Bad Blood: Is Katy more Feminist than Taylor?

I went to my first, but definitely not last, T Swift concert last night. I'm not ashamed to admit the 1989 Tour was a life changing experience.  Having been too cool to go to any concerts with 60,000 other people in the past, I now bow down to whoever came up with the concept of arena rock.  Despite sitting 50 feet above the ground and literally a football field away from the stage, we had a great view of the flashing lights and video projections.  But this isn't a review of the concert. (For that, go here.)

Taylor performing a rocking version of Trouble

My friend, a fellow 1987 baby, and I were probably the oldest non-mothers in our section. We were surrounded by mother-daughter pairings, with the occasional  Dadbod in sight.  Double fisting Bud Lights and Brooklyn Lager, we felt like alcoholics in a sea of tweens.  I was pretty surprised at how young many of the daughters seemed; for every 1989 there were at least two 1999s, and maybe even a few 2009s.  

This concert reminded me of the last mother-daughter laden venture I went to: Katy Perry's Prismatic Tour at the Barclay's Center in 2014. There were a lot of girls with their moms at both concerts, but the 1989 tour seemed to skew younger. I shouldn't be surprised.  After all, most agree that Taylor projects a more wholesome image than Katy, and therefore makes a better role model.  Where Taylor sports a Christine Baranski pageboy hair cut and sequenced dressed, Katy waltzes into SuperBowl Halftime shows on a robo-cat with a flame-adored dress.   Katy Perry is five years older than Tay, and their experiences show it.  Where the tabloids focus on Taylor's laundry list of boyfriends, they focus on Katy's messy divorce from Russell Brand. 

As a deep fan of both Katy Perry and Taylor Swift, and now having seen them both live, I can conclude that I would rather bring a ten year old girl to see Katy than Taylor.  Because she's less wholesome, Katy Perry is the more feminist artist. 

First, barely any of Taylor's songs pass the Bechdel test.  As I listened to nineteen Tswift songs during her show, I noticed that only three songs are straight up not about a guy: Shake it Off, the horrendous Welcome to New York, and Bad Blood, inspired by Katy Perry's alleged theft of a back-up singer. Katy Perry's last concert of about 19 songs, in contrast, featured many non-guy oriented songs including Roar, Firework, Last Friday Night, California Gurls, and This is How We Do.  As far as I know, none of Katy's songs is a revenge song about other women either. Listening to Taylor Swift alone, you'd think that a girl's emotional life only revolves around her feelings about men and rivalry with other women. 

The same trend exists when you look at Katy and Taylor's top hits. Taylor's biggest hits are about failed relationships with men or longing for a guy from afar: You Belong With Me, a classic tale of unrequited love; Love Story, where the guy proposes and the girl ends up happily ever after; Blank Space,  about Tay's serial monogamy, and We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together, reportedly about her relationship with Jake Gyllenhaal.  Two of Katy's biggest hits, Roar and Firework, are about pure, unadulterated girl power. Two more, This Is How We Do and Last Friday Night (T.G.I.F.), are about having fun with friends.  In contrast, Taylor's only arguable feminist anthem is Shake It Off. 

I can't deny that the majority of Katy Perry's songs are about relationships. But even when she sings about dudes, her lyrics give women agency.  For example, while Part of Me is clearly about a failed relationship, it's also about the aftermath and getting in touch with oneself. Wide Awake is similarly self-examining.  "I wish I knew then/What I know now/Wouldn't dive in/ Wouldn't bow down." Katy's learned her lesson and will take control of her life going forward.  Taylor's songs are often about about a shy, demure girl responding to forces out of her control.  You Belong With Me is literally about her far-away admiration of a dude.  Taylor's heroines are also too often "saved" by dudes: Everything Has Changed, White Horse, Love Story.  Though she's defiant in We Are Never Getting Back Together, there's nothing more to the song.  Ok you're not going to work things out with Jake, but what are you going to do now? The message is avoid the bad boys because they will mess you up. 

