Experience: the Most Unforgiving Teacher

Facebook friends. The majority of them are not “real” friends, but people with whom we’ve spent a very limited amount of time in a very specific context, or people with whom we haven’t spoken in years, or people we don’t even know and the only reason they made it onto our friends list is because they have lots of mutual friends. And, sadly, sometimes members of that last group aren’t real people at all.

My point? Being friends on Facebook is not that big of a deal, so it’s kind of a big deal when someone unfriends you. Like, “_______ is friends with that rando we once sat next to in 12^th grade English yet he unfriends ME?”

How about when the unfriender is someone you dated seriously? And he doesn’t unfriend your sister? And his sister, his brother, his mother, his grandmother, and his cousin don’t unfriend you? And the length of your break up almost exceeds the length of your relationship?

And the unfriender untags himself from every last photo you ever took as a couple, but not the ones you took as friends? Or the ones of himself and your sister? Or the ones taken by you of himself with your friends? Such discriminate destruction.

Why now of all times? What’s it matter anymore? The wound isn’t fresh. We’ve both been seeing other people for over a year. You never posted more than maybe twice/year anyway, so did you make a special effort to log on, click “untag” some 300 times, go to my profile, and…delete? If you really didn’t want me in your newsfeed, either unfollow me or remember to delete my sister, too, and ask your family members to do the same.

It could have happened months ago for all I know, but I didn’t discover it until Christmas Day.

So I’m confused. Why are you trying to erase the past? You can’t undo what happened.

You broke your promise.

Yet I don’t regret the time I spent with you because you made me a better person.

I’ve always thought of opposing emotions as two sides of the same coin. As fate would have it, you showed me happiness for the first time. I thought it was the shiny side, but until we failed and that coin flipped to its dark, rusted side, I had no idea. I was plunged into a darkness so complete, a sadness so deep, it took me years to flip over. And it required a lot more strength than I started with. (A reformation process we will not get into here.)

But…thank you. I am extremely happy with the love I’ve got now because I have a full understanding of the whole coin. I didn’t when I was with you, and I’m sorry.

During that coin flip, you taught me a few things. 

You taught me to appreciate the light, and to never take him for granted. And so I will never stop trying. I’ll never stop holding his hand, and I’ll never get used to him. Because relationships only thrive if you continuously pour effort into them.

You taught me how much it hurts to lose. And so I never want to lose him.

You taught me how to communicate, and how to settle disagreements effectively. You taught me of the importance of very clear, “I feel X when you do Y because Z” statements, because we never used them. Any psych majors reading this?

Unbeknownst to you, you taught me the pain of cheating. 

You showed me all of my mistakes, and gave me infinite motivation to never make them again. The memory of loss continues to make me want to be the best version of myself in my new relationship. He deserves nothing less.

So, goodbye, my Facebook friend. You’re just somebody that I used to know. Less than that rando in English class.

Ready, Set, "I Do?"

Hiya. Yours truly has survived the summer and fall from hell. Miss me? You must have a teeny bit if you’ve bothered to keep checking a blog for updates after 8 months of silence. My apologies for that.

What’s changed? A lot. In addition to applying to and accepting admission from a professional school, I recently celebrated one year of left-circling.

Woot woot stable college relationships! More elusive than unicorns. I consider myself…

Excuse me while I go vomit.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my knight in shining armor. Even when his man-dress complements said armor.

But you know, I’m not sure why college women make it their ultimate ambition to secure one of these guys by graduation. Isn’t the whole MRS degree a bit outdated?

Because when graduation happens, then what? Maybe his noble steed will take you both off into the sunset. Maybe you’ll get married and make cute little heirs to the castle. 

….Or maybe you’ll both pursue graduate-level education. Because, unlike in years past, settling down doesn’t necessarily immediately follow post-Bachelor’s. Many careers demand at least a Master’s, or more.

I have a friend. A singular friend because I’m a loser. Just kidding.

I have a friend (let’s call her Jennifer) among my seven friends who’s told me to my face she’s jealous of my relationship. She has a rule that she must be married by age 23 or else the world is going to end. Since we’re both 21 yet I’m the one in a relationship, clearly I am going to beat her to it.

Wrong. It’s 2014. It’s not a race to say, “I do.” 

Well, I got on a shuttle this morning. The shuttle was headed to the airport, to a plane, to my hometown, to my family.

Airports are funny.

