Sweet Success

Apologies for the heavy tone of my previous post. I was in one of those melodramatic "what am i doing with my life???" moods. I've realized that one of the most important determinants of success is persistence. And that's what I'm doing. Keep on keepin' on.

Speaking of young women succeeding in a big way -- I just found out that one of my fav profs from Stanford won the John Bates Clark Medal this year. She is Susan Athey, a 36-year old economist now teaching at Harvard. The Clark Medal is about as huge as you can get in economics, and she is the first woman to ever win it. This is the same award Steven Levitt (Freakonomics) won a few years back.

I took Susan's Imperfect Competition class at Stanford. This class is what first peaked my interest in business / entrepreneurship, and Susan was also the inspiration behind Jess and my research on Zara. In addition to her ground breaking econ research (check), Susan also has two beautiful young children (check, check) and a husband who teaches econ at Harvard too (check +).

I of course never really quite understood the magnitude of Susan's academic accomplishment until now, but what always struck me about her was her energy. She was clearly incredibly intelligent, but also fun and vibrant and loving life. I'm so happy for her. Congrats Susan!!

what is failure?

i've been thinking about failure a lot lately. it's a scary word, and the thought of it makes my stomach hurt. but, when I focus on it a bit more, really try to imagine failure as a part of my life, it all sort of just dissolves...i'm not sure that failure really exists, at least not for the likes of you and me. in any case, I certainly won't be a failure to myself.

i think failure would be living a life without happiness. so it's ultimately in my control...and i'm pretty fucking happy right now.

another uncertain summer awaits. wish me luck. i know at least it will be a summer of love. and that's all i want, for this and every summer that follows.

Priorities

I just want to throw this idea out there. You can take it or you can give it right back.

1. WORK DAYS
Why do we work 5 out of the 7 days....who thought of that? How did that happen? Seriously...was it the Puritans?

2. THE WORK/LIFE CYCLE
Whose bright idea was it that we have to work really hard while we are young to enjoy all the money and assets we accumulate along the way, when we are old, saggy, and jaded? I have an idea. When you are young, you should be allowed to squander a ton of money and time. Just live a lavish life, gallivanting around with your other young friends, eating, drinking, laying around, going out, enjoying life....buying things, yachts, cars...whatever. Then, when you get really old and wrinkly and unattractive, you are put to work in an office for like 12-18 hrs/day....How can this possibly work? Well, you can take out like $5M, let's say, and party it all away in your golden youth. Then, b/c you took out that much $, you are forced to work super hard in your old decrepit age, without complaining. You essentially take out credit and work it off later - much later.

3. WORK HOURS
Yet again, who thought of this? What is with work winning the majority of people's time? I don't get it. When "they" got together to talk about how they would run their society, who was the jackass who was like, no, little Cleetis, we can't work for only 2 hours a day...it can't work that way, we have to work from 9am to 5pm, or even more! but not less!

5. W***
Work is an unattractive word.

6. EUROPEANS AT WORK
Don't get me started: 4 or more weeks of vacation. 3-hour lunch breaks....they have their priorities sorted out.

just kidding, guys, work is cool. it's so fulfilling. a chance to achieve Maslowe's top need on his little hierarchy of needs....self-actualization or something.
Gucci, Prada, yachts & booze or self-actualization...it's so hard.

Travel Tips - Rio

So, apparently Rio de Janeiro is notorious for lacking in decent accommodations. Which is strange b/c I wonder where Snoop Dog and Pharrel stayed, ate, and partied when they filmed their video in Rio.
But, if you go to Rio, here are just a few little tips:

1. Accomodations -
Don't believe the Portinari Design Hotel - I did. I believed their fancy website and outstanding lighting and photography. I also believed Travel and Leisure (which I always rely on), when they told me it was a good value - the only design hotel in Rio. Well, the whole thing about the Portinari being a "design" hotel is a joke. I should have taken my own pictures and posted them on this blog just to uncover the shenanigan they have going on in that hotel. It was like a Motel 8...let's just say. And then, there was this whole shenanigan where they charged my card when I tried to cancel the reservation after seeing the horrible room we were given. The hotel manager, a fellow Spaniard, offered me the honeymoon suite if I would come back again. Long story short, a couple of friends and I stayed at the hotel our last night in Rio, and it was so ridic. They had us wait like 1/2 hour for the room....then, we go up to the room and guess what? they had turned the conference room into a makeshift hotel room and tried to pass it off as such - which was awkward. they even went through the trouble of covering up the sign that read: Conference Hall with a sheet of white construction paper. so, of course, we ripped the paper off and took photos by the sign. then, i asked for a safe deposit box and never got it. then, i was told to make sure i checked out soon, as it was around 1pm....at which point I said, right, b/c you guys are waiting for the next guests who are going to occupy the conference room - which elicited a little chuckle from the hotel manager. All in all, an awkward letdown. total diappointment, and frankly, it was just irritating. irritating. and that's not good.

