Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful

I want to start a support group for beautiful, intelligent, charming, [insert positive attribute here] people. Like Alcoholics Anonymous, but instead of complaining about our yearnings for tequila shots, we’ll have a safe place to rant about how difficult life can be when one is so very beautiful, intelligent, charming, etc.

Disclaimer: I don’t actually believe myself to be exceptionally exceptional in these areas. But I’m only half kidding about this idea. We spend way too much time apologizing for our successes, and prefacing any complaints with a list of reasons why we have no right to complain. We’re conditioned to attribute all our wins to luck, but we’re free to take full ownership of our failures. This is not only irrational, it’s incredibly inefficient from a conversational standpoint.

There are of course legitimate reasons to downplay successes. It’s not very nice to whine about your exhausting, vibrant dating life in front of the girl who hasn’t been asked out in over a year. Or worry over your upcoming promotion in front of a jobless friend. This is probably why pretty people tend to be friends with other pretty people, and why it’s more comfortable to date someone in your general income bracket. Walking on egg shells gets tiresome, and being in the company of “equals” means you have to downplay your attributes a little less. But we still do it. Even among my closest friends, I find myself bookending what I want to say with prefaces and addendums.*

I think this is a uniquely American problem. Ask any foreigner, and they’ll tell you that we apologize far too often, and for things that don’t merit forgiveness. Maybe it’s overcompensation for the merit-based, self-made ethos of the “American Dream.” We’re now afraid to claim our successes as our own, lest we too closely resemble a protagonist from an Ayn Rand novel.

I guess one of the things I love about the tech/Silicon Valley scene is that there’s a lot of pride, but with relatively little ego. People are super passionate about what they’re doing, and they take ownership of successes without worrying that they’re belittling someone else in the process. They’ve also learned to fail quickly, and move on.

I think we’d all be better off living life unapologetically.

*Apparently the more common plural is “addenda”…but that just looks ridiculous.

Just do (tweet/facebook) it

I’ve been conducting a little experiment with Facebook and Twitter lately. Despite the fact that I’m friends with/followed by colleagues, business contacts, family and (on Twitter) god knows who else, I’ve more-or-less stopped censoring my content. I’m at times inappropriate, irreverent, goofy and even suggestive. Basically my real-world self, condensed into 140-character soundbites.

down with self censorship!

I don’t believe in privacy when it comes to social media. I think we’d all be better off if we recognized so-called privacy settings for what they are: an illusion. And once we’ve made peace with this, we essentially have two options: we can water-down our ideas and comments, creating a universally inoffensive but ultimately uninteresting online persona; or we can embrace the idea of leaving a more colorful – and far more honest – digital footprint.

Because our personal and professional lives have collided on these platforms, the first route may seem like the only real option – after all, it’s probably inadvisable to share on Facebook that the dog walker caught me walking around the house in my underwear (true story, eek) when I’m “friends” with reporters and analysts. But I disagree. My working thesis is that the people who wouldn’t otherwise have these more personal insights into my life/thoughts either: a) won’t care, or b) will feel connected to me on a more human level. Maybe the underwear example is a little distracting, but in general, I think that quirky, amusing or impassioned updates are what turn otherwise stale connections into opportunities for interaction.

I’m not very far along in my experiment, but so far the results have been promising. In general, the wackier the content I put out there, the more unpredictable the response and respondent. Which makes me happy. It would be a shame if technology empowered us to connect on an unprecedented scale, only to have us clam up. My hope is that rather than fretting about our digital track records, we’ll become increasingly accepting of our collective weirdness. Obviously, the golden rule of social media (“don’t be an idiot”) should be obeyed, but beyond that, let’s have some fun, shall we?

Flirtation 2.0 (#fail)

Technology is making us lazy when it comes to our love lives.

why call when you can text?

And no, I’m not talking about online dating, where you can say yay or nay to potential mates with only a few clicks. It’s much broader than that. The way we flirt, follow up and even break up has fundamentally changed. Our text messaging addictions and the advent of soundbite-centric social media platforms like Twitter, Facebook and Google Buzz have made us less aggressive and more passive. Less direct and more ambiguous. And instead of social media making our dating lives more connected, we are stuck with a serious disconnect between what we want and what we communicate.