When I was eleven, my family was at one of these funny airports getting ready to go on some exotic vacation at an exotic locale where we were guaranteed to have loads of exotic fun. Obviously, these kinds of trips took place before two daughters with college tuition happened. Prior to my sister and I being so expensive, however, I remember proudly telling my mom that “airports are sad.” (This was during my raccoon-eyes-all-black-wearing phase when I used to think sadness was cool. Sadness was deep. Sadness was something only grown-ups could pretend to understand.)

I guess I expected her to ask why I held such an opinion, but instead I got a slap on the wrist and a very stern, “No, airports are HAPPY.” What little brat doesn’t think traveling to Aruba is the absolute best thing ever? In trying to be deep, I came across as ungrateful. A common mistake.

Retrospectively, I understand my mom’s viewpoint. I think her statement goes beyond that one vacation. I’m 10 days shy of the age she was when she got engaged to my dad, which was Christmas Eve of senior year of undergrad. To her, airports represent the times when my dad came home to her, and eventually me, too. My sister, three years my junior, was much luckier and has known him since birth.

Military family.

But as for me, airports have been predominantly sad places. In my childhood they represented moves out-of-state and away from friends, a new house, and a new school. Essentially a new life when my old one was perfectly fine.

In college, I honestly thought airports would morph into happy places. A trip to the airport would mean trading up dining hall mush for home-cooked meals, an annoying roommate for my adorable pet bunny, and a condom animal balloon-laden hallway for a private bathroom.

This was true until the “home” I left became my parents’ house. Once Gramps took my spot at the kitchen table and my spot in the car, once exercise equipment and a rather large stuffed moose crept into my room….It kind of just became too painful to go back.

I tried to exist in two places my first year away. Yet the dissonance between my home-self and my school-self became too much. So the night before my six-hour drive into sophomore year, I severed my last tie to home and decided to fully dedicate myself to no place.

I built a fine little floating life. I had my classes, my human research project, my professors, my clubs, my job, my sorority, my friends…all things I could enjoy nine months out of the year and live without for three. 

That is, until I fell in love.

A love which has made this past year so incredibly amazing.

A love which makes me want to make ties again.

As I stepped into that airport-bound shuttle this morning, Jennifer’s words came to mind. They brought tears to my eyes, and on the wrong leg of my journey. The tears were supposed to be reserved for leaving my parents’ house, not heading towards it. 

I wasn’t crying because I wasn’t absolutely thrilled to see my parents after half a year. I was crying because my happiness was tinged with the sad realization I wasn’t going to see my other half for an entire month. I was crying because in college it’s impossible to not exist in two places, even when you try your hardest to stay unattached. Love will do that to you.

Frankly, I can’t wait to finish my education. Maybe then I can stop drifting from place to place, packing up and moving back and forth half as often as my semester schedule changes. Maybe then I can form attachments without wondering when either of us has to tear them apart.

Sure, that trip down the aisle and those two little words sound really nice right now. But it’s more because, as college women, we really just want a little stability after 4 (or 8!) years of turbulence. There’s no standard-issue timeline, and trying to create one for yourself will only lead to anxiety when you don’t meet it. 

Unless the neighbor pops the question to me within the next 10 days, I am not going to be like my mother. That’s okay.

No one should feel that kind of pressure on top of everything else. Get a diploma, and then may you direct that noble steed, with or without a knight, any which way you please. Sunset, pasture field, another 4-6 year gauntlet (er, I mean, post-Bachelor's degree)—it’s up to you.

A Circle's Round. It Has No End. That's How Long I Want to be Your...Friend.

So this ex-Girl Scout was cleaning out her room yesterday and stumbled upon this really pretty ring, silver with purple cubic zirconia.

Despite its beauty, though, I’ve never worn it. Why? Seeing it makes me uncomfortable because I got it as a birthday present several years ago from a male friend for whom I had no romantic interest. It was unexpected and weird. A ring is NOT a casual thing to give.

I mentioned in an earlier post that it’s okay for guy friends to give their female friends simple jewelry, such as earrings. On the occasion when the two friends are also hook up partners, and he finds himself in a situation for which it is expected he give her a small something (birthday/graduation/holiday) but he doesn’t want to make it a big deal, earrings can be a good fall back.

Clothing is too difficult, because it always implies something. If he buys a shirt that’s too small, she’ll feel like he wants her to lose weight to fit into it. If he buys too big, she’ll feel he thinks she’s fat. If he buys something skimpy, she’ll feel objectified.

