Girls School

In the past few years, a distinct change has occurred in the way I talk about women's college.

About four years ago, I was kind of embarrassed by the fact that I spent my collegiate years surrounded by 1,000 muchachas. There was a nagging concern that I was missing out; the concern spurred me to seek experiences that weren't there and reject others that were. While there was sporadic dating, there was little beer pong, fewer random hook-ups and a general hormonal imbalance that affected life in myriad ways. Although I stood behind the education I was getting and loved the hyper-smart girlfriends I was proud to call my own, I was constantly comparing my experiences to those of my friends at more traditional schools. Measuring up afternoon teatime and white wine “Grey’s Anatomy” parties to football games at the University of Oregon or trashy nightclubs around NYU.

When people asked me about the women’s college experience, I’d stumble and justify: “Well, it was part of a consortium, so it wasn’t really women’s college. Like…halfway women’s college—best of both worlds. Not like Wellesley. Not like SMITH. God, no, I wouldn’t go there. I’VE KISSED A BOY!” My odd responses revealed a frustrated sense of lack or impulse to defend.

That language has changed, and I'm happy with the shift. Turns out, it feels better to stand behind your decisions than to question them.

Now, I speak proudly of my women’s college. Maybe even ad naseum. Not only am I annoyingly in love with my own women’s college experience, I’m a staunch proponent of women’s higher education (a sadly dying institution). It’s something I feel, actually, quite strongly about. Right up there with education reform, the state of Israel and bulk candy. And really, who woulda thunk?

I do get sick, though, of the three stock questions I’m asked when I reveal the single-sex quirk of my undergraduate experience. Unsurprisingly, the question slingers are usually men—typically on a first date or at a party when the topic of schooling inevitably comes up.

The questions repeat themselves, over and over, never-ending like a Mobeus Strip. At this point, I’ve got my answers down. They are, verbatim or in some close iteration:

1. Did your parents force you to go there?

Polite response: No, I picked it myself after looking at lots of different schools. Smile. Did your parents force you to go to Duke/Wesleyan/The University of Kentucky?

What I’d like to say/what I will say after two beers: No, you idiot, I’m not a Mormon or a woman from the 1860s. I was allowed to choose whatever college I wanted, and I happened to choose a women’s school because I visited the campus and fell in love with every aspect. Because thousands of women CHOOSE to go to women’s college every year. And they are all—er, they are mostly all—perfectly sane human beings with agency over their education.

2. Was it like finishing school/did you get your MRS?

Polite response: No, the classes are really the same as at any small liberal arts college. Do not giggle. Do not allow the questioner to think for one second that this joke is funny or original.

What I’d like to say/What I will say after two beers: No, you idiot, this is the year 2011. Finishing schools don’t really exist anymore, and I sure as hell don’t think my parents would spend $40,000 a year so that I could pour tea and write the perfect thank-you note. Do I strike you as unfinished? Because I am, and I like it that way. And that’s sexist and not even sexist in the funny way, asshole.

3. Did you have a lesbian phase? (marked number three, though it's certainly the most frequent) 

Polite response: Nah. I had a boyfriend who went to the school across the street. No time for a lesbian phase! Look questioner directly in the eye to make him feel uncomfortable and like a vaguely homophobic pervert.

What I’d like to say/what I will say after two beers: No, you idiot, I’m straight. Oh, and it’s kind of absurd to think that being surrounded by women turns you into a lesbian. So, if you’re asking me that just to fulfill some weird fantasy of yours, it's not gonna happen.

What I may say after vodka: Nope, no gay phase here, but some of my friends had one, and I kinda wish I had, too, because, really, what better time?

Women’s college taught me a whole hell of a lot: how to write, how to read, how to think critically, how to be independent, how to have confidence around men and how to get what I want.

But here’s what I really learned in women’s college:
 

1. Feminism isn’t (and maybe never will be) over, so POST-feminism is a crock of shit. (Read Female Chauvinist Pigs by Ariel Levy). That makes post-feminists mostly shit talkers.

2. Support your friends in whatever (or whomever) they do, whether that’s a mime performance or a math nerd.

3. The best setting for deep thinking is the floor.

4. Pants are overrated. Innovative punctuation is underrated.

5. Young women really are more inclined to show their smarts in a single-sex environment. That’s not just bullshit from the NYT education section.

6. Pubic hair upkeep and preference is an endlessly fascinating and appropriate dinner table conversation. I’m not sure if that’s pre-or post-feminism. Take your pick.

7. If you’re straight you can’t hang with the lesbians…

8. … but If you’re a lesbian, you CAN hang with the straight girls. Unfair?

9. That thing about girls being synced up? Not a myth.

10. Brunch is the best meal, and it’s even better done outside. With champagne. Without clothes.

These are lessons I’m proud to internalize. While some I could have learned at any co-ed institution, others are specific to my experience at a women’s college. While I still wonder what exactly I missed out on by attending a tiny women’s college in the Inland Empire, I rest easy knowing that my four female years were a welcome drop in the bucket of a looming co-ed life.