Do you always play the competent female when you need something? Or do you ever play the damsel in distress?

This question was on the table one night long ago, at an ordinary dinner with friends. That conversation has bothered me ever since, but until last week, I couldn’t have told you why.

I said that I used to always play the competent female, which is how I typically think of myself. But I’d found that in many situations–think negotiating bank charges, or pretty much any conversation with the mechanic–this approach didn’t get me anywhere. If I owned my competency, I’d get talked down to (if I got any help at all), and rudely.

I finally realized that I got a lot farther as the damsel. If I pleaded ignorance, the man (and the occasional woman) would carefully explain the situation to me, provide actual help, and be really nice in the process.

I wanted to be respected as a competent woman. But it didn’t work.

I hated it. But there it was.

My friend was aghast. She quickly shamed me (I recognize that now, thanks to Brené Brown) for betraying my fellow women. We’ll never get anywhere if people like you keep acting like that, she said.

(People like you? That hurts.)

But that wasn’t my experience. I didn’t advance womankind’s cause an inch by acknowledging I knew what a spark plug was, but I sure guaranteed myself an unproductive conversation with the mechanic.   

I’ve thought about that old conversation a lot.

Over the past year or two, I’ve read that for women, competence and likeability are inversely correlated. I didn’t realize that’s what was going on in my own life, and I certainly didn’t realize that’s the topic we were dancing around in that old conversation.

But Sheryl Sandberg finally helped me see it. I read Lean In last week, and she discussed the phenomenon of women and power and likeability quite a bit. But it wasn’t until I watched her TED talk that it clicked: “Success and likability are positively correlated for men, and negatively correlated for women.” 

That old conversation didn’t have much to do with success, but it had everything to do with being treated badly when I was perceived as competent. My competency made me unlikable. But I apparently made a very likable damsel in distress.

How depressing. 

Sandberg makes clear that there are no simple solutions here: cultural change takes time, and fixing deeply ingrained perceptions won’t be simple. Things won’t change in her lifetime, yet she’s hopeful for the next generation.

As she says, “I want my son to have a choice to contribute fully in the workforce or at home, and I want my daughter to have the choice to not just succeed, but to be liked for her accomplishments.”

Yes. Me too. 

Do you resonate with my experience, or are you aghast like my friend was? Talk to me about owning your competency and playing the damsel, about women and likability.

photo credit

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It was our junior year in college, and even though we all spent plenty of time together on campus we still wanted a spring break adventure on the open road. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that Britney Spear’s movie Crossroads inspired us, although the closest we got to her karaoke contest scene was wailing to Vanessa Carlton, windows down, through Sedona National Park.

Lori’s parents’ Nissan Quest minivan quickly became the ultimate road trip vehicle. The first stop was Vegas, where we avoided the typical spring break crowd.  Instead, we stuffed our faces at the Circus Circus Buffet, before touring a vitamin factory on the outskirts of town just because it was something free to do.

On the long stretches of empty roads, under painted-desert skies, the girls in the back would cuddle up together, one reading, one dozing, and the other glued to Newsies on the TV.  The driver and co-pilot were usually getting philosophical, spilling out future hopes and fears about our impending adulthood. And, occasionally, someone in the back would pipe up a gentle reminder to slow down.

We wanted to slow down more than anything, really. Very soon the looming responsibilities of post-grad life would physically pull us away from each other. Some would get married; others would go on to graduate school on the opposite side of the country or pursue jobs of their dreams.

One night, as we sat under starry Colorado skies, we made a commitment I consider almost as sacred as my marriage vows. We decided that our spring break trip would not be the last adventure before “real life” swept in. Instead, our trip would be the first intentional step at maintaining friendships we worked hard to establish, and were desperate not to lose.

I remember one of the girls saying, “We’re not always going to have the money or the time.” The concerns were valid. Keeping our annual commitment to see each other hasn’t been simple. Demanding jobs make vacation time slim, babies require a lot of attention, and travel is expensive. It’d probably be easier to say, “Not this year. Maybe next year instead?” But friendship is an investment requiring some work, just like a marriage or children.

My girlfriends and I have taken many “spring break” trips since college. We’re continuing to perfect the art of purposeful, relaxing, and playful time together.

One year all of us met in New York City for a whirlwind weekend spent sightseeing and shopping. On the last day though we realized our time had been full of adventure but lacked good conversation. We’d spent three days together but still felt a little bit like strangers.

After our trip to New York, we made another pledge. No matter where we meet, no matter what time of year, no matter how busy we are—we have to make time for intentional conversation. Since then our trips haven’t been nearly as exciting in terms of destination. Instead, the best parts take place around the dinner table each night, or on the porch in our pajamas.

Each year we do all sorts of fun things to make our time special, from discussing a book together to exchanging Christmas presents in person (who cares if it’s July!) But as I get older, the most exciting part about traveling to see girlfriends is simply being with those who’ve known my heart since it was young and naïve. Once a year they pour encouragement into my soul in a way e-mails and phone calls cannot. They speak life into my insecurities, and ask questions I’m not willing to ask myself.

I’m so grateful that who I’m becoming today includes little pieces of each of them.

Lesley Sebek Miller is mama to Anna and wife to Jonathan. She’s a member of the Redbud Writers Guild and her work has appeared on the Christianity Today blog for women and Relevant Magazine. When she’s not writing or chasing a toddler she likes to read, run, and bake sweets. You can visit her at Barefoot on 45th. 

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Last weekend we hurried home from the homeschool conference so we could visit the LEGO Kids Fest visiting our town for the weekend. My son is a huge LEGO addict, and my girls like to build, too.

The event was equal parts fun and overwhelming. They had all kinds of different displays and activities, including a special building area for the LEGO Friends line.

We’ve talked about “girl legos” here before; in a nutshell, I love the colors but hate the marketing. I snapped this photo of a typical ad at the event:

These shots are from a promotional catalog that was handed out in the LEGO Friends area:

I love LEGOs because they’re so open-ended. But in the magazine summer fun is reduced to a multiple choice quiz.

I love the colorful bricks, but I don’t love the pre-imagined little world that LEGO created to go with them. Also, breasts.

But my daughters couldn’t have cared less about the shiny catalogs, and they definitely didn’t want their picture taken in front of that big sign (as the event workers kept suggesting). They were much more interested in the larger-than-life models created by the master builders for the LEGO Friends area:

These girls look a lot more badass than any of the girls in the ads. Also, no breasts. 

Is it just me, or is there a total disconnect between the official advertising and the models the master builders chose to put together?

My girls enjoyed playing with the LEGO Friends bricks for a while.

Trying to find the good bricks. 

They built butterfly gardens and colorful kitchens, like this: 

“Mom, don’t you wish our kitchen looked like this?”

It’s a picnic, of course. 

My son happily built with these “girl LEGOs” for a while….because, LEGOs. He doesn’t care, as long as he can build.

I wonder if the master builders balked at the idea of creating a busty girl blow-drying her hair, or if perhaps LEGO thought these models  would provide a nice contrast to the published materials. I’m very curious about their thought process. (Unfortunately, no one working the event had any idea.)

Regardless of what you think of LEGO Friends, does the difference between the life-size models and the advertising strike you as odd? Or as a smart move on LEGO’s part? (Or both?)

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