Basically, clothing is out.

Food is also out. Women like things that last; we’re sentimental beings. So while food may be the fastest way to a man’s heart, women are not so easily won over.

Gift cards are iffy. It depends on the occasion, and whether they’re redeemable at places like Wal Mart. 

And you already know my stance on flowers. If not, learn to read.

So…earrings. They don’t have to be expensive. But they look nice, they show he put some thought into the gift, and they’re not ostentatious. They’re more often than not covered by her hair, unlike a bracelet or a necklace or—God forbid—a ring.

What makes rings so elevated? They symbolize commitment, which is incompatible with the hook up script. Hence why rings belong only in the relationship circle, which, if you remember, looks like this:

Amnesia got you down? Click me.

I’m not just referring to wedding rings. I’ve actually worn two very special non-wedding rings every day for the past two years. On my right middle finger is my promise ring, and on my right ring finger is my mom’s, which was replaced by a wedding ring from my dad. 

My point? The reason it’s okay to get a SIGNIFICANT OTHER (but NEVER a hook up partner!) a ring is because by that point you care enough about the person (hopefully) to recognize they’ll be in your life long-term. With hook ups, the situation changes by the week.

I’m not sure why a ring around your finger is so much more meaningful than one through your ear or around your wrist, but it just is. Here’s what I gathered:

1. Rings are circular, and circles have no beginning or end (i.e.: they’re forever).
2. Ideally, couples stay together for forever (or, you know, till death gets in the way).
3. Rings are typically encrusted with diamonds (indestructible rocks=indestructible love!).
4. Diamonds are precious (like your lover).
5. The vein in your third finger on your left hand runs directly to your heart (which is why I personally think this finger ought to be reserved strictly for wedding bands—you’ve got nine other options for great-great-grandma’s keepsake ring).

Next question: if you have the option to be one of the privileged fancy circle-wearers, why would you choose not to wear your ring?

Again, some interesting findings.

1. Allergies (to gold, silver, platinum…you know, ring materials).
2.  People like to keep their options open.
3.  Rings are so-called “anti-cheating devices,” signals to let others know the wearer is taken—and this makes people uncomfortable.
4. If a woman meets two attractive men for the first time, but one wears a ring and the other does not, she will pursue the man with the ring.
5. The ringed man is obviously desirable if another woman has already chosen him.
6. The man without the ring may be a “discard.”
7. Married adults who do not wear rings are twice as likely to lose their kids in a grocery store than those who do wear rings.

Clearly, rings have magical powers. They discourage infidelity (2-3). They’re status symbols (4-6). They make you responsible/committed to your family (7).

Do with this information what you will. I thought it was universally understood that rings are special and not a “friendly” (much less “hook up-y”) gift, but apparently not. Hopefully this post enlightened someone.

Great Expectations

What does it mean when you accept an offer to accompany a strapping young fraternity man to his Vegas formal? (Non-Greek readers, it is tradition for the houses to go on one major trip per year—destination varies by university—for an entire weekend, each member accompanied by a young lady).

Back when I was a naïve freshman, I was asked to such an event. The problem? My significant other wasn’t the one doing the asking. He had his nose in an engineering textbook 400 miles away. Instead, a mutual friend extended the invitation.

Because he was a mutual friend of my boyfriend and me, he obviously knew I was taken. Off-limits. So when he asked me to be his date, I honestly thought we were going “as friends.”

But then when we got to the hotel room, there were only two beds. Another couple had already claimed one. So I guess that meant I had to share the remaining bed with my date, right? If he slept with another guy, that’d violate all sorts of social norms. And plus he had paid for everything; it’d be really rude not to sleep in the bed. I told myself sharing a bed was no big deal. So I put his feelings before mine and I slept with him.

My first slide down the slippery slope of that entire weekend.

The second night was even crazier. We went to a super nice Brazilian steakhouse for dinner, and all of the girls were treated, of course. 

In fact, none of the girls paid a dime that weekend. We were accessories. Not that we minded—being an accessory was sort of fun, in an old-fashioned kind of way. Everything was planned for us, everything paid for. No stress.

But in between the steak dinner and a suite party, I overheard some of the fraternity members talking. They were purposely taking us to expensive restaurants (and buying us expensive poolside drinks, and transporting us from party to party in expensive limousines, and expensive this and expensive that) so we’d feel obliged to have sex with them.