Finally, Katy doesn't apologize for partying because women drink and hook up, and that doesn't make them bad people.  Compare Katy Perry's Last Friday Night to Tay's only "party" song, 22. Last Friday Night celebrates excess with no regrets.  "There's a stranger in my bed/there's a pounding in my head," but oh well because I'm an adult.  22, by contrast, makes it seem like the entire goal of going out is to meet a cute guy. "We're happy, free, confused, and lonely at the same time/It's miserable and magical," the song starts up on a high note. But then, "It feels like one of those nights/You look like bad news/I gotta have you/I gotta have you." Sigh.

Maybe moms want to bring their daughters to Taylor Swift because that will keep her innocent for a while longer.  But any mothers who value strength more than innocence should choose Katy Perry.

Baaa: In Defense of Excellent Sheep

Conformity is a disease plaguing Ivy League schools gripe William Deresiewicz and Peter Thiel.  In his New Republic article, “Don’t Send Your Kids to the Ivy League,” Deresiewicz argues that elite colleges have failed in their mission of teaching young people “how to think,” and instead exist as an extension of the obstacle course of achievement that high school students faced to get there. Thiel argues in his new book Zero to One that elite colleges promote competition for the sake of competition itself. If conformity is the disease, then the symptom is the legions of Ivy League grads going into management consulting, Wall Street and corporate law firms. Students compete for markers of success. They “get into” Goldman the same way they got into Harvard. But once we “excellent sheep” run out of things to strive for, we find ourselves incomplete as people.

Both Deresiewicz and Thiel recognize that this structure is the product of larger societal forces at work. In an educational system that is grade-based since elementary school, what are we supposed to in college but to strive for an A by essentially spitting back a professor’s idea better than everyone else? When college admissions depends on out-well rounding your peers, we continue to strive for well roundedness in college. As Thiel puts it, you can’t get into Stanford by just excelling in one thing—unless that thing is throwing and catching a leather ball. 

 Thiel also theorizes that elite colleges have come to teach a worldview of “indefinite optimism” that drives students into the “process oriented” fields of finance, law, and management consulting.

Basically, indefinite optimists have a positive view of the future, but are not sure how to get there.  As a result, they optimize their positions by keeping their options so they are ready for whatever good opportunities fall in their laps in the future. In other words, indefinite optimism promotes dilettantism. Thiel’s solution? Revert back to “definite optimism.”

The definite optimist thinks the future is bright, and makes specific plans to ensure that.  Thiel argues that our definitely optimistic plans to build bridges, research medicine, and invent things is what made America great in the first place. 

Yet, elite colleges have never been harbingers of “definite” thinking. Educating elites has always been an abstract exercise in making sure that they are well read so that they can legitimately oversee less educated workers. In a new documentary about the Roosevelts, Ken Burns notes that what set FDR apart from his peers at his Wall Street law firm was that he had grander ideas for himself than to merely pull in a paycheck or make partner at the law firm. Liberal arts education is rooted in reading the classics and learning how to “think” – not learning how to do.

Perhaps the reason Deresiewiscz and Thiel are so outraged by the conformity that infects Ivy League grads today is because Ivy League schools taut a different outcome. They don’t acknowledge that they are mostly educating privileged children to enter the privileged—if tracked—upper middle class professions, but that they are teaching students how to be leaders of tomorrow.

Instead, meritocracy is the mantra. The idea is that anyone from any walk of life can get into an elite school if they work hard and get good grades. Isn’t it a shame, Deresiewiscz and Thiel are pointing out, that once there, they’re only given other meaningless tasks to achieve? It does seem like a university with $2.28 million endowment per student (I’m looking at you Princeton) can put some of that money to good use by pointing out other paths outside of the finance-consulting-law trifecta. 