2. Food - there is a lot of good food in Rio, actually. So, head to:
Zuka - really cute place and super good food, and great service!
Copa Cafe - but make reservations
Pecado - really cute decor/atmosphere and super yummy food, and great service!
Zaza - definitely make reservations

3. Activities - paragliding.
Despite the incredibly awkward gear you have to don, it's amazingly exhilarating. You cannot beat the view and the experience. Just make sure you don't get ripped off with the price.
Foresta da Tijuca - forest.
It's really nice and lush and verdant and there are waterfalls, and views. definitely worth exploring.
Favela - ghetto.
If your taxi driver will do it, drive through a favela. it's incredible.

5. Angra dos Reis
T+L and several locals told me it's beautiful. didn't get to go, but apparently it's gorgeous to take a boat ride around there.

6. Beaches
They are ok. But, we come from the West Coast....so......

8. Best experience ever
Go to a soccer game at Maracana stadium. I've been to the world cup.....and this has more energy than some of the games I went to. I can safely say the brazilians at Maracana had more energy than the Swedes at world cup.

9. Going out
I'm a bit more of a grandma these days, so the only place we checked out one night was Baronneti. It was a letdown. It was kind of like an under-18 club with bad music, watered down drinks, a cover charge, and unfriendly people...I mean, we ended up having a dance party anyway, making lemonade out of lemons, but it was a challenge w/ the bad music.

10. Job Opportunities
If anyone feels like teaching kids in Brazil, I know of a school looking for teachers.

Jazz Band

If you knew me in middle school you would remember me as that girl who told on the jazz band for smoking pot. There were 5 of us actually, but I’m the one you would remember. I became a social pariah after that and in part chose to go to a small out of the way high school just so I wouldn’t have to look any of them in the eye. There are of course plenty of reasons not to do drugs, but the only thing I knew at the time was what I had seen on those after school specials (a frying egg and a kid forgetting to pick his little brother up from school). So when Sebastian confronted me after school that day I drew a blank.

Fast forward a decade and I can think of plenty to say to Sebastian. Ironically at that secluded high school I managed to fall into a wild crowd and saw first hand what they were trying to convey on those TV specials. There was my best friend Ben who gave up a ticket to the Ivy League for a senior year of raves and serotonin boosters. There was Brittany who aborted her stillborn after one particularly bad stint. And Chuck…I lost contact with Chuck but later found out that he had messed around with heroin one too many times.

But I couldn’t tell Sebastian about any of this now. God knows I have no right to lecture anyone about drugs. I after all watched those scales come to life in the Stanford Tiki Gardens – shrooms. I spent a New Year’s Eve in love with crowds of people dragging their fingers through my curls – ecstasy. I tripped off the Candy Apple man’s distorted face in Disneyland – acid. I had heart palpitations at that Coldplay concert in Berkeley – pain killers. I watched that old African woman enveloped in flames with diamonds cutting her hands – Amsterdam drug…should have asked. And then there were all those Paris mornings, leaning out my window watching the morning rise in an iry haze – Sebastian’s drug.

And despite all the warnings my brain never fried and I never forgot to pick my niece up from school. Looking back I can perhaps attribute my success with drugs to strict moderation. I for example never developed a habit, and never had my own stash. It could also have been my wise drug choices. I after all refused the coke that night at Danielle Steel’s mansion and I always left the room when they brought out their needles.

I can tell myself all I want that I was smart, but I know as much as the next person that it was all luck. Every single “memorable” experience I have had on drugs has been equally dangerous.