This made me incredibly sad. Obviously my “friend” had other plans for our second night together. But I was committed to my long-distance relationship. Any smart girl would’ve run for the hills, right? Or at least stayed sober enough to have a very serious conversation about how certain expectations could not and would not be fulfilled.

But instead I got very drunk.

And out of guilt I let him kiss me.

I hurt someone I loved. I hurt someone who trusted me enough to go away for the weekend with another guy, to a string of events he knew would involve alcohol.

It didn’t go further than a kiss. My guilt about “ruining” my friend’s weekend was quickly overcome by my disbelief about what I had just done.

Amazing, the way guilt can conquer commitment, if only for a moment.

While my LDBF never found out about my transgression, the experience made me realize how quickly it could have turned into a full-blown betrayal. And why you shouldn't put yourself in tempting situations.

I vowed that night to never stray from my partner (present or future) ever again.

Don’t misinterpret my story as an attack against manipulative frat boys. I was just as much to blame for what happened. Because you know what, ladies? Every time you hook up with the invite date you swore you’d never hook up with, you propagate the belief that it’s okay for fraternity members to expect sexual favors in return for a weekend getaway.

That guy isn’t trying to buy your emotions. He probably couldn’t, anyway. So don’t let him buy your body. 

Maybe it’s his formal, and maybe he has his own ideas about what would be the perfect ending to his weekend. But when you strip away the fancy dinners and the poolside daiquiris and the limousine rides, you’re left with his thin wallet and a choice. 

Just remember that everyone knows what it’s called when a guy pays a girl to have sex with him.

Trifecta

Hello, World. Let Me Tell You Something about the Art of Hooking Up.

In theory, a man asking a woman out on a date to the local art museum seems like a good idea. He doesn’t have to talk much, he gets to show off how sophisticated he is, and it’s inexpensive. In actuality, these kinds of dates are just awkward. Because about ten minutes in, he realizes he has no idea what his artistic outlook ought to be. Is he supposed to agree with her, love the pieces she loves? Should he disagree occasionally, to assure her he’s intelligent enough to have an opinion of his own? And what’s the proper following distance? Too close could make her feel uncomfortable. Too far could make her feel ignored.

Being a woman, I myself am on the receiving end of the man’s nervousness. Which means a trip to the art museum is not a good first date for either party. And it’s that dreaded awkwardness which makes dating hard and hooking up a seemingly easy alternative. Dating requires you to get through a lot of “I-can’t-text-him-first-or-he’ll-think-I’m-desperate-[several hours later]-maybe-just-this-once-I’ll-intitiate-oh-great-he’s-responded-already-now-how-long-should-I-wait-to-text-back-[half an hour goes by]-I-wonder-if-he-thinks-what-I-said-is-stupid-why-hasn’t-he-responded-again” mind games, which gets emotionally taxing. But with hooking up you can forego the art museums and shortcut to bed.

Is that why hooking up has eclipsed dating on college campuses? 

Terrible Photoshop skills aside, dating is like playing the full game of Candy Land, wrought with licorice traps and chocolate swamps. Hooking up is like taking the Shortcut! to King Candy.

Disclaimer: Shortcut! isn’t as straightforward as the diagram suggests. In fact, it’s a just a revamped trip to the art museum. Neither party knows what to do at first. And, similar to how asking someone’s opinion about a hideous sculpture is always a trick question, hooking up means something different to everyone. This ambiguity can be a good thing. If you’re a man, “Bro, I hooked up with her last night,” translates to, “I got laid” even if you didn’t and you just want to seem like you’ve got game. If you’re a woman, you can use the ambiguity to defeat the sexual double standard. Say you did sleep with a guy, but you don’t want to appear slutty. You tell your girlfriends you just “hooked up” and maybe that means you made out? Second base? Third? Who knows? And that, my friends, is the beauty (?) of saying something without saying anything.

BUT. In keeping with the art analogy, hooking up doesn’t follow the rules. Accompanying this ambiguity is the lack of a script. Is there a Third Day Phone Call, like in dating? Was my hook up a drunken one night stand, my new friend with benefits, my future significant other? If we do hook up again, how do I know when it’ll be our last time? As in, when should I not leave my good bra under his couch cushion if I ever want to see it again?

Now I know you didn’t choose to read this to learn more about art museums. You want to be entertained with crazy hook up stories. I don’t blame you—the latter seems far more interesting to me, too. I’ll try not to disappoint, but such stories will be supplemental only. The purpose of this blog is actually academic. Future posts will delve into the pros and cons of dating versus hooking up, and why one practice may be preferable to the other depending upon current circumstances.

