On Taking Up Space

Unit: Measuring Volume by Displacement

Lesson 1: Everything is either a solid, liquid, or gas.

Mrs. Klein shifts from one sensibly shoed foot to another. She turns and writes “volume” in loopy script on the blackboard under the laminated “Mrs. Klein’s 5th Grade” banner. Plastic cylinders and a rainbow of objects we’ve used for math exercises line a round table. She has planned this lesson carefully, a repeat of last year and the year before. 

I am poised with pencil in hand. Brandon, the boy who sits across from me, kicks my shin. I let out a yelp. He smiles wide enough to show me his canines. 

Mrs. Klein lofts her rehearsed opening question over Brandon and I: “How would you measure this bear’s height, length, and width to measure it’s volume?”  She holds the yellow plastic bear in question between her index finger and thumb, turning it over as if she’s never seen it before. 

Brandon turns his attention from me and yells out a guess: “A ruler!”

Mrs. Klein picks up the ruler she set up in reach and attempts to measure the bear

“Look at all the irregular sides! My ruler isn’t getting all the little curves of it’s belly and ears. What else class?”

Rachel, who sits in the back and zips and unzips her glitter pencil bag, guesses: “Ask an adult?”

“Yes, Rachel. Sometimes that is a good solution to a problem. But how would you measure this bear?”

Sadie, who’s light up tennis shoes I covet, guesses: “You could look it up!”

“That might be possible, if we had the right information, but today we will learn how we can measure the volume of any irregular object.”

Rachel always suggests asking an adult. I heard her dad works at city hall. Since we started doing dictionary drills, Sadie always thinks we can find the answer in the dictionaries we keep under our desk. Even Brandon’s reasonable answer is wrong. 

This is how Mrs. Klein begins every new unit. 

Lesson 2: A solid holds its shape. Liquid takes the shape of its container.

Mrs. Klein begins to distribute a single sheet of misaligned copies. The word “NAME:” is half missing at the top left. I write my name in tiny print so it will fit on the line next to it. 

“Today, we will be dropping these cute little bears into cylinders filled with water and logging measurements of the water before and after. The difference will be the exact mass of the object. This way we will be able to measure our bears without using a ruler or measuring tape!”

Brandon kicks me again before he realizes Mrs. Klein is approaching behind him with the materials for our two person table. I turn toward her and silently plead that she will see what’s happening before I have to say anything. 

She takes my gaze as appropriate attention to begin her sequence of instructions.

“Ok Table 3. You have a cylinder of water, two bears, and your worksheet. Do not move the cylinder from the paper towel I’ve put it on. Follow along on your worksheet. Brandon, don’t forget to write your name.”

She’s turning to move on. A panic is rising in my throat. 

“Mrs. Klein, Brandon kicked me.”

She spins back around to face us. Brandon sulks. This isn’t a new accusation, but it is the first from Table 3. 

Last week Mrs. Klein separated our tables of four into tables of two. After we’d settled into our new seats, she lead us in a call and response of the class rules printed on the wall next to the window.

I WILL BE RESPECTFUL. Iwillberespectful.

I WILL ALWAYS DO MY BEST. Iwillalwaysdomybest.

I WILL RAISE MY HAND. Iwillraisemyhand.

I WILL KEEP MY HANDS TO MYSELF. Iwillkeepmyhandstomyself.

Now, at Table 3, she issues a repeat of a dozen times before. It is a half hearted,  “Brandon. Keep your hands and feet to yourself.” She moves on to Table 4. 

Lesson 3: All objects take up space. The measure of this space is an objects volume.

  Brandon and I write down 1.3 on the line next to BEGINNING WATER. He drops the bear in and the water molds around it. Brandon pulls the cylinder toward him, situating the hexagonal base halfway off the paper towel. 

“1.7!” 

We write 1.7 next to WATER WITH 1 BEAR.

Mrs. Klein issues a reminder from the back of the class, her tone as regular and clear as a church bell. “Remember our states of matter we learned? What state of matter is the water? What state of matter is the bear?”

Her reminders correlate to questions at the bottom of the worksheet. I write down my answers in silence. 

What state of matter is the water in the cylinder? liquid

What state of matter is the bear? solid

“Hey”

Brandon taps my desk with the end of his pencil. He’s torn off the eraser and bitten the metal to a point. 

“What are you writing? You’re skipping.”

I erase my answers. He drops another bear into the cylinder from an inch above the opening. The bear knocks the side of the plastic with a soft thoink before splashing into the water. I watch the water rise dangerously close to the top. 

Brandon brings the cylinder off the paper towel to look at it closer.

“It’s at 2.1” he says confidently. 