While it’s easy for academics and Silicon Valley billionaires to make such lofty demands of colleges, they are overlooking the progress that elite colleges have made in promoting upward mobility. Elite colleges are doing exactly what they’ve always been good at doing: providing a signaling mechanism for their graduates.

For most graduates, a Harvard or Swarthmore degree serves as an insurance policy. They can use the name to “get into” a well-paid, professional job that doesn’t require too much creativity or physical labor. This is already a good reward for being an excellent sheep. If they get bored or lose their job, their insurance policy will put them in touch with a network of other educated elites to find another. This insurance policy is exactly what allows a small percentage of these graduates to go out on a limb and do the type of creative, world-changing work Deresiewicz and Thiel laud.

Having acquired the signal that could easily get them into McKinsey, JP Morgan, or any J.D. program they desire, graduates are actually free to pursue other interests knowing that they can fall back on a more conventional career. Deresiewicz and Thiel fail to acknowledge that many Ivy League grads do pursue unconventional paths such as novelist, start-up founder, or Qing Dynasty politics expert.

The signaling mechanism that an elite education provides is also extremely effective tool for upward mobility. In contrast to the Yale of 1914, the Yale of 2014 admits women, African-Americans, and openly gay students. Students from marginalized groups are suddenly welcome at the Yale Club by identifying as one of its grads. A study by Princeton economist Alan Krueger shows that students from lower-income families benefit the most from choosing an elite college over a cheaper state school. 

At the same time, elite colleges have a long way to go towards making themselves available to lower-income students. As the New York Times recently reported, a very small percentage of students at selective, private college qualify for Pell grants.

As the demography of the United States changes to become more diverse, colleges should do more to provide opportunities of upward mobility to a larger sector of society. Ivy League schools may or may not be failed pedagogical institutions, but pedagogy isn’t what consumers are paying for. They are paying for a signaling mechanism. Students who enter Ivy Leagues may want stability and a well-trod path. The tools for creativity and innovation are just icing on the cake.

Luckily, learning neither begins nor ends with college. While it’s easy to pin problems on rich institutions, it might be too much to ask elite colleges to provide the tools for creativity and innovation. When I began college as a child of immigrants living in New Jersey, I had no idea what McKinsey, Goldman Sachs, or BigLaw was. I did know and admire Edith Wharton, Wes Anderson, and Dorothy Parker. Is it necessarily bad that I learned about the former along with the latter as part of my liberal arts education? By the end of college I felt like I had gained the tools to pursue either my literary interests or a more conventional profession.

Deresiewicz points out that he would love to see a world where you don’t have to go to an elite school to be an elite. Until then, it’s fine for individuals to choose to be excellent sheep.

Boyhood: Filmed Introspection

Mason playing Oregon Trail on an iMac

After being thwarted by long New York lines, I finally saw Boyhood with my friend Fawn at BAM's Harvey Theater this weekend.  My friends had been buzzing about this new Richard Linklater movie for weeks, not only for the novelty of it being shot over twelve years (2002-2013), but also because it reminded them of their own lives. Indeed,the film gives those of us born in the late 80's (Gen X? Y? Millennials?)  a lot to be nostalgic about.  The opening shot pans over six-year old Mason (Ellar Coltrane) lying on the grass staring at the sky while Coldplay's Yellow sets the mood.  A few scenes later, we see him playing Oregon Trail on a fluorescent blue iMac.  Fast forward a couple years, Mason and his sister (Lorelei Linklater) line up for a midnight release of Harry Potter.

Though we Millennials appreciate Linklater's affirmation of these cultural milestones, the true nostalgic effect of the show lies in Linklater's sharp portrayal of childhood perception and teenage introspection.

Mason's young life is a familiar one--parents get married too early, get divorced because Dad (Ethan Hawke) was irresponsible; Mom (Patricia Arquette) gets remarried; Mason and his sister must juggle a dual-household life and lots of moving around Texas.  Yet, Mason's real story is not what happens to him and his family, but what happens inside his head.  Linklater's genius lies in his ability to capture on film the unique perspective of children observing adults.