Let’s take the super simple example of asking someone out. In the not-so-distant past, this required an invariably awkward phone call, or even (gasp!) an in-person invitation. Nowadays, a single, magical word via SMS will suffice: “drinks?” A colleague/gal pal received a very romantic (sarcasm) text message today requesting her company on a first date. She joked about it…and then she accepted.

I’m not judging. I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again. Of course, by reciprocating these lazy gestures we’re condoning them, but it’s much easier to shrug it off and say yes than to take a stand. Especially in tech-savvy San Francisco, to refuse digital overtures is to condemn oneself to spinsterhood.

And to be honest, I’ve done far worse than continuing or initiating a conversation with a text or tweet instead of a phone call. I have crafted gchat and Facebook statuses designed to elicit a response from a specific person, but of course shared across my respective networks. For shame. (Disclaimer: while pathetic, this approach has actually worked on several occasions.)

For people like me who seldom know what they want, and don’t want to want it until someone else wants it first (read that slowly), tools like texting, twitter and gchat are an enticing cop-out from legitimate communication. They’re also great for people who don’t really give a damn. The problem is, it’s impossible to tell apart the texts “Dinner tonight?” (because I really really like you but I’m terrified of calling) from “Dinner tonight?” (because I’m bored and don’t want to buy groceries).

I love romantic intrigue as much as the next girl, but sometimes I wish dating were a little more explicit. It would be nice to know when someone is genuinely interested, and frankly, I’d prefer to get my feelings hurt with an “I’m just not that into you” rejection, rather than waste time interpreting ambiguity.

Of course, I should start by practicing what I preach…which isn’t likely to happen anytime soon. Especially when I’m seeing such great results with Gchat :P

I’ll have what she’s having

Boys are a lot like that entree you regret not ordering. It becomes all the more desirable when served to some lucky girl at a neighboring table. Especially if she’s channeling Meg Ryan from When Harry Met Sally (see below).

Fact: every girl has an algorithm of sorts for assessing the eligibility of a potential male mate. Some combination of attractiveness, intelligence and sense of humor, or quirkier proclivities for facial hair and motorcycles. But these equations are easy derailed by the introduction of “the ex-factor.”

The ex-factor can turn the boy next door into a Brad Pitt. It can make us second guess our intuition and overlook disqualifying traits. Because when we meet a past (or – let’s be honest – present) girlfriend who doesn’t quite fit the picture we’ve painted, we just have to know why. And there’s nothing sexier than an enigma.

Of course, sometimes it’s less about the power of surprise and more about the power of suggestion. Sometimes just seeing someone in a dating context is all that’s needed to spark interest.

the millionaire matchmaker herself

Extreme example: a few months ago, one of my favorite people made his reality TV debut…on Millionaire Matchmaker. I kid you not. Usually any guy who goes on that show comes off as a total douchebag, but this dude proved the exception. Sure, there were some awkward moments (largely thanks to biased video editing), but overall his appearance was a success. Especially if you measure success by the deluge of Facebook declarations of love, swooning tweets, and the few ambitious (shameless?) ladies who even tracked him down in person.

There were probably a few gold diggers in the mix, as well as star struck ladies blinded by his 30-minutes of fame. But many of his female cyber stalkers seemed like cool, normal girls. Girls who don’t regularly send Facebook messages to strangers they see on TV. So apart from the fact that he is a genuinely awesome guy with some killer dance moves, why the frenzy?

I think it comes down to context. These girls saw how much fun this guy was on a date (even when surrounded by cameramen), and automatically thought, “Hmm…that could be me.” And the eventual Facebook, Twitter and physical stalkers must have then decided, “I’ll have what she’s having.”

Now that’s not to say they wouldn’t have reached the same conclusion if they had met this guy in a coffee shop. But sometimes it’s easier to make a selection when another diner has already done the menu legwork. Now if only there were a Yelp for boys :P

Workplace monogamy

In my about page, I explain the genesis of my virtual alter-ego, Madeline. I moved a bunch growing up, and with each move I wavered between my first (Ashley) and middle (Madeline) names. But my family didn’t move to satisfy my schizophrenia…we moved because my dad changed jobs. Again and again and again.