He writes 2.1 next to WATER WITH 2 BEARS. I write the same. 

Lesson 4: Measure the volume of a solid object by measuring its ability to displace liquid.

We are back to the section on states of matter. I retrace my previous answers carefully. Brandon kicks me again. I don’t look at Brandon.

“The first one is liquid and the second one is solid.” 

Maybe I’m confused. I’m not entirely sure my answers are right enough to be on both our papers. I’m always remembering the sting of the red mark.

Maybe I’m embarrassed. Based on what I know, he either really hates me or like-likes me. Both are equally embarrassing. 

Maybe I’m afraid. Not for my safety but of a social scenario, a boy, a confrontation.

Maybe I’m afraid of his solidness. 

I hook my feet around the metal chair legs. The downy hair on my ankles bristle against the cool. I read the next section out loud. 

“THINK: Why does the water rise when the bears are added?”

Brandon looks at me expectantly. I don’t look at Brandon. I begin to write. The bears are solid and the water is liquid.

Brandon swings his legs moving the air under my desk. I wind my legs tighter around the chair. 

“What are you writing?”

I turn my paper toward him and pick up the cylinder to put it back on the paper towel. It leaves a wet ring on the faux wood.

He writes my answer carefully. He spins my paper back to me, catching the corner in the water. 

Brandon shoots up his hand and twists to find Mrs. Klein. 

“We’re done!! We finished!”

Mrs. Klein stands behind him and moves an uncapped purple pen down his page.

Check. Check. Check. Check. 

She flips the page over. Another set of questions run down the page. I flip my page over. The page too thin to read in the soggy spot. 

“You have quite a ways to go, Brandon. You know the states of matter, that’s good, now we need to get back to measuring that bear.” 

She pivots over my desk and turns my page back over. 

“Be careful with the water. You won’t get another worksheet, Allison.”

She marks four purple checks and walks back to her desk.

I untuck my legs and sit side saddle on my chair. Two pink marks bisect my shins.

Brandon leans back in his chair and taps a kid behind him. I can only see the back of his head but from his audience’s stifled laugh I can tell Brandon is making a face. 

Brandon turns back to me. He’s folded his eyelids so the pink shows in a small crescent above each pupil. I turn my lips into a smile. I am afraid of Brandon.

I rewind my feet around the chair legs and read the next question silently.

IN YOUR OWN WORDS: What does it mean for liquid to be “displaced”?

I write:

Liquid moves because of the solid. 

bring it in for a "Team Feminist" huddle

On a recent sunny Saturday, I sat in crowded, hip Brooklyn restaurant next to a table of women with one empty seat. There was a joiner to their party that half the women didn’t know. The two that already knew the joiner set to filling the others in on the mystery friend. 

“Well, she’s… I mean. You know Allison. She just kind of does what she wants.”

“Remember that time in Mexico?”

Those that don’t know Allison perk up at the pregnant pause. The two friends of Allison nod knowingly. 

“It’s a long story but she just went a little crazy. She took someone home and when we confronted her about it she acted like she didn’t care. She just does whatever she wants.”

“Was it a guy or a girl? I mean, I don’t care. Good for her, you know. But...” 

After they spent five more minutes talking shit about their friend, these women went on to talk about primary elections, their busy jobs, the immigration crisis. These were smart women. All of them, I’d guess, would gladly claim feminism. But this tone they were using, the same tone we sometimes talk about other women, has a flavor of disapproval, disdain even, that smacks of misogyny. 

Here’s the thing. We all are coded to believe the lies society tells us about gender, sex, race, etc. We (should) work consciously to seek the truth about these issues. But the undoing of indoctrinated damage requires fine tuning and a lot of practice. 

In recent years, labelling someone a “bad feminist” seemed to do more harm than good. (Why nitpick those who claim to be on our team while the enemy remains at large?) But these women at the restaurant were being bad feminists. Sometimes I’m a bad feminist. And not in the Roxane Gay kind of bad feminist who falls short of the impossible expectations of feminist culture. But a destructive or misinformed kind of practice of feminism. It’s worth an attempt at outlining what we still get wrong so we can get more right. Consider this a quick practice for team feminism. 

Alright, team, let's HER BODY HER CHOICE on three. One. Two. Three. HER BODY HER CHOICE!

Now let's get to it.

You might be a bad feminist…

….if you disapprove when a women doing something different/doing whatever she wants.

Despite our best efforts to create and understand different life paths, we love shitting on women who take an alternative one or take many different ones within a lifetime. This comes from a desire to have our own life path affirmed in its normality and rightness, but so often we step on others to justify ourselves. Can women make stupid life choices? Of course. Can we judge these? Sure, I guess. But there is a difference between disapproving of the choice itself and disapproving of a person’s ability to make a choice. Women are rarely allowed to be the authority on their own lives. Don’t assign value to another person’s decisions. Chances are, they know more about their life than you do. 