After their first visit with Dad, Mason and his sister get dropped back off to a beleaguered Mom, who asks Dad whether the kids ate dinner or did any homework. Since they had just spent the entire afternoon at the bowling alley, the answer is clearly no. When Mom asks to speak with Dad alone outside, the kids scramble to a second floor window to peek at the fight.  Excitement slowly melts from their faces as they watch the chances of Dad staying over fall with each word he says.

In a later scene, Mason's meets one of Mom's professors.  As Mason runs out of the classroom when the introductions are over, he hears the professor ask, "Is Grandma free to babysit?" Mason turns around, his suspicions raised. The camera stays low, adopting Mason's perspective as he sees his mom interact with this potential suitor. Viewers are reminded of that simultaneous sense you had as a child that you're missing something while knowing that something important is happening.

Once Mason becomes a teenager, he starts to express himself using words.  In its second half, Boyhood resembles Linklater's Before Sunrise trilogy. It features the free-flowing, partly improvised dialogue between Mason and Ethan Hawke, Mason and his girlfriend, and Mason and his college friends.  Mason first meets his girlfriend Sheena at a sprawling pool party where the two go off to chat away from the crowd.  She finds him "weird," but enjoys listening to his worldview anyway.  I became nostalgic for those teenage conversations where you think you're the first to come up with a supposedly profound idea. In the final scene, Mason's new college friend muses that it's not about us seizing the moment, but that moments seize us. A hokey, high statement this may be, it perfectly evokes the optimism and introspection of teenagers on the brink of adulthood.

Year in Reading: 2013

It's been a year filled with transitions, new friends, and old ones. Instead of writing a holiday card like the more diligent people I know, I figured I could summarize the year in terms of a few meaningful reading experiences. It also helps to kill two birds with one stone by making recommendations at the same time.

 

Studying for the bar cut into a lot of reading time this year. That said, the final semester of law school in the spring, and the commute from Brooklyn to Manhattan I've had since work began in August made up for my lackluster summer. So here are my top five books--all fiction--of the year in the order in which I read them:

 

Tenth of December by George Saunders. I'm glad I read this book in January cause I've had an entire year to rave about it at everyone I talk to.  He reminds me of reading David Foster Wallace for the first time. Each story in this collection comments on some aspect of contemporary society in a completely unexpected way.  My favorite, "The Semplica Girl Diaries" takes place in some parallel/futuristic US. People buy Semplica Girls--girls rescued from developing countries--and string them up on their front lawns as status symbols. The metaphor is clear, yet completely surprising.

 

All That Is by James Salter. "James Salter is a revered writer. Can he become a famous one?" A New Yorker profile asked earlier this year.  After reading his latest--and possibly last--novel, I definitely understand why he is revered but perhaps not famous.  It follows the life of William Bowman through World War II, college, marriage, divorce, and aging. For a novel that takes place over forty years, not too much happens. Instead, Salter makes sharp observations about each stage of an American life.

 

The Love Affairs of Nathaniel P by Adelle Waldman. After moving to Brooklyn in August, it only made sense to read a novel about the dating lives of twentysomething Brooklyn hipsters. Hilarious and insightful, Waldman's novel is from the perspective of Nate Piven, a member of the Brooklyn literati. Buoyed by the success of his first novel, Nate uses his nerdy bookishness to woo several Greenpoint women. As he hops from bed to bed, we see him act like an asshole all the while thinking he's being a decent guy. As Maria Russo put it, "This book takes seriously the question of romantic compatibility — of why we end up with one person and not another — and foregrounds the question of whether it’s a subject even worth paying attention to."

 

Enon by Paul Harding. Harding's debut novel, Tinkers, made a big splash when it won the Pulitzer Prize seemingly out of nowhere in 2010.  This follow up is set in the same quiet New England town as Tinkers, and tracks a man's unraveling in the wake of his daughter's death. Though sad, Enon is also cathartic as we follow the protagonist from his descent into drug addition through recovery.