He didn’t just change companies, he jumped between industries. From banking to software to health care. And ultimately, it worked out very well for him…as well as his geographically disoriented family. So naturally I have always assumed that this is the way successful careers are made. Company loyalty is a thing of my grandparents’ generation. You have to move horizontally to move up.

But maybe not.

Last Friday, I stumbled upon this post by Mark Suster – Never Hire Job Hoppers. Never. They Make Terrible Employees – inspired by the (overblown, IMO) email skirmish between Mahola CEO Jason Calacanis and a wayward employee. In it, he argues that companies – and start-ups in particular – should steer clear of people who change jobs more often than they buy a new pair of running shoes.

beware the job hoppers

First reaction: people fresh out of school should be granted a five-year grace period. For liberal arts majors like myself, especially ones who thought they were going to law school and then jumped ship at the last minute, figuring out what to do in the “real world” is a process, not a snap decision. And those who knew for sure that they wanted to be an investment banker might feel very differently 52 100-hr work weeks into the job.

Job hopping is a lot like dating. The older you get, the more you know about yourself and what you want. But initially, you’re bound to make a few mistakes along the way with the “wrong guy,” and what’s the point to staying in a relationship you know is going nowhere?

This analogy is also interesting from the recruiter’s perspective. It’s perfectly understandable if a youngish candidate has played the field a bit – it might even make them more compelling than a straight-up monogamist. But a serial dater? Odds are you’ll just end up as another notch on his or her belt. I love that Mark also uses a relationship analogy when responding to comments – in this case the “woman who is dating a man who has had 6 wives and cheated on all of them before divorcing them but she somehow thinks SHE will be different.”

I don’t agree with all of Mark’s rant, but he makes a compelling point – one that I’m not sure I would have agreed with three years ago. Especially when you’re dealing with start-ups, there’s such a family vibe (cliche, but it’s true), and when someone leaves it’s invariably personal and painful. And although I totally suck at long-term relationships, I plan on being professionally monogamous for quite a few years more. Who knows, maybe that consistently will spill over into my love life as well? :P

Privacy is overrated

There’s been quite an uproar over alleged invasions of our social media privacy. Facebook’s plug-ins that default connect to our Yelp and Pandora accounts. Google Buzz making our “super secret” Google Chat contacts public. (Granted, this did suck for a few wayward spouses.)

Better to overshare than shut up?

Honestly, I think we need to get over it. Not in the sense that we stop putting pressure on these companies to be transparent about their policies – we shouldn’t make their paths to total world domination entirely frictionless. But as consumers, we need to accept that social networks will undoubtedly socialize our content in ways we can’t always anticipate or prevent.

Which leaves us social media addicts with two options. We can freak out, delete any Facebook photos that could be mistaken for Smirnoff ads, de-activate our Tumblrs and protect our already watered-down tweets. Or we can embrace this new world of openness and over-sharing for what it is.

I’m choosing this latter route (duh). This blog contains my thoughts on topics ranging from plastic surgery to dirty talking, and because logging in and out of @projectmadeline was far to arduous, I now tweet posts from my real Twitter handle (on the rare occasions I actually write something). My full name isn’t officially attached to this blog, but anyone who wanted to make the connection could. And I’m okay with that. I’m okay with that for the same reason that I’m okay with my parents seeing Facebook pictures of last week’s drag show outing in Philly (so fun!), or anyone with Internet access reading my 2000 tweets. Because I trust my audience.

I trust people – friends and strangers alike – to respect that I am an opinionated, silly person with quirky views that are not representative of my employer. I trust them to not be offended that photos on Facebook might show me with a glass of wine in hand, or that I occasionally trash talk on Twitter. And if people really don’t like these digital glimpses of me…well, they probably wouldn’t enjoy chatting with me at a cocktail party either.

This trust goes both ways, and it takes some practice. I’m just now starting to warm to foursquare as my friends join en masse and it becomes somewhat useful…as opposed to my solitary feed looking suspiciously like my bank statement without the $$ amount. And it took me awhile to get used to an overly social media-friendly couple posting TMI photos and statuses on Facebook. But they’re hilarious, so now I’m more than happy to be a virtual third wheel.

