Gen Z women grew up in the wake of the “girl power” sentiment touted by third-wave feminists. Parents, teachers and books told us from a young age that we are capable of anything. The legacies of real-life heroines from Marie Curie to Maya Angelou were guidebooks on how to be the most impressive woman. The world is supposed to cheer us on as we break down proverbial doors, barriers and walls. But what does the world do when we don’t shatter stereotypes?
For many years, it was my understanding that falling neatly into the category that I seemingly belonged to was a moral failure on my part. Excellence was contingent upon me achieving goals and having interests that diverged from what the world expected of my social group of upper-middle-class white women. If I had dreamed of a liberal arts degree, a boring husband and two kids who did not like me, I thought nobody would high-five me at the finish line.
While these days I may join my white woman peer group in writing potentially tone-deaf articles on the intricacies of my privileged life, growing up, I did my best to distance myself from stereotypical interests. I did not listen to Taylor Swift or watch romcoms, opting to listen to rap music and read political theory instead. Shockingly, reading political theory did not land me on homecoming court or with a prom date, but it did force me to realize a fundamental truth about myself: I hate political theory. I also really like romcoms and Taylor Swift.
Stereotypes of women pervade all aspects of life, from issues as trivial as ordering lunch to pursuits as serious as careers and voting. The choice between a salad and a burger is not just a taste preference — it is a statement about a woman’s coolness and health. The choice between having a flexible job or one with long hours is not about values or money, it is about what a woman is failing to do because of that choice.
Though these specific examples may apply best to women, stereotypes threaten us all. Across numerous studies, researchers have found that when individuals fear that they may confirm negative stereotypes of their social group with regard to a specific task, they underperform on that task. This disparity has been observed across people with different races, genders, socioeconomic statuses, age groups and linguistic backgrounds.
It may be that these social categories do not inherently impede us from achieving our goals, but it is ignorant to say that these classifications are meaningless or that they do not affect people. In our constant worry of upholding what people expect from us, we attempt to achieve the unexpected. Yet, simultaneously, when we are aware of our social categorization, we crumble under the weight of expectation. The punchline is that the United States is far kinder to those who meet the expectations of their social group, but we are constantly told to be exceptional.
This is a paradox that people have expressed time and time again. Despite the greatest efforts of authors, songwriters and America Ferrera in “Barbie,” all of these cries of injustice feel unsatisfactory. They capture our pain but can never resolve it. Feminism has been said to come in waves for a reason — it is a perpetual cycle lapping at a constantly evolving and never-realized calm.
An imperfect world forces us to resort to imperfect solutions. Whether or not we choose to crush stereotypes, someone will be disappointed and have unmet expectations. The people who are not excited about what brings us joy and make us feel inadequate do not earn a spot in our lives beyond what is necessary. Even if we cannot avoid those people, we do not have to offer them joy they will destroy or falsehoods to cater to their expectations.
We can take control and prioritize the people who amplify our joy. We can share in their joy in return. We can listen to Taylor Swift or rap music around them, and they will turn up the volume. Those are the people worth kicking down doors and moving mountains for, not the people who expect us to fail.