If you think you could live another woman’s life better than she can, you’re in bad feminist territory.

…if you have beef because your friend’s gender presentation or sexual orientation has changed since you’ve known them and you just can’t keep up.

We’re not being good friends if we can’t keep up with things that are central to our friends’ identities. We remember if a friend changed their last name. We remember their birthday. We remember all their exes and warn them when they are going to be somewhere. A reluctance to accept a change in gender performance or preference is a snag in the fabric of a friendship and practice of feminism. When people publicly change their markers it often comes after years of experience, thought, emotion. 

It’s not that complicated to be clear on someone’s current identity. 

…if you’re annoyed someone always makes it about race.

If I’ve learned one thing from this Dumpster Fire Era(™) it’s that it is almost always about race. To be good friends, we need to empathize, especially when a story isn’t similar to ours. Considering how race plays into marginalization based on gender is key to good feminism. Fellow white women, we’ve got to work to make our feminism intersectional and thank our friends of color for sharing with (and educating) us. 

It’s not their responsibility to make us woke.

…if you wish someone was less ~HiGh mAiNtEnAnCe~

It doesn’t matter for who or why they are presenting themselves a certain way. It does matter that we accept the expression. We’re not empowering* anyone by telling them how to look even if we feel we are righteously freeing them from an enslavement to the male gaze. We can’t use the same logic of oppression (there is a right way and wrong way to look like a woman) and expect change. Also, it’s a function of privilege to be accepted in society with low maintenance. Let ‘em Kardashian kontor, extend their eyelashes, boost their booty. You can’t tell a feminist by her makeup. 

If you find yourself telling someone how they must look to be a feminist, you’re doing it wrong. 

*blows whistle*

Alright. Good practice team. We’re passing the ball, we’re making good use of playing time, we’re working as a unit. Now, when we go up against Cis-Straight-White-Dude High next week, we will BURN THEM TO THE GROUND. 

*I have an issue with “empowerment.” Empowerment is the kid sister to power. I’m tired of being happy for society ~empowering~ women. Why don’t we give women actual power? (Register to vote here.)

Nice Girls Never Win: How Taylor Swift Got Caught in a Web We All Weave

"Oh what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive"

While researching an insignificant topic for a paper that was really assigned to practice our cursive, I became transfixed on this quote in the margins of the page of a children’s encyclopedia. I wrote it down. I recited it to myself. I fixated my fourth grade brain on what on earth that little ditty could mean. I knew that “deceive” meant something like “lie,” but I couldn’t understand why or how someone would practice to deceive. I didn’t understand then that, for many women, the very act of being nice depends on this practice of deceptive web weaving. I didn’t understand that this web that holds things together for time will only entangles the weaver.

Success and the Need to be Nice

Taylor Swift is caught in one such tangled web. After being “exposed” by Kim Kardashian she pivoted her story to accommodate the new information and keep Kanye West in the wrong. But none of the twists of this feud have been about the truth. Every turn is about personas (Swift’s, West’s, and Kardashian’s), and Taylor Swift’s is becoming unsustainable. Swift’s plight, from top-of-her-game to put-in-her-place, is an all too familiar one for a girl who wants to be known as nice.

First, a note on success: I refuse to believe that Taylor Swift is naive, stupid, or without control of her image. Like most famous artists, she has earned her success through a series of incredibly shrewd business moves and careful construction of a brand. Swift’s persona would never allow for an honest discussion of these aspects of her career, but there are there if you look past the red lipstick and instagram spam. The very brand that Swift and Co have created relies on Swift embodying the nice girl who’s defining characteristic is that she is likable.

Second, a note on being a nice: It’s not nice to say, “I got here because I worked my ass off.” Instead, nice girls say things like “I’m incredibly lucky” or “I couldn’t have done it without_____” It’s not nice to believe your work is better than others. Instead, nice girls show that they are just regular girls doing what came naturally to them. It’s not nice to keep a private, small circle of friends because it’s cliquey (read: bitchy). Instead, nice girls collect friends because everyone wants to be their friend and they’re so damn nice that they would never turn anyone away.