Granted, some social media contributions will be annoying (like tweeting every single foursquare check-in, ugh!), but we’ll fast learn to tune them out as white noise. And in my opinion, they’re a small price to pay for all the offbeat, fascinating insights we’ll get from people we wouldn’t otherwise have access to. People who aren’t so worried about privacy and image that they self-censor all the juicy parts of their lives.

What are we left with? A little more awkwardness, and the occasional over-crossing of the line, but also people who are less wooden and more human. People who have a voice and aren’t afraid to use it.

Dumbing it down

I am lucky to have an awesome manager in my current gig. She’s super sharp, funny, low-key and, when necessary, candid. During a meeting today, she suggested I might want to pay closer attention to how I present myself.

Paying attention? Or submission?

She’s right, of course. My voice always wants to go up an octave whenever I answer the phone. I often frame statements as questions. I tilt my head to show I’m listening. And apparently – this one makes me cringe – I twirl my hair.

Many of the same mannerisms we consider hallmarks of of femininity and politeness are in fact undermining women in the workplace. I remember reading a Forbes article last year that spelled out why non-verbal cues can be a girl’s worst enemy. In the workplace, where first impressions are king, a UCLA study did the math and diagrammed the first impression breakdown as follows: body language: 55%; tone of voice: 38%; our actual words: only 7%. Fold your hands in your lap, cross your legs, or – heaven forbid – smile, and you’re dropping percentage points by the second. It’s tough being a lady.

But I’m not sure it’s fair to blame my hair twirling and head tilting on my two X chromosomes. At some point in my early-ish childhood – during elementary school I think – I made a discovery. Being smart is not cool, and it’s definitely not attractive.

In a girl, intelligence is not only intimidating, it’s abrasive. Fact: women dig openly brainy guys. We’ll even settle for guys who really aren’t that bright, but fancy themselves intellectuals. But when a girl speaks her mind without apology, she’s got about the same sex appeal as Hillary Clinton. I remember telling a male friend about my plans to go to law school, to which he replied, “Good luck ever getting another date.” I ended up ditching the law school track, and I’d be lying if I said that his comment wasn’t something of a catalyst.

Which is not to say that this all comes down to sex (although it plays a big role). Really, it’s all about wanting to be liked, which for women, is on par with being respected. So from a very young age, many of us learn to intentionally downplay our brains by flipping our hair. And by the time we enter the workplace, these mannerisms are so ingrained that we’re completely unaware that our killer statement during a meeting was accidentally posed as a question.

But I refuse to believe that women have to put on a poker face and become pushy and irreverent – like many (not all!) of their successful male colleagues – in order to kick ass in the workplace. Personally, I plan to pick my battles. I’m going to continue to wear dresses to work, and I’m going to keep smiling. But I’m also going to make an effort to deliver my statements as (gasp) statements, and keep my voice at normal pitch so as to avoid sounding like a 13-year-old. And if I even so much as touch my hair, someone please slap me.

Choose your (my) own adventure

Decisions, decisions

I’m getting rather nostalgic for the good ol’ days, back when I had a coherent blogging theme: e-dating. ProjMad has been a little sporadic and schizophrenic of late, which I prefer to attribute to a lack of direction rather than inherent laziness.

So in an effort to get this baby back on track and in the spirit of openness, crowdsourcing and all that BS, I’m polling my extensive readership to decide my next challenge. A few thoughts are below, but I’m also encouraging write-ins because I’m not totally sold on any of the options.

Thank you for your time, and please note – this is not a democracy. If 99 people pick one option but one person makes a killer suggestion, I reserve the right to ignore all other input :)

In the name of love

There’s a darker side to feminism. It makes women feel guilty for pursuing what they want, if what they want happens to be a guy, or a baby rather than a full-time career. And it discourages grand gestures in the name of love and happiness.

This is why I don’t consider myself a feminist. I think it’s far braver to pursue what makes you happy over what makes you “successful,” as defined by society.

Sure, Rosie was badass, but what about her love life?

