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.