In this framework, Taylor could never speak specifically on what she had to do to earn an audition, a seat at the meeting, or control of her artistry. Taylor could never not like someone, unless that person was specifically and verifiably rude to her. Then, of course, not liking someone is justified. In this framework, Taylor must have a squad but can never support someone as controversial as Kanye West (even if she wanted to). To agree with Kanye when he is not being nice (i.e. calling Swift a bitch) means she may not be so nice. The web is tangled from the start because Taylor attempts to balance characteristics that are seen as mutually exclusive in our culture. You can’t be a nice girl and not be bothered by being called a bitch. You can’t be Taylor Swift and understand Kanye West. You can’t be nice and a shrewd business woman. 

In short, nice girls can’t win.

 Nice girls lose even at the project of being nice. If you’re unwilling to expose or identify your own flaws and risk being not-so-nice, don’t worry honey, we will do it for you. The more a young girl believes she is hot shit, the more the world is determined to show her she is not. Think about the differences between Anne Hathaway and Jennifer Lawrence. Nice girl who (understandably) downplays her flaws vs. relatable girl who revels in them. Think about every pop-princess who had to go through a “bad” phase to come out on the other side of her career. The world would never just let Britney Spears or Christina Aguilera continue to cook at their level of success forever without having some kind of break down or controversy (true or fictionalized). Without these carefully calculated persona changes, the every wave of the media’s fixation on flaws, breakdowns, and controversies would threaten the integrity of their nice girl persona.

Taylor Swift: the Unlikable Nice Girl 

But Taylor Swift has been trying to do what Britney and Christina couldn’t. She has out grown the nice-girl pants but instead of ripping them off in favor of a red leather jumpsuit, she has declared that capris are in. The irony is that Taylor is trying desperately to continue to have “nice” as her defining characteristic at the expense of losing control of this persona.

We are uncomfortable with people whose one’s defining personality trait is that they are “nice.” Not long ago, some of the customers at my bar were discussing how a mutual acquaintance is just “nice.” That’s it. That’s all she was. And neither of them liked her. “If being nice is your whole thing, if that’s all that people can say about you, then there’s really not that much there.” The two couldn’t think of a single complaint about the girl but it didn’t matter. She kind of sucked.

This judgement is one we hear often about Swift. People can’t point to a certain reason why they don’t like her except that maybe she seems disingenuous. Hell, I’ve said that exact thing myself. What is really at the heart of all these complaints is that, despite dealing pretty exclusively in being nice, she is unlikeable. But there is always a rationale for this. People are obsessed with critiquing the authenticity of her niceness. (See some write ups here, here, and here.) It’s as if when they expose her they will be justified in their dislike for Swift. 

Chuck Klosterman tried to explain this conundrum in a piece for Taylor’s first GQ cover, saying:

Over the past three years, Swift has built a volunteer army of high-profile friends, many of whom appear in her videos and serve as special guests at her concerts. In almost any other circumstance, this would be seen as a likable trait; Leonardo DiCaprio behaved similarly in the ’90s, and everyone thought it was awesome. But it’s somehow different when the hub of the wheel is Swift. People get skeptical.

Taylor has worked hard to be the nicest girl in the game. People can dislike her, they can believe she’s not talented, but they can’t say she’s not nice. Taylor’s nice girl persona was inevitably going to be cracked. No one can be that nice and that successful. No one can be that nice and likable. The previous assaults on her image have gained ammo from others, the media, Kanye, Apple music, etc., but this  time the caller is inside the house. She has finally been tangled in her own twisted web, but let’s not forget why someone would first practice to deceive.

Somewhere along the line it was impressed upon Swift that, above all, she needed to be nice. You don’t catch flies with vinegar. You’ll sound bitchy if you are not nice. Sometimes if you’re not nice enough, people will turn malicious. Taylor’s story is not unusual.

At the same time I was reciting “what a tangled web we weave,” I was continually praised for being nice. I didn’t fight with my parents. I didn’t complain. I didn’t seem to have an opinion on people other than, “if they will be friends with me, then I will be friends with them!” My parents’ friends praised them on what a nice daughter they’d raised. I remember “nice” being a huge part of my identity from the time I was young.

It is only recently that I’ve realized I am not so nice. I have needs, wants, and opinions and sometimes those things aren’t “nice.” Sometimes they’re just true or important or necessary. For years I have bent over backward to remain a “nice girl” in spite of the essential paradox of also being a human. It turns out that the longer you try to be nice and the higher you prioritize that label, the more you become tangled in your own web of deception. Eventually the idea of meeting the requirements of being a nice girl require you to deny essential parts of yourself. Eventually the things you denied yourself at the cost of being nice bubble up and catch you in a tricky brand of self-deception that people love to hate in young women.

Taylor Swift doesn’t need our sympathy, but her story is a cautionary tale for all the nice girls out there. If you fall for the lie that you have to be nice, be prepared for people to do everything they can to ensure that you don’t win.