Example A: About a year ago, my super smart, beautiful friend took a leap of faith and moved to the Bay Area. She had met a guy on a prior visit, and they stayed in touch despite being on different continents for almost a year. After a few visits, she took a gamble on a strong connection and changed the trajectory of her life. She knew that the only way to confirm their chemistry was to give it a shot in person, and she had both the flexibility and gumption to make that move. Almost a year later, she’s still here and confidently without regrets. But when asked why she moved to the Bay, she’ll revert to an embarrassed, almost apologetic description of her decision to “move for love.”

I am in awe of people who take risks like this. I have a hard enough time admitting that I like a guy, let alone changing the course of my life for something that may be fleeting. Most of us see our lives as a series of logical, strategic steps: go to college A to get job B, move to another city if job C > job B. A little romance along the way is great, but only if it fits the equation.

But what about when romance drives the equation? My little sister plans to move with her boyfriend to wherever he gets into med school, finding her own career only once that’s settled. I’m sure there are many people who would discourage “following” a guy, but I think it’s bold.

Speaking of bold, I have a friend who is on a plane to Spain as I write. She had a fight last night with her LDL (long distance lover), and realized that the only way to salvage the relationship was to do so in person, geography be damned. So she bought a plane ticket today, braved the two feet of snow in her frigid East Coast city, and will show up on her lover’s doorstep tomorrow, unbeknownst to him.

She is a practical, intelligent girl. She knows the odds that a cross-continent (and cross-language) relationship will work out are minimal, especially since she and her Latin lover have never lived in the same city. And she knows that what she’s doing right now is more-or-less insane.

But she also knows that if she doesn’t do this, she’ll regret it. And there’s no worse outcome than that.

The feminist movement placed too much of an emphasis on workplace equality, which I suppose made sense at the time. But when work lives took precedence over personal lives in women’s struggle for parity, it had very real consequences for how we view romance. When a man makes a grand gesture in the name of love, it’s seen as romantic. If a woman does the same, it’s often viewed as desperate. And that totally sucks.

I’ve done some pretty wild things in my life, but I’ve never laid my heart on the line. In my opinion, it’s far more terrifying than asking for a promotion, or moving across the country for a job. And I hope that if the right opportunity presents itself, I’ll have the cajones to see it through.

I’m a Barbie girl

Oh good lord. Normally I don’t post twice in one day, but I ran into this article on HuffPo and couldn’t help ranting.

Looks like some crazy lady in China is undergoing plastic surgery to be remade as Jessica Alba. Wait, it gets worse. She’s going under the knife in the hopes that her makeover will win back her boyfriend. Seriously creepy.

The original poster girl of plastic surgery

What is it with the recent surge in plastic surgery? Why didn’t this trend die when Baywatch went off air? Now we have pseudo-celebs like Heidi Montag going on a plastic surgery binge (10 operations and counting) that has transformed her into an entirely different, plastic version of herself. Personally, I think the “before” is far better than the “after.” And now she’s claiming she wants more: “H for Heidi!” Thank god my bra size has already surpassed my first initial (which is actually A, not M, for anyone who doesn’t know me personally).

I get that society puts pressure on people – especially women – to be perfect. We can’t help but measure ourselves against the striking, impossibly thin models that grace our magazines. I am far from being accepting of my looks, and I can understand how insecurity might drive someone to view plastic surgery as an easy fix.

When I was younger, I was painfully self-conscious and couldn’t wait to be old and rich enough to improve my looks. I absolutely hated my nose. Hated it. So much so that I would strategically position myself in class so that my fifth grade crush couldn’t see my profile. And then in middle school, I noticed I wasn’t as buxom as most of the other girls (still the case), and “twisting my ankle” and ending up with a boob job seemed like a reasonable solution (ankle = reference to teenage Britney Spears).

But now I can’t imagine surgically redesigning my face or body. I happen to like the feature – my nose – that I loathed as a child, for the very same reason I used to hate it: it makes me look different than everyone else. And I’ll take interesting over “cute” any day.

And as for boobs, I’ve gotten way too up close & personal with implants to ever want to do that to myself, as noted in my post on my adventures as a Nordstrom lingerie sales associate.

Of course, it’s far easier to be accepting of your looks when you’ve lived with them for 24 (almost 25) years. I just hope that the Gossip Girl watching, designer label wearing sixteen-year-olds of today don’t take Heidi too seriously.