The shrooms leading us up that 30 foot shaky ladder to the clock tower. The ecstasy high convincing us that we were sober enough to drive. The space mountain acid trip followed by the most terrifying hallucinations. That night on pain killers when I was sure that I was going to die. The question mark Amsterdam drug ultimately leading me to unsafe sex. And those Paris mornings…the problem with weed is that it puts your life in slow motion, and years at a time can be lost in a blur.

So yes, I fully expect that I will become like those hypocrite parents, telling their children how much different it was in the 70s. But for what it’s worth Sebastian, if I was thirteen again I would have done it differently. I wouldn’t have told on you and the jazz band. I would have minded my own business and left it to a higher power to decide whether to call it a phase or whether you would have ended up like Ben, Brittany or Chuck – may he rest in peace.
~karen

Hot or Not

It’s out of style to admit it, but it is more important to be hot than smart…Effortlessly hot.

-- Kat Jiang, high school senior, 2400 SAT

A recent article in the NY Times discusses the pressures faced by a group of 17-year old high school girls in a yuppy Boston suburb. It’s not enough to make 5’s on all their AP tests, they have to be athletic, attractive and popular too.

I think many of us have faced this smart vs. pretty conflict since our grade school years. I even wrote one of my college essays about the challenges of being the only cheerleader in my AP classes. (yes, I was a cheerleader. I grew up in a small town in Oklahoma, where cheerleading was cool. I realize that cheerleading is a frightfully regressive institution, but I have to admit – it’s fun). I certainly wasn’t discussing the Fed at our Friday night football parties. Instead, I was probably trying to figure out how to get smashed while consuming the fewest possible calories, and then acting stupid around boys. Not that anyone was fooled. They all knew I was a huge nerd.

For me, a big part of the learning and growth during high school was about becoming comfortable with myself. Learning to be hot and hang out with the cool kids, without being afraid to admit that I’m smart and care about grades and intellectualism and college. By the spring of my senior year, my high school class had decided that I was the Most Intelligent Female and had the Best Smile. I’d like to think that they were right, and that I had succeeded in “being myself,” and being respected for it.

But when I went to college, I started feeling the same insecurities again. Even at Stanford, I somehow always felt like the nerd who was studying while everyone else was partying. And the cool kids still didn’t give a shit about intellectualism, or the Fed. To make matters worse, people seemed to think my cheerleader smile was fake and annoying.

It wasn’t until junior year rolled around and everyone started interviewing for internships that I finally began feeling respected for my nerdiness. Suddenly, those with good jobs were the coveted ones, and I was fortunate enough to be one of them. So eventually I came to terms with being “geeky chic” and finally came into my own.

But the underlying insecurity never really went away. It wasn’t that I suddenly stopped caring about what others thought; it’s just that others started caring about the stuff I was good at.

And so, the self-doubt remained – am I hot or not? The truth is, no matter how far society progresses, women are still judged on attractiveness first. And I’ve never really felt up to the mark. Maybe it’s because I was a brown girl growing up in the Bible Belt. Or because I’m short and curvy. Or because I have unruly hair. Or because I’ve never really been one of those girls who’s worshipped for her beauty. I’ve always questioned my hotness, because I’ve always judged myself based on what others think.

Until now. I am happily married with an enviable sex-life. My husband tells me I’m the hottest woman in the world, and, I can see myself in the mirror while he’s saying it. I look pretty damn good. I’ve come to realize that it doesn’t matter that I’m not tall, with silky hair and a flat stomach. And it doesn’t matter what others worship. I enjoy looking at myself. I am beautiful in my own way. And I’m pretty smart too.

She's Pretty Smart

Question: Am I smart and pretty, or am I pretty and smart?

It’s not the deepest question I’ll admit, not one that is going to change the trajectory of my life once answered – but all the same, I’ve decided that it is one worth asking. I refer to this particular subject as my “Carmen Complex.” Carmen was a sophomore when I was a senior on my way out of Stanford. She had thick brown hair, piercing green eyes, and…let’s just say that she was the big hit on our sorority’s topless rafting trip. The boys obsessed over Carmen, and rightfully so. She teased them with her low cut sweaters and the way she chewed on her pencil when she was studying. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention – she was smart.

I think of Carmen three years later as I sit in front of my boss discussing my promotion. I like to think I am being promoted because I am smart and that it is just a coincidence that all the other women in my office wear pants and button down shirts while I wear skirts and v-necks. Even still, as my boss explained the responsibilities of my new role as a manager I couldn’t help but wonder if the slightly uncomfortable wonder bra had played a role.

