I guess you're expecting a confession.
"It wasn't me," I should say. "I don't own that many shoes. I don't kiss that many boys. And obviously, I didn't really mean it."
But the thing is, I did. There will be many admissions in this column: that I slipped an agenda under the girl-talk; that I played with people through pen names; that I wasn't sure if it was right. But to say it was a hoax? That's not true. Here's what is:
This column started when my 11th grade English teacher Mr. Joel fumed into class. "They fired Norm MacDonald!" he wheezed. "On Saturday Night Live!" We shifted in North Face fleeces. "Norm MacDonald was a great satirist!" Mr. Joel explained. "He used humor as a mirror, like Shakespeare or Chaucer! This is a great loss." And then, another great loss: he mourned Weekend Update a month before we mourned him. Soon after Peter Joel was buried, I decided to Write Like a Girl.
"Candace Bushnell scooped you," said my dad. He showed me a just-starting show called Sex and the City. I was sixteen and shocked. The sex was a sugarcoating, encapsulating real issues: relationships, loneliness, independence, proper fall footwear. And just like Shakespeare, Chaucer and Norm MacDonald, Carrie Bradshaw was a social critic: funny, self-aware, and over the top. I was in love.
According to my mom, the best way to change a system is from within that system. "If you're going to a women's rights rally," she said, "look beautiful so men can't say, 'she's just bitter because she's ugly.' You could be part of their structure, but you're choosing a different path, a better one."
Sometimes I worried this column wasn't a better path. Half the school labeled me Katherine Hepburn reincarnated while some thought I was Satan. But everyone was thinking. That's all I wanted.
Being a Duke Girl is sublime. We've got classes, crushes, infinite potential, double standards, BC runway pressure and justified anxiety to walk alone at night. Some people don't consider these "real problems," but we know better. Like other Duke Girls, I love having fun. And I love being a smart woman. I've spent the past three years trying to prove that I can be both.
You want a confession? It was fun to stack stilettos on top of sexual anxiety. I loved layering lip-gloss over love and lust and the listless wait for something real and someone worth it. It was fun to be called names like bitch, brilliant, idiot, slut, poser, It-Girl and once goddess (thanks, PJ). You've all labeled me 32 flavors and then some. I don't know how "bitch" tastes, but my former flames could probably tell you.
Here's the final confession: I had to write this column. It was festering from the first day I slammed onto my GA mattress, unaware I would fall in love with words, house parties, Dar Williams, everything Marc by Marc Jacobs and discovering it's possible to trust oneself, even when others aren't brave enough to try.
I'm still working on that one, but writing like a girl has helped. I cannot express how much this column has meant to me. Thank you for harassing, debating, propositioning, mocking and applauding. Your responses have made my life here full.
Thank you for reading.
YOU WRITE LIKE A GIRL: CAST LIST
The most beautiful women I know: Sarah Brodeur (fellow fashionista/yoga buddy), Therese Rohrbeck (fellow 302 roomie), Hillary Kaylor (too cool senior), Lucy and Brady (my Bloomsbury Group), Jordan Pollock (with boy friends and boyfriends). with special guests the amazing drama women, the Chronicle/Recess posse and the fabulous Alpha Phis.
And my boys: Adam Sampieri (rock star #1), Rob Painter (rock star #2), Matt "Tarzan" Stevenson (Alan Ginsburg watch out), Adam Katz (Phish Foodie), David French (guy translator), Mike Fliss (my defender), Kevin Lees (who will find love when love is ready for him), Zach Huselid (sigh) and Ethan Brown. Also my former partner in crime: I've never found a way to say I love you, but if the chance came by, I would. Even though you're an a------. Extraordinary love to Greg Bloom, my editor and co-conspirator, who made me a Valentine Princess and will wave from Such Great Heights. Love too to California boy Jim Poulos, my life preserver and guardian dork.
But mostly, this column is for my parents, who have taught me I can be anything and everything, sometimes all at once.
Faran Krentcil is a Trinity senior.
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