-word become such an insult?

When Karlie Kloss called Kim Kardashian “lovely” after her feud with Taylor Swift, we knew what she meant. Then, when Sarah Jessica Parker called Kim Kardashian “lovely” a month later, we definitely knew what she meant.

For urbane women, “lovely” is the Kim Kardashian of passive aggressive compliments — an obnoxiously ubiquitous guilty pleasure we all indulge in. In a flash of Jane Austen-loving, Downton Abbey-inspired genius, “lovely” has become a verbal crutch for millennial women looking to mute their disparaging comments and instantly forgive their snide sides.

In short, it’s the “bless your heart” of the North.

In the South, “bless your heart” is a long-established phrase for when you want to gossip or convey hostility to someone, but you don’t want to sound mean. “Bless your heart,” you’ll say to someone who shows up to your dinner party an hour late. “You just never did learn to read time at that fancy New England school you went to, did you?”

Insert the female pronoun in this magical saying and it pretty much gives a free pass for any and all catty gossip you want to indulge in. “Woo-eee, I wonder how many people it took to zip up that bridesmaid dress,” you can whisper at the wedding. “Bless her heart — that breakup with Clint was a real doozy.”

The liberating power of blessing someone’s heart is that you can assure yourself and your audience that, deep down, you just want what is best for the person. Your superficiality, cattiness and/or hostility are washed away in an instant because you’ve said a little prayer for their deeper, spiritual well-being. It’s a very useful trick. And eminently helpful for gossipy women who want to appear above it all (read: most women, everywhere).

But the religious connotations mean this handy saying has stayed mostly in the South. For a long time, those of us wanting a little less God and a lot more condescension in our passive aggressiveness have had only a chipper “No worries!” or a slight roll of the eyes at our disposal. We were often left grasping for words, backtracking our statements, and struggling silently, letting our passive aggressiveness percolate slowly.

Enter “lovely.”

Whether you’ve realized it or not, millennial women have finally settled on the passively hostile code word. “Lovely” has become the simple trick to elegantly condescend, to deliver a compliment while still maintaining the sophisticated moral high ground. It is prim, it is proper, and it can soften whatever blows you want to deliver.

“Thanks so much for bringing the bottle of rosé,” you’ll tell the cheap friend who never contributes enough to the potluck. “It’s such a lovely wine for its price point.”

The real beauty of “lovely” though is that it can be used repeatedly — like a verbal sign post that signals maturity to your listener even as you take them through a maze of emotions. Can’t find the words to express your own jealousy? Just pepper your response with “lovely.”

“Do you like your future sister-in-law?” someone will ask simply. “Oh, yes,” you’ll reply. “She’s lovely. I mean, she’s very comfortable with my family and in our house. Like, she just bought this really overpriced but lovely tablecloth in Paris, and then practically bullied my mother into using it for Thanksgiving dinner. Overall though, she’s a really lovely girl.”

Need to subtly invalidate other people’s life choices without sounding gossipy? Just throw in some lovelies. “You’re going to love Alison. She used to be on the fast track at The New York Times, but then she met this carpenter from Woodstock when she was there for a bachelorette party. Apparently they fell in love while dancing to ‘Livin’ On A Prayer.’ Anyways, now they live in Rhinebeck or the Rhine Valley or somesuch lovely place and she’s a stay-at-home mom to two lovely little girls.”

Of course, there are still instances when lovely is used genuinely. But if a colleague at work responds to your weekend recap with a flat, “How lovely,” watch your back. Betch is coming for you.

Chloe Fox is a freelance writer and editor based in Cambridge, MA.