No no no…I am smart and then pretty…right Carmen?

You might question then how I approach my day to day if I am so interested in being an intellect. Why the cleavage and the knee high boots? Why the Banana Republic fishnets and the lip plumper? And why after becoming so dolled up do I then feel I have to spend so much time convincing strangers that I am actually quite smart (or at least smarter than them)?

Example 1: Even at the ripe old age of 25 I still do the occasional modeling gig. Yeah sure the money is good, but I mostly just like getting my picture taken (that is the pretty side talking if you haven’t guessed). Now you would think that for an easy grand I would just shut up and smile for the camera right? Au contraire! By the end of every shoot, everyone knows that I went to Stanford, that I am fluent in French, and that I am studying Arabic. While all the other models are relaxing getting their makeup done, I have this uncontrollable urge to find the one intellectual person on the shoot (perhaps the photographer) and start up a conversation about the US economy and the likelihood that Bernanke will cut interest rates. Hopefully by the end of the shoot they’ll say, wow that girl was pretty smart.

Example 2: My Tokyo Session finance hours attribute to some late nights when the safety of taking the train home is questionable. Needless to say I have met some characters and occasionally these characters work up the courage to ask me out. I politely indulge them and admittedly partake in a measured amount of flirting before I shake my head and tell them I am married. But the worst is yet to come. For some reason on these nights I decide to switch up my language when calling my husband to tell him when I will be at the station. Even though roughly 80% of all of our conversations are now spoken in my native tongue, I will call him and say “Tu me cherche? Je t’attends alors.” (Are you coming to get me – ok I’ll wait). It’s painfully obnoxious, but I get this weird thrill when the guy does a double take. I imagine him thinking “Wow she speaks French, that girl is pretty smart.”

I could go on and on with examples of times when I have inappropriately tried to display my intelligence. Discussing my FX trading strategies with the guy standing in line next to me at the burrito shop – inappropriate. Trying to explain the Black-Scholes model to my hairdresser as she is warming the curling iron – inappropriate. It’s the adult version of that kid in class who seemed to raise her hand even before the teacher had asked the question. Only this time the kid has abnormally plump lips and is wearing a v-neck, knee-high boots, and fishnets (ok ok…not at the same time).

So this is my dilemma. Let’s go back to Carmen.

On Sunday nights after a series of wild parties she’ll probably never remember, I would often find Carmen in the library studying until 2am in the morning. I remember that I often felt quite unintelligent reading my books about nuclear proliferation while she sat there juggling physics and mechanical engineering. She was I’ve decided both the prettiest and the smartest girl I have ever met.

And this is my concern: When men hit on Carmen does she ever whip out her calculator and tackle mathematical theories? Does she ever feel the need to drop the “S-Bomb” at the grocery store when the cashier checks out her rack? Does she even care that the world will always see her as Pretty and then Smart – that they’ll notice her chest, eyes, and hair before they register the words that coming out of her mouth? I guess my greatest fear is that Carmen doesn’t have a complex, and that true intellects (whether they look like Dianne Feinstein or Angelina Jolie) don’t feel that they have to prove to anyone that they are smart – they just are.

Hello, Kiera

If you go to myspace.com and enter in my email address, you’ll inexplicably be taken to some faceless fifteen-year-old Argentine girl named “Kiera.” For purposes of clarification, let me just say that my name is not Kiera. Nor have I ever been to Argentina.

Kiera has a collection of half-nude photos uploaded to her site. In most, she wears a bikini and takes inelegant torso shots with the help of a digital camera and a mirror. She stands in her well-lit bathroom as if on a catwalk: hips thrust forward, shoulders slouching, stomach tensed, lips frozen mid-pout.

Not surprisingly, Kiera is repeatedly bombarded with friend requests and messages, which means, by proxy, so am I. AlLnIgHtLoNg wants desperately to be my friend. My dear comrades Herpicin and TheClap have sent me enough messages to fill a novella. And though I quickly rerouted all myspace emails to my spam folder, requests for friendship still come in daily, right alongside viagra solicitations and sad news about my Nigerian uncle.