 

Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. A dear friend of mine, Angela, recommended this book. It's the best novel on American race relations I've read in a while, and took me back to college seminars where we sat around discussing race and politics. The novel centers around Ifemelu, a Nigerian woman who moves to the US as an adult to study. She dates several American males types -- the liberal WASP, the intellectual black professor--all the while longing for her Nigerian ex-boyfriend.  Much of the novel's plot seems to be vehicle for Adichie's observations about race and immigration, but those of us who like to think about those issues won't mind at all.

Travels with iPhone

I spent spring break last week with two law school friends in Istanbul. While it was our last spring break ever (unless someone decides to go to business school), it was filled with many firsts since it was my first vacation with a smartphone. It was the first time I could broadcast my adventures in real time through social media, the first time I could friend new people I met instantaneously, the first time I took prolific pictures. It was also the first time I felt anxious about being so connected.

The wifi in Istanbul was fast and plentiful. As a result, we found ourselves asking for wifi passwords at cafes and restaurants even before we sat down. Hooked up to the internet, we checked email. We posted Facebook statuses in real time and we "liked" them immediately. Yes--8,200 miles away from New York City, we were replicating what we did at home. The tableau was often three girls on their iPhones, ignoring the plates of borek, pilav, and kofte in front of them, posting pictures of the Bosphorus view behind them.

We took pictures of food before eating

Why did we feel this compulsion? Partly to provide evidence that we were there; partly to get validation from them that what we were doing was cool; partly to capture a moment so that we could remember it later. But what is it about the smartphone that ignites this sudden desire to document? I literally have no photographs from a trip to Paris two years ago since they lie undeveloped in a disposable Kodak at the bottom of a suitcase. Was that trip somehow less real than my recent trip to Istanbul? It was certainly more personal. None of my friends “liked” it; I didn’t use the internet at a café once. My memories of the trip are mine alone, unmarred by a camera lens.

Because shooting and sharing has become so common in real life-- pics or it didn't happen as everyone knows--the act of taking pictures on vacation is more ordinary too. The once rare ritual of cleaning off the bulky Nikon has transformed into the smooth motion of tucking your phone into a pocket. The ubiquity devalues the vacation pic. Scrolling through my phone, it looks like I have at least two pictures of everything I saw. I chose my shots carelessly, knowing each new image only cost a minuscule slice of memory. I was at once pleased to be able to take so many pictures while also anxious that my compulsion was detracting from fully being there. I couldn't mentally check off a destination until I had achieved an adequate shot.

In Istanbul or NYC?

The irony is not lost on me. The very action designed to prove I had been somewhere ended up distracting me from being there.

Why couldn't I help myself? After all, my Hagia Sophia pictures are surely worse than most professional ones just a Google search away. Why do I feel the need to clutter my friends' Facebook feeds with my own poorly lit pics? Perhaps I am driven by the specter of the negative inference. Now that everyone has a smart phone, the absence of documentation could suggest that something didn't happen. Pics or it didn't happen takes on a literal meaning when pics are so easily available.

My amateur picture of the Blue Mosque

The proliferation of Facebook pics documenting where everyone is at all times has made the world smaller. Though I was ten hours away, in a country where I didn’t speak the language, I was still able to maintain my web regimen. I knew that my friend’s letter to the editor was published in The Times as soon as everyone else knew. While I was grateful to be able to Google places to eat, I was a tinge disappointed to feel like I had never left NYC.

Perhaps I need to strike a better balance between enjoying technological comforts and exploring new places. At the end of the day, my ambivalence did not prevent me from taking pictures or using gchat to talk to my NYC based friend about her wedding plans. Though I’m ambivalent about my experience taking pictures everywhere, I am glad to have them to remind me of the trip. And until I can resist the urge to post them, I will continue to do so.