The following article was posted on a writers’ forum on Yahoogroups that I am a silent member of, called “Mywordup”. I found it quite amusing, so here it is. I’ll save my comments for the end after you’ve read the article….

The Observer, London

Comment

“Want to get on, girls? Marry beneath you”

An academic’s rules on how women can succeed seemed crazy. The trouble is, they seem to work

Viv Groskop
Sunday February 26, 2006

A while ago, I happened across the musings of an American academic who proposed a new set of rules by which young women should set out to live their lives. They are, to say the least, memorable.

Number one, marry beneath yourself, preferably to a man, perhaps younger than you, with no career prospects (an artist, ideally). Number two, do not entertain ideas of studying philosophy or literature. Leave that to the artist. You absolutely must not study arts-based subjects at university; choose a useful degree that will earn you lots of money (law, economics, plastic surgery). Number three, if you must have a child, make sure you stop at one.

These seemingly mad rules are the only way, alleges their author, Linda Hirshman, a former trial lawyer and retired professor, that women can be sure of having a fulfilling career without losing out on marriage and children. They may be harsh, but they reflect reality, she says.

The loser husband, Hirshman argues in a recent edition of American Prospect magazine, is essential for bargaining power. If he earns more than you, you will always be the one who sacrifices career in favour of family. The non-airy fairy degree is a must for the same reason. You are never going to have the financial edge over any man if you specialised in medieval love poetry. And the one-child policy? Practical common sense. One infant can be managed, financially and professionally. Have more and your relationship, bank balance and career will strain at the seams.

If you don’t follow the rules, you are likely to end up like the women who inspired the book that Hirshman is currently working on. In 1996, she contacted brides who had featured in a newlyweds column in the New York Times. At the time of their marriage, they were doctors, lawyers, Wall Street executives. Ten years on, she found most had down-scaled their careers or bailed out completely, usually to raise a family. Their error? They had married above themselves. Only the ones who had had the sense to shack up with, say, a busker, were still following their ambitions. This design-for-living, anti-Stepford scheme seems almost Orwellian. You can picture 17-year-old girls mapping their way towards MBAs, while pencilling in their one pregnancy in between reconnaissance missions to art galleries to search out unambitious husband material.

The problem is, Hirshman is on to something. Everywhere you look, her rules are bearing themselves out. Last week’s Social Trends report provoked the following headline: ‘Young men stay home as women go in search of a toyboy’. The report revealed that a quarter of males aged 25 to 29 still live at home with their parents. (They can’t be very well-off, can they? Jolly good; let’s marry them before they have enough money to suggest we give up our careers.) Meanwhile, women are increasingly likely to marry a younger man. In 1963, 15 per cent of married women had younger husbands; now it is 26 per cent.

At universities, according to the Universities and Colleges Admissions Service, the most popular subject is law. Record drops in applications for English, classics, history, music and philosophy were reported. It’s safe to say women must be driving this trend to some extent at least, seeing as they now make up 59 per cent of university entrants.

And guess what? One-child families already outnumber families with 2.4 kids (20 per cent to 18 per cent, according to the Current Population Survey) and that’s not even counting the ‘baby shortage’ reported by the Institute of Public Policy Research last week, which concludes that fewer of us are choosing to have children at all.

I appear to have broken all her rules. I studied foreign literature at university and have made scant profit out of knowing the plot of Madame Bovary. I married a man older than me and with a successful career. And I appear to be pregnant with that career-choking second child. Doh! I’m not likely, then, ever to sit on the board of a FTSE 100 company.

It would be great to be able to laugh at Hirshman’s rules and write them off as elitist, draconian, Machiavellian. But while childcare is seen as a female responsibility, she is right. We still see most of what parenting consists of as women’s work, rendering the careers of so-called ‘working mothers’ too easily expendable. Women subconsciously following these horrible rules are bowing to reality. The glass ceiling is indeed fixed firmly shut – above the family unit. I hate to admit it, but Hirshman’s got it nailed.

Guardian Unlimited C Guardian Newspapers Limited 2006


It is ironic that I used to consider myself one of those ambitious, career-minded women gunning for that solitary spot on the top of the corporate ladder. For a very long time, I neglected every other aspect of my life in the sole pursuit of this ultimate achievement.

As a young upstart with nothing to lose, I would run headlong into the fray, throwing caution to the winds with a “fly or die” attitude that could either take me higher by leaps and bounds, or leave me broken at the bottom of a dismal abyss.

I lived with a perspective on life that was stereo-typed as masculine by the society I lived in. I would face men that I encountered with the aggression typical of a dominating alpha-male. No task was above me and no matter so great it was beyond my abilities. I was consumed with pride and arrogance that I was an island that existed on its own. I needed nothing and no one.

I had created my world with a façade of an impenetrable fortress – unassailable and aloof. I was nowhere near the top and already I could feel the emptiness of being alone. Secretly, buried deep beneath a proud exterior, I was searching for more. I craved company and companionship, but I would never admit it. I rejected and spurned those who sought to be close to me for fear of losing power over the one state I valued above all else – my autonomy.

Even when I finally entered a relationship (with the man who would become my husband), I approached it with the nonchalance typical of a man seeking a distraction. It was not a long-term relationship – at least it had always been my intention to end it when I felt that the toy had passed its “used by” date or when the game was no longer of interest to me.

So how, I hear you wonder, did I end up marrying him? Suffice to say, I did not anticipate for a string of events to take place the way they did – and that’s an epic tale I’ll save for a rainy day. So to cut a long story short, I’m now married to a terrific man.

It’s ironic that I have done a full hundred and eighty degree turn about regarding the way I see a lot of things in life. Was it being in love or circumstance? You take your pick – I’ll leave it for the romantics and sceptics to debate it out. All I can say is that I am a very different person today than the one that existed back then. I would like to think that I have thawed out an icy heart and learned to feel emotions again.

He may be the bread winner between the two of us, and I might have capped my glass ceiling, but frankly, I’m surprised to find that I never really was that ambitious. When I reflect back
at it all, I can’t deny that my career was just another game to me. It was a means of passing time.

Whenever I’m in the game – whatever the game may be – I’m like a predator chasing the scent of the blood of my prey (pardon the expression as I am a vegetarian). Upon further reflection, I have also noted that the times when I am enjoying the game have been the times when I have excelled most easily. Regrettably, an easy win is quickly followed by boredom and the search for a new game to play.

But let’s not forget that the career chase was also a means to an end for subsidising the day to day living expenses, interspersed by life’s little luxuries. Underneath it all, I believe that this was probably the greatest driving force for it all – there must be a means for sustenance or be swallowed by poverty. A friend described it so aptly – we cannot survive by photosynthesis, therefore we work for money. Just in case you’re mind is ticking on that last sentence, let me rephrase it – we cannot survive on water and sunlight alone.

As much as I deny it, and as much as I like to think I’m just a sweet girl trying to make everyone happy, I cannot bury the fact that I am still a mercenary at heart. Show me the money and I’ll do almost anything.

So what was the point I was trying to make? Well, if money were no object, I really couldn’t give two hoots about chasing that career. I am, as Hirshman described it “the unambitious husband material”. Having started off on the right track by gaining a dental degree, I am regrettably in love with arts and literature where I will either become one of the few brilliant stars in a galaxy of unknowns, or I will remain one of the gazillions maintaining anonymity.

And I’ve probably just gone way off track the topic altogether… Well, the article was the one that inspired these thoughts, so I ought to give it its due credit.