Real “Women?”

By C. Bradford

Upon graduating from Scripps College, an all women’s liberal arts college, this past May, I had idealized thoughts of what the “real world” would be like. True, I already knew that many of my imaginings could not come to pass anytime soon. For example, seeing President Bush step down and a woman step up would make my political dreams come true, (which are already on the way with Nancy Pelosi now in power!) At the same time, I could not help but make what I thought to be “realistic expectations” for what lay in store. What follows is an example from the real world about how real women do not support each other, and instead tear themselves (and each other) down in their attempts to gain a competitive edge.

In June, I began a postbaccalaureate program at a competitive school in the Pacific Northwest in order to enter a master’s program. I am thrilled to finally be studying what I am really passionate about, and living in the Northwest (one of the most laid-back, liberal places on the West coast, complete with people walking around in Birkenstocks and socks) is very refreshing compared to the stuffy Southern California attitude. I was ready for a change, and I knew that I could not have chosen a better place to begin my life-after-Scripps.

At the orientation meeting, I was excited to find out that twenty out of twenty-two people in my program were women. After all, I had just graduated from a powerful women’s college, and my four years there had reinforced my opinions about valuing and respecting women in all aspects of life. After going through one-by-one and hearing a brief synopsis of my classmates’ backgrounds, education, why they love the field, and their middle name, I was proud to be part of this group of amazing women (and two men) and was excited to begin classes.

But things are not always as they seem. I first began to doubt my expectations soon after the introductions were made and people were milling around eating and drinking, when I realized that everyone was keeping track of how much everyone else was eating. One girl practically yelled across the room at me, “Oh my God, you’ve had like a thousand Teddy Grahams! How are you so skinny?” as if she expected me to gain all that weight right before her very eyes. Or maybe she expected me to blow up like Violet from Willy Wonka once she started chewing three-course-meal gum. She then proceeded to impersonate a fat person by puffing out her checks and extending her arms at her sides, saying that that is what she would like if she had eaten all those Teddy Grahams, (like a thousand). I was shocked that she would venture to do something that stupid in front of everyone, especially since we had just met. It was even more disturbing that she had been monitoring my vast consumption of the free food provided (true to form of any Scrippsie), and would judge me for it.

Throughout the next few weeks, similar instances like this happened with the other women in the program. They were not limited to food and eating, for example, all of the women would dote on the few men in the program, acting flirty and touchy-feely with them. I felt like I was constantly up against a jury that never ceased to make judgments about me and each other. I did not understand; I was accustomed to being surrounded by women, but these were a very different sort than I was used to.

The structure of the program does not easily provide for real, meaningful relationships, either. The courses were lecture-based, and grades were almost completely derived on scores from three standardized tests. After the tests were scored by a computer, they would post all the scores corresponding to our seven digit ID number. This way, everyone could guess what number matched what person, and how she did on the test. This, along with the occasional “group” projects, where people would form cliques at the first mention and then remain attached at the hip, dictated our grades. The whole situation seemed to foster competitiveness, and before I knew it, people started paying attention to all the extracurricular activities outside of school that we were engaging in. It was a giant contest to see who could be the best, and who would “take your spot” in graduate school.

It was every woman for herself, and I felt like I could not do anything without receiving some sort of scrutiny from the firing squad. Eventually, my roommate Shannon, who is also in the program, and I started to isolate ourselves from the group because we did not enjoy the constant judgment which seemed to be attached to all friendships among the postbacs. This separation from the group caused some rumors to go around, including one that Shannon and I were lesbians. We laughed because that seemed to be their only reason, and poor explanation, for why two women would be such close friends. After that rumor died, another one started that explained our lack of interest in bonding with the group by assuming we were snobs. Now, there is another that we are too dorky for the group. All in all, we do not fit in, and it seems as though we never will.

Then I got to thinking about the women in my program and women in general (that is, outside of Scripps), and I decided that we are practically two different species: one type encourages feminism and equal opportunities, recognizing that it is important to support all women because we are all in it together. The other type is fake, and likes to pretend that they are in it for the same reasons, yet at the same time, they work behind your back, constantly judging and putting down other women to make themselves feel better and to get ahead in the game. Given this situation, my species seems to be endangered, which is something that I never expected to find.

At a pre-grad school Q & A session with one of my favorite professors, the topic was raised of women in the field. To my relief, she started off on a tangent about how women in the field need to stick together and support each other. Oftentimes dealing with the doctors in related fields, mostly men, our opinions get put to the wayside and discarded, even though they are just as valid, relevant, and possibly more knowledgeable given the circumstance and reason for diagnosis and treatment. Her tangent was greeted with inky skepticism and vacant stares. That was so depressing. How could they not be aware of our potential as a field of educated women? Was I the only one who was reassured and comforted about this epiphany? That yes, a Scripps view on life and womanhood can exist in the real world? No one else said a thing, and as I looked around, I tried not to let the others affect my giddy excitement and rediscovered meaning of the word “woman.”

The more I think about the women in my program, the more I realize how different I am. It seems to me that they all get along very well with the men in our program, and yet refuse to get close to another woman except on some sort of superficial and phony level. If the women in this “ranked number two in the nation” program act this way towards each other, then think of how other women must behave toward one another. I am not one of these women who seem to feel that it’s somehow necessary to become a man in order to survive, and if that defines what being a woman in the “real world” really is, then I don’t want any part of it.