Swimming Mainstream

I’m not esoteric. Nor exotic. I’m not particularly cool. I listen to Top 40. I like blockbusters. I only go to plays I have heard of. Musicals typically, and if I know all the songs already--perfect! My favorite restaurants—Il Fornaio, Roy’s Hawaiian Fusion, CPK, In&Out-- are all chains. Sure I like to try new places. I’ll go to Coachella or the odd indie film. But when I am looking for comfort, I go with the masses.

My mainstream-ness was uncovered at NYU, at my individual study school orientation. All of us free-thinking newcomers, all too unique to fit into a school with a label like "English" or "Business" or "Social Work" were supposed to all be different. That was the whole point.

Or so I thought.

In a butter-colored, tweed, J.Crew golf hat, a distressed, short Abercrombie jean skirt and an over-sized light grey sweater, I already stood out in the ring of black and ironically-sloganed t-shirts. As we went around, telling our chosen areas of expertise, I noticed that mine was very unusual. And not in a good way. “Discovery of trauma through rhythmic dance,” one guy said. “The effect of trees on the emotional spectrum,” said a girl. I was suddenly Elle Woods.

“And what are you studying?” the director of the program asked me.

I just wanted to write a novel about sex, men, and the magazine industry. Incorporate a little feminist theory, but make it marketable. Chick Lit, with more brains. But not too much. I didn’t want to be poor.

“Um, well,” I stammered. I don’t stammer. I swallowed and put on my best artsy-face. “I’m looking at the female novel and the dichotomy between feminism and the male gaze in terms of character development.” I hoped it was Foucault-ish enough for these people. This was the first time I felt so out of place. So weird. Like being mainstream was counter-culture.

Needless to say I couldn’t stand being in a program where I knew I was surrounded by people who used big words to make themselves feel smart and would have made fun of me for going to a Spice Girls concert or still listening to Britney Spears. People who looked down on me for working at People magazine. "Hello? I interviewed Oprah," I wanted to say. "I have clips in a national magazine!" But I didn't brag. I just smiled and nodded, tried to be invisible. How was I supposed to be myself when they thought I should be like them? Plus there were no writing classes. Awesome. I left after the first year.

Then, in lecture today, I was reminded of this feeling as the T.A.s introduced themselves and their research. One was studying hostile forms of speech, and the other was focusing on the physiological and psychological effects of abused adolescents.

I’m writing a non-fiction book about marriage mania and a fictionalized memoir about trying to be a slut in college. Mainstream again. Can't get a break!

Its not really a big deal, I guess, but sometimes I feel like I am exceedingly less intelligent for being part of the herd. Or maybe I’m smarter because I won’t be homeless. At least I know what I like, I suppose. It just happens to be what everyone else does.