There was a time when I went crazy for social networks. In college, I was proud to be the 11,000th member of Friendster. I quickly and eagerly created accounts with Facebook, Orkut, my alumni association and various soon-to-be-obsolete local sites. I struck up a long friendship with the former president of the Facebook, an attractive man with lofty ambitions and oft disastrous idealism. Hailing from the Silicon Valley, I also had the pleasure of meeting the founder of Friendster, an awkward, intense man whom I was later told might have Asperger syndrome. And it wasn’t just social networks I had to join before everyone else. I fought for one of the first invitations to open a gmail account, back in the days when gmailswap.com was listing people willing to trade Olympics lodging in Athens for an invite. I have one now, of course, as does everyone else with an internet connection. Including, I presume, Kiera.

I’m not sure when exactly social network sites lost their luster. Perhaps it was in an internet café in Southeast Asia, where I saw at least a dozen twelve-year-old boys riveted to their Friendster pages. Perhaps it was shortly after my very young brother created his own Friendster page, and uploaded, as his primary photo, a picture of a half-eaten burrito. For whatever reason, I let the social network craze continue on without me. It’s for a younger generation, I tell my now old self. Let the little brothers have their fun. Knock ‘em dead, Kiera.

Online Social Networking

What are my thoughts? Let’s break it down.

My sibling, let’s call her Y (to keep her anonymous), can’t stand the whole online dating thing because honestly, you should get your ass out there, have some fun, be open, and meet new people. In short, do it “con ganas.” That is, put a little effort up in there. My cousin in Spain, let’s call him M, another mover and a shaker, is also uncomfortable with this whole online social interaction phenomenon. He says he likes to have that physical, human contact. What’s the deal with sitting at home interacting with your computer…..you really miss out on the joys of life. That said, his job is working with computers for a Spanish city, and my sister also spends a lot of time online, updating her profile and communicating with friends on this “myspace.” Those youngsters keep talking about it.

Anyway, so I was very against any sort of online nonsense. I kept holding back. No, I will not join Facebook! I will not be on Friendster…I am not a coo coo bird. But then, my friend, let’s call him J (to keep him anonymous), created a Friendster profile for me. He created a password with my email address. I was forced into a Friendster profile! And then, you know what happened? I logged on. And I added him as a friend. And once you add one person, you add another. And then another. And then before you know it, you’ve uploaded a whole vacation photograph album, and used different photographs for the different online social network accounts that you now hold.

What’s my point? I don’t really know. I guess, one shouldn’t judge. But that’s no fun. So, ok, you’re dorky or socially awkward or very busy with your career and life, or you just moved to a new city. Fine, do what you want. But don’t expect me to take you seriously. Yup, I’m a judger. Ugh whatever. Having an opinion is so stressful.

But for argument’s sake, here it is. I judge the person less and the society more. Why don’t we live in a more communal, social society that is less about individualism and technology and more about really cool times, I ask you.

- Jess

An Opinion?

I love social networking! I am the person who always signs up to go to conferences and likes to go to business and social events to meet all types of people and talk about all sorts of things. Although my partying days seem to be over (I go out to bars once every 2 months), I love to have my friends over and bake for them. The truth is that even though I am an old fart (yes, at 25), I really do think that meeting people and networking is awesome, simply awesome. Nothing beats a person-to-person encounter, a beer or a cup of coffee with an old friend, or the excitement of meeting that group of people during that conference who happens to be obsessed with X, just like you. The world of social networking can be exhausting, but very rewarding. Plus, who doesn't love going over all of ones' cell phone contacts and asking oneself, “who is Jerry?” “Which Jenn is this?” Ah, that, my friends, is social networking at its best.

But wait a minute, I am supposed to be writing about online social networking, in my opinion, one of the driest topics out there. I don't really partake of it (once again, I am too old—I stick to pen and paper—ehem, ok, email) so I don't really have an opinion (though you will think I do). My question is (I am truly trying to form an opinion here), would you eva osk someone, “scuse me, haw many peepo ar in yur soutial n'twok?” (weird spelling intended to portray an English accent)? Ow, but of course you shall ask such a question! There ar bout forhundred seventyone peepo in my soutial n'twok, how bout yours? What an interesting exchange this would be. Well, apparently in the world of online social networking it is quite ok, even encouraged to boast about how many “friends” one has. A good friend of mine actually does have 471 “friends” on an online social network program people call “My Space.” How many of these people does she know personally? Maybe 35. How many are her true friends? Probably 10.