And who, you ask, is doing the delving? I’m an undergrad biology major, art minor. I’m nearly done with my third year and I’ve experienced a little bit of everything in that short amount of time. I started school in a long distance relationship with a guy I’d been with for three years, then I broke his heart and transitioned to the hook up culture, enjoyed the single life, then I had my heart broken a few times, then I switched back to dating around, and finally after too many first dates I’ve found myself in a committed relationship once again. Which I never expected. But more on that later.

Point is, throughout the manic phases which have comprised my love life, I’ve struggled with defining hooking up, how it relates to my gender role, why it’s so much more popular than dating in college, and a whole slew of related topics. And I’ve decided that hooking up is one twisted art form indeed. Finding the delicate balance between acting like a not-friend and a not-girlfriend was harder than painting in the lines with water color. I’ll stick to my hard and fast acrylic paints, thank you.

You Know you’re Hooking Up Smart when you Profile Susan Walsh.

Sorry, all. This is gonna be week #2 without an anecdote. I know you really look forward to those, or at least that’s what I tell myself. Instead, I’d like to introduce you to a really neat blog called “Hooking Up Smart.”

The blog is about coed relationships. Susan Walsh, the author, says she blogs to help people navigate the so-called “hostile terrain of the contemporary sexual marketplace.” And she’s certainly popular. Many of her posts have 200-300 comments (Pretty sure my most popular Facebook prof pic has maybe 7 but who’s counting?). EACH. Impressive, considering she’s written over 800 posts since November 2008.

Walsh earned her MBA in 1983, and has worked for companies and non-profit organizations as a strategy consultant ever since. With her blog, she uses similar problem-solving approaches to help young people struggling with contemporary relationships. She offers some unique insight by virtue of the times she grew up in, which were the 1970s (Note: this was just after the sexual revolution. Interesting.). 

What initially got me clicking on her page was this graph:

It’s from an article about gender inequalities in the sexual market. Not unsurprisingly, the female curve peaks much earlier in life compared to the male curve. Already a riveting topic by itself, Walsh adds her own creative spin by adopting an academic tone. Instead of bombarding her readers with a bunch of sexual market value (SMV) stats, which could for the most part be predicted with common sense, she makes a case to dispute the fact that the male curve encompasses a greater area than the female one, implying that males have an overall higher SMV.

(In case you don’t see it, this may help.)

She formally predicts: “It is my hypothesis that the distribution curves are indeed asymmetrical, with women peaking earlier and higher, while male SMV is a lower, broader curve. However, the mean value of SMV over time should be the same for both sexes.” She then goes on to cite famous scientists like Charles Darwin and Donald Symons, which makes her analysis a bit more respectable.

I trust by now you know how to read (or at least like to stare at nonsensical characters on your computer screen), so here’s the link if you care to know the outcome of her argument.

As an added bonus, her blog is extremely relevant to this one. Her frequent tags include: “Hooking Up Realities,” “Relationship Strategies,” “Personal Development,” “Politics and Feminism”….In fact, she links to an article which I read while researching my recent paper about the long-term effects of hooking up.

Not only are Walsh’s posts entertaining, but they also have substance. She definitely does her homework before publishing anything. For example, in her post, Slut, Prude or Tease. Is There Another Option?, she draws heavily from posts written by USC freshman Arianna Allen and an article written by NYU student Sarah Jacobsson. By including direct quotes from young people’s writing, she can appeal to a younger audience despite her age (my guess would be mid-50s).

She doesn’t limit herself to one target audience, though. Obviously, most of her readers are likely young people since they are in the thick of hooking up and dating, but she also attracts older readers with posts such as How to Meet Guys After College.

It’s Walsh’s versatility which makes her blog an excellent source for what I’m trying to do: discuss an awkward topic in a serious manner. Walsh’s articles are not dirty and embarrassing to read, unlike the kinds which normally pop up when you Google search the words “hookup culture.” I didn’t notice before, but I’ve actually already consulted her once before in my post, “Will You Still Love Me Without my Mascara?”. Walsh authored Vulnerability: Love's Secret Ingredient.

My site will differ from Walsh’s, though, because my point of view is different. For me, this lifestyle isn’t retrospective. I’m still in college, at the heart of the confusion. Walsh is married. Her posts are much more researched than mine, too, whereas I like to draw from personal experience instead. Which I will get back into the habit of doing, I promise!

