One of the pleasures of my job as a tutor is that I get the opportunity to take a walk through my students’ college courses while working with them on papers and such. One is a Religion major, which offers me all kinds of cool readings on Krishna (so many deities/names to keep track of in Hinduism). Also a class on the carceral system, abolition, and social justice through the lens of religion. Fask-i-nating! Another new entry into my tutoring fun is a Media Studies major. The paper I’m assisting with is for Gender and the Media and as soon as I read the syllabus I had so many thoughts (so many!), ideas, discussions I wanted to have. I had to get up and take a walk, calm down and remember I’m not actually taking this class, but am there as a support and editor in the writing of the papers. I exist as a sounding board. Someone virtually loping along beside these students as they navigate their way through the topics. Every time I feel like raising my hand and pulling a Welcome Back Kotter “Oh! Oh! Oh! I got it!” move, I take three deep breaths and tell myself, NO, this isn’t my class. Calm down.

I had the same issue in grad school where, in my forties, I was usually the oldest person. During my early-20th century literature classes. I was beyond excited about assignments to do with Edith Wharton’s “House of Mirth” and Theodore Dreiser’s “Sister Carrie” —or anything really—and that meant my hand was constantly in the air. This was no doubt annoying to the other students. I’d have a hard time hiding my exasperation when other students would be flippant during conversations I thought were deep&meaningful. (Example: during a discussion about the poet Gerard Manley Hopkins and death, when asked about our relationship to loss a student offered that he’d lost his car in a parking garage once. He played it for laughs, but in that moment I was feeling the prof’s pain.) So while I don’t buy into the adage: youth is wasted on the young given the outstanding people under thirty who are currently trying to save our planet, enact gun reform, further rights for girls/young women, open eyes to social and racial justice, and so much more, I do think that college itself is a hit-or-miss moment when it comes to expecting all the deep thoughts to be fired up. I can attest to the fact that as an undergrad, I spent way more time in the campus bar doing zero research for my journalism classes than was at all necessary. Yet I graduated, had a career, then decided to go back to grad school (which, side note, did not in any way enhance my career and although I loved the hell out of it, I’m actually still paying off the student loan).

One thing I 100% remember though is thinking how mature I was. I could discourse about existentialism as if I were in Paris sitting across from Sartre. Or at least that’s what I thought. In reality, I was just riffin’ away with ideas that interested me but were in no way new or different. I mean, I was talking about a many-decades old philosophy that had been explored and opined on within an inch of its life. I didn’t have anything to add that was new. Yet still, that’s what college is for. Expansion, trying on new looks in your mind and on your body, thinking you’re way more capable (or messed up) than you actually are. Mixed bag. Obviously, it’s not as if that starts up as you enter college. I found a note in an old journal when I was sixteen complaining about how hard it was to live with my mom because we were “two adults under one roof.” Noooo, I wasn’t an adult, but I guess I was playing one on the TV in my brain.

In retrospect, this combination of confidence and confusion is so potent. It’s the launching pad for amazing learning curves but also a dose of false bravado that can be scary. One thing that tracked me from end-of high school through college was feminism. It was a time when conversations around what a woman thought, the opportunities she should have, the places she could go were seemingly irrefutable. Title IX had recently passed. There were plenty of examples in songs and movies of women on the rise. The place I put my feminism away or aside was around the bands I loved. The messages of sexuality delivered through the lyrics. Sure, there were plenty of mystical mountains and tiny dancers, but there were an equal—if not more—amount of words finding their way into my psyche about women as objects (not even going to link any here because Van Halen, AC/DC, Grand Funk Railroad, while some of my favorites at the time, offer a selection of topics that fit the bill). Anyhoo, over time and into my music journalism career I both cheered for the ladies (Patti, Joan, Bikini Kill, Babes in Toyland, Sleater-Kinney, Breeders, The Vaselines!!! Yes, and more!) but I also knew damn well how lopsided and sexist the industry was. My point here is…somewhere along the way I stopped looking at the lopsided media moments and wished upon a star that women were making headway. In a way, yes, but also not so much. Then I walked away and kinda didn’t pay attention.

So this week, after watching a fantastic short doc for the Media and Gender class called Killing Us Softly 4, it occurred to me not only how the message of woman-as-object in advertising continues to affect female self-image and autonomy, but also how insidious it is. Messages are everywhere, stepping into our brains around idealized images of women and what men want. And it will take so much more awareness and work to change that. I realized just how much after watching three Katy Perry videos that, to a one, flipped my lid with what to me seemed blatant sexism. I know zip/nada about Katy, so if you tell me she’s being ironic, maybe I can get there, but what made me scream was that she’s powerful enough to run her own show. In other words, if she doesn’t want to make a video about being a piece of food prepared and served up to be consumed, I’m pretty sure she could say “hey, let’s come up with something else.” But yet there she was being pummeled, deep-fried, etc. In the other, she was a piece on a gameboard being controlled/overseen by Snoop Dogg. My head exploded a little. I thought, I don’t want this as entertainment for anyone. I felt old, righteous, slightly helpless. If my student can make a good case for how this is reverse sexism, then I’m all ears. We did also watch “The Man” by Taylor Swift, which was thoroughly entertaining though not at all subtle. And not to sound ancient (hahahaha), but subtlety is the thing really. I might have had a dictionary definition of that back in my young-woman days, but I didn’t really get how to do it. Apparently, as I spend much of my time in the land of the young-and-figuring-it-out, I’m getting better at cheering them on. Remembering that back-in-my-day I had a hard time telling the difference between sexist and sexy. Learning by listening, reading, watching badass ladies who were not afraid to step up and explain it. I get to have those conversations in the here and now, but am also becoming well-aware of when to ask questions. Make sure I’m not missing anything. Try not to jump to conclusions. Just to extend my stay in the land of the young, I’m watching a delightful show called Sex Education. (Gillian Anderson as a single-mom, sex therapist in a British town. I mean, come onnnnnn….amazing. Best quote so far: mom: “You’re not supposed to understand anything. You’re sixteeen.).