You know, it used to take some effort to make friends back in the day. I remember when I was a little girl my parents and I would spend our weekends in the club and I would always run around asking girls who seemed my age if they wanted to be my friend. While this does not sound difficult—after all asking someone a question is a much easier way of making friends than writing profiles and posting pictures of yourself on online sites—making friends in such a way seemed more authentic: you could always say “gotta go” after a few minutes into playtime when you realized that girl was really very annoying. Still, you could only make at most 5 friends a day like that. Online it seems that you can make 7000 friends in one day. All you have to do is be on American Idol and have some topless pictures floating around.

As you can probably imagine, I have a strange relationship with online social networks. In fact, I don't have much a of a relationship at all. That's not true. I do have an account in facebook. My profile has no information but my name and I have 3 friends. Yes, 3. The reason I have this account is because my friend X wanted to look at Y's profile (sound familiar?) and she happened to be at my place and had forgotten her password. OMG, you should have seen the look in her face when I told her I didnt have a profile: shear awe, fear, and disgust. Well now I have an account and all I ever do is poke a friend. On the other hand, I have been to the My Space site twice. I can feel the waves of change...

Nah, online social networking sites really are not my cup of tea. I like my tea with milk, sugar, and a friend (note: computer does not equal friend). I am the unchageable, unonlinesocialnetworker, unopinionized socialnetwoker.

- Nevenka

I spy an X

I think the premise of online social networking is very sweet. You can meet people online that have similar interests and broaden your social circle. You can even use it for romantic endeavors. I have a friend for example who, determined to marry a Jew, has narrowed down her selection of potential husbands to those on JDate.com.

But I am already married, and I have more friends than I can handle. Still I find myself logged into these sites at 2am in the morning while my husband sleeps. Now I’ll tell you right now that I am not doing so to network. And no – I’m not a pedophile! Rather, I do so to spy on my men. How else would I find out what my ex-boyfriend was doing now that he quit that band? And where else would I find photos of the football player that I lusted after in college? Yes – I used the word lusted.

Though I still have their phone numbers memorized, calling these two chaps is out of the question. I think I already mentioned that I am married, but let me clarify. I am married to a Muslim, an Arab at that. Now don’t be frightened. They are not as scary as they appear on television. But needless to say that while I might get excused for the occasional martini, I certainly would not get off so easy if I was caught talking to one of my men. And we’ll leave it at that for now.

So, I joined myspace begrudgingly a year ago when I realized that I would have to “poke” my ex-boyfriend on the facebook if I wanted to view his profile. And while I wanted to view his profile, I in no way wanted him to know that I wanted to view his profile…you get the idea. So here I am again at 2:15am reading through his bio. And what I find here is refreshing. On paper, (or shall I say on screen) I am much more successful than Mr. X. I have a six figure job, a downtown apartment, and a very cute picture of me and my Arab hubby on my profile. Check.

Next I move on to the running back, we will call him G (I hope this is discrete enough). I like his site because he keeps it so well maintained. He has a lot of photo albums to leaf through and several quotes that remind me of our 2 or 3 “almost dates” (I was technically engaged at the time). He doesn’t say anything about me on his site. But why should he? I technically broke his heart – or at least that’s how I like to remember it. Rather his site is full of pictures of him and his girlfriend M of however many years. They are cute. She is Italian.

And here is where you will roll your eyes. Sometimes if it is really late I will go onto her site – I know I know it’s pathetic. She’s just the girlfriend of a guy I almost dated in college two…no shit it was 3 years ago. What am I doing?! It is 2:30am and I have to work in the morning. But still, I spend a few good minutes analyzing her profile before I decide that I am prettier than her and that he would have been happier with me. Check.

I’m done for the night and I hear my husband grunt in the other room. I stop clicking for a second. The last time he caught me on myspace we had an A&A moment (Arab vs. American). But I’ve already promised that I would hold off on that for now. So I give my profile a once over, making sure that it is respectable enough so that if X or G were to ever stumble onto it they would be impressed. I don’t post any comments on my page nor write to any of my friends. That’s all beside the point. My purpose after all never was to network.