Anyway, check it out. I think it’ll be worth your time.

Voice, and the Difference Between Talking to You Versus Writing at You.

Voice. Literally, sound produced in the larynx and expressed through the mouth. More abstractly, the way of expressing an idea in words.

Auditory or written, voice is unique per person. Imagine: your mom yelling up the stairs, “Honey, come down for dinner!” versus your romantic partner saying, “Honey, dinner is ready.” These mean essentially the same thing (i.e.: you’re about to stuff your face), but they have two totally different connotations. The former likely precedes an unwanted inquisition re: whom you’re dating, what your grades are, how much money you’re making, etc. Whereas the latter likely precedes getting happily wine drunk and some cuddling on the couch.

Obviously, voice is easy to differentiate when you physically hear the words from a person’s mouth. How to distinguish written voice, though?  This is a bit harder, but good authors will use a strategic pattern of word choice, phrasing, sentence structure, and even punctuation to make us readers feel as if they have physical voices.

For example, consider Jen Glantz, author of the blog, “The Things I Learned From.” Whenever I’m scrolling through different blogs, I can always tell once I’ve come across something from her. How? A few tip-offs:

(1) She adopts an easy tone with the reader, as if you’ve been pals for years.

Sometimes she does this by asking rhetorical questions. As she narrates a failed first date in her humorous post, “Why Dating Exit Interviews Should Exist,” she has several outbursts:

“That sounds crazy, doesn’t it?”

“But what happened?”

“Throw me a constructive criticism bone here, will you?”

Other times, such as in her tirade, “Dating is Extinct,” she uses the second person pronoun:

“You had to get off the couch….”

“You actually had to turn off the TV….”

“[You had to] change out of your stained Scooby-Doo Christmas fleece pajamas….”

By openly criticizing the reader for being lazy, she assumes an air of familiarity.

(2) She makes frequent references to contemporary social media. 

When she’s trying to justify why a guy didn’t call her back she says, “maybe he’s an alien and secretly lives on Mars….” which references John Gray’s book.

Another way she tries to cope with her rejection? She says, “I’m not ready to kick my Tinder addiction….” in reference to a hookup app launched by USC last fall.

“Now we just swipe left, left, left. Click next, next, next…” 

By incorporating well-known social media, she demonstrates to college-age readers that she’s just like them. She’s not some granny who doesn’t “get” this generation.

(3) She uses repetition.

Of “but” in “Exit Interviews”:

“But it’s not.”

“But not this one.”

“But what happened?”

“But that’s what friends are for.”

“But come on!”

And of “we” in “Dating is Extinct,” with the ultimate effect of sounding relatable:

“We tell ourselves it’s okay. We tell ourselves not to get too attached….We mourn just a little bit. We tell our roommate that we’re done with this whole dating thing….We don’t count our losses. We say ‘next time.’”

 (4) She establishes a down-to-earth quality by making fun of herself. First, she admits to brainstorming her blog in the shower. Next, she says failed dates make her dig a spoon into some Ben & Jerry’s. Oh and she wears cartoon fleece pajamas? This is how she lets her audience know she’s not some aloof dating psychologist. She’s a single young woman struggling with the same game.

(5) Her quirky imagery. Few people can get away with saying things like, “When I went in for a kiss, she turned her head and for two seconds, my tongue got real intimate with her cochlea.”

Or, “we couldn’t be on the toilet…and decide to zone out and peruse local singles on a dating website.”

But after reading a lot of Jen’s blog, it’s the mental pictures like these which have made her sense of humor distinct in my mind.

Voice ought to always complement the content, not contrast with it. With these five strategies, in conjunction with several unmentioned others, Jen establishes herself as a trustworthy source.

Equally important is consistency, which Jen has mastered. As noted before, “Exit Interviews” is a comedic post whereas “Dating is Extinct” is quite hostile. Despite this huge difference, Jen maintains the same style (note how in 1-5 the first supporting example is from the first post, the second from the second). You can tell it’s her writing whether she’s voicing lighthearted frustrations or scorning the throw-away mentality of this generation.

I could go on and on, but I’m at/past the word limit. My point? It is entirely possible to have a strong voice through written word. Skillful authors can write in a voice so distinct it becomes immediately obvious to the reader whose name is in the byline without having to check. It is these authors who have human “voices” in the heads of their readers.

Now about that dinner….