- Karen

All the hot chics are doing it

Someone posted a message on my Facebook wall the other day, so I logged on to check it out. After responding to the post, I noticed that my pic was kind of old, so I updated it with a pretty little pic Parag had taken of me on a recent hiking trip. I then stared at my pic for a few seconds, trying to surmise whether others would also think it’s pretty.

While deciding whether to swap that photo with one of me wearing makeup, I noticed a thumbnail of one of the “hot” girls from Stanford. I clicked on the pic and stared for a few seconds, then browsed around her tagged photos, then took another peak at my new pic, and finally clicked on another hot girl to start the process over.

After a few minutes, I tuned in to the internal dialogue that was accompanying this shameless voyeurism:

She’s not really that pretty.

Click.

I mean, I’m probably just as attractive, and she wears tons of makeup.

Click.

Oh, well I guess that’s a nice pic. But her features are so uneven.

Click.

She does have a hot body though. She’s so tall and thin…click…click…DO I LOOK FAT?

Then I woke up:

OMG, what am I doing? what’s wrong with me??

It was a little window into the world of today’s adolescent girl. According to a recent report issued by the Pew Internet & American Life Project, 70% of American girls between the ages of 15-17 have profiles on a social networking site, compared with 57% of American boys in the same age bracket. Apparently, these girls primarily use the sites to “reaffirm existing friendships”. Riiiiight. More likely is “to reaffirm attractiveness relative to peers and boost self-esteem.”

I think to most of us from the “older” generation, the whole thing seems kind of absurd. Facebook launched at Stanford in April of my senior year, so I’m just young enough to have caught the initial whirlwind. One of the younger Theta girls invited me or something. Previously, I had always been of the impression that social networking sites were for dorks who didn’t have real friends (or desirable sexual prospects). But since one of the girls had invited me to join, maybe this was something different. So I signed up. I was shocked. All the cool kids were doing it. For hours at a time, they would troll through profiles like zombies, sizing themselves up against the rest, based on how many cool people had visited their “walls” or – even better – validated their social existence by publicly befriending them.

And then Facebook added Photos. Now you could upload pics of your latest drunken adventure and tag everyone involved. As time went by, the pictures on the site became increasingly pornographic in nature. If you browse the site today, you’ll be overwhelmed by images of bony young girls in underwear making kissy faces to a webcam.

I resisted the debauchery for a long time. But after a while, even I caved in to the peer pressure and uploaded a headshot (digicam; bright smile; full clothing). And I suppose that’s when the cycle first began. But I still only logon when prompted by someone else or doing research for my start-up. And I’m personally thankful to have escaped the Facebook Brain Drain. (although i recently changed my pic again, and this one shows a fair bit of cleavage. but i consider classy cleavage to be a symbol of feminism, so it’s really not the same thing. is it? besides, i just couldn’t resist.)

The social networking phenomenon doesn’t surprise me, nor does it disturb me as such. It’s no secret that many young women are insecure about their looks and desire above all else to be sexually worshipped by their peers. So some lucky bastards got rich exploiting that insecurity and created a new cultural phenomenon in the process. Nothing new. What really surprises me is that we’re all accepting this fact about ourselves so readily. I’m not saying we shouldn’t share pics with friends or remember their bdays more often. I just think there’s something wrong when a majority of educated women are basing their self-worth on how highly their half-naked pics are rated by their 694 best friends.

Hopefully this blog will be a step forward for educated women, giving us an opportunity to rate ourselves on something a bit more substantive. Or, to disregard the notion of ratings altogether, and just be who we are.

- Prerna

p.s. I don’t hate social networking. On the contrary, I think it’s an amazingly useful tool for staying in touch with friends (or, reaffirming existing friendships). I’ve even started one of my own in India: Yaari.com. Not surprisingly, social networking in India exhibits different usage patterns than in the US. First, only about 30% of people on social networks are female (i.e., same percentage of Internet users who are female). Second, women in India are generally much wearier of posting pics of themselves online. Third, people actually use these sites to make friends. The lack of female nudity leads to some unique behaviors, including men posing as women (often using pornographic images of white women) and then talking dirty to each other. The women, however, are less tolerant of obscenities. One girl reported a pornographic video that a user had uploaded to our site: “I would like to bring to ur notice that in ur latest video section ppl are uploading porn clips…the first video which I’ve seen is really YUCK. Please look into the matter.” For the record, we promptly removed the clip.