What Really is Stupid?

stupid (adjective) - not carefully considered or sensible - marked by or resulting from unreasoned thinking or acting.  

I hate being considered stupid because I'm blond.  That prejudice makes me feel self conscious when I'm trying to do something like talk to auto mechanics who see me coming and instantly start to hear the cha-ching of a cash register.  They're pretty sure that I'll accept anything they say without question because blonds are not supposed to be very bright.  So when they come back with a diagnosis that my car has a broken "flux capacitor" and it will take thousands of dollars to fix it, they figure that I'll take out a credit card and gladly hand it to them, no questions asked.   Unfortunately for them, I happen to be a big fan of the "Back to the Future" movies, so unless they plan on installing one so I can go forward or backward in time, I'll get a second opinion.  

Being blond does not have the perks you might think it would.  They are so many stereotypes of the "dumb blond" in the media dating back to the 1930's (think Jean Harlow), to the 1950's (Jayne Mansfield and Marilyn Monroe) to the 1960's (Goldie Hawn) to the 1970's (Chrissy on Three's Company).  Unfortunately, people like Paris Hilton seem to make the case that your brains wash out with the bleach.  It creates some real pressure not to say or do anything that would be considered stupid and if, God forbid, that you make a mistake because you're blond, then it confirms the idea you are naturally not as smart as the non-blonds.   I've actually had people talk slower to me than a brunette in the same room because they believe that bubble headed mentality. Being the only blond in a workplace of women can be toxic - because if your colleagues buy into that stereotype - they can make you feel like the weak sister no matter how many projects you complete on time, how many awards you win or sales you complete.  It feels like any mistake you make is magnified because being blond automatically implies that you are stupider then anyone else in the office.  You know you're intelligent and yet the constant condescension can really wear you down. 

But I think the stigma of stupid can have far reaching consequences even at an early age.  For girls, whether they are blond or not, the issue of intelligence can be a tough balance in our society.   Before the age of 10, studies have shown that young girls are more likely to raise their hands or participate in class because they have a certainty of the knowledge they possess.  As they get older, they are afraid of being seen as a nerd or worse - smarter than a boy they like, so they dumb themselves down and pretend to know less than they do.   They act dumb to get the guy and let's face it - that's just plain stupid.  For instance, in Mean Girls, Lindsay Lohan's character, Cady went from a smart geek girl to one of the plastics just to get a guy.  She even pretends to fail a math class so that the guy who was tutoring her would not find out that she could have easily aced all her tests.   In Legally Blond, Reese Witherspoon as Elle Woods starts out as dumb blond who has no idea about her potential and then solves a murder case that would have been impossible for her fashion and hair phobic counterparts to figure out.  Turns out that being style savvy worked in her favor but it took a long time for her colleagues to take her seriously - they were blinded by her good looks, blond hair and hourglass figure.   

When I performed with the improv group Mental Floss, I did a character named Fluffy La Puff.  She was a stereotypical dumb blond with a Marilyn Monroe/Swedish accent.   She would say suggestive things like "I don't know you, but I know I want to love  you!" and "Let's play the Teddy Bear game, I'll wear the Teddy and you can be the bear!"   She wore a tight short blue dress with white pumps, had big boobs (rolled stockings can give you the illusion of serious TaTas.) and a platinum wig.   My reason for doing her was to lampoon the screen goddesses who had made a living playing dumb.   I wanted men to see how boring that sort of woman would be and for women, that they would never be taken seriously if you acted like a bimbo.   So after I did her, I expected the guys to make fun of her, but instead I had a few men come up to me after the show and tell me that Fluffy was their favorite character because she was hot and dumb.   "Real women are too complicated - with Fluffy - what you see is what you get," a middle aged man said wistfully.    I would have hated for him to take Fluffy home only to find out that her two biggest assets were some strategically placed panty hose stuffed into a D cup bra.  I should have expected that from a few sexually frustrated men, but surely the women in the audience got what I was doing.   "Where did you get those white pumps?   They are totally sexy," asked a young college girl.   "Wait, didn't you get the point about Fluffy?" I asked.  "Sure," her friend said, "White pumps make your legs look long, tan and you can wear them with anything."  Sigh. 

I think the biggest problem with the word stupid is how it's used.    Many times it's an insult meant to demean.   Those who use it often don't want to learn more about the person they are labeling.  It's easier to dismiss an idea or person as stupid rather than looking further.   Albert Einstein was once thought of as stupid by the headmasters of his school because he was curious and asked more questions then the other children.   He questioned and didn't accept the status quo.  He was great at physics but struggled in other subjects  --  even math which he freely admitted to.   He understood that making mistakes was a way to grow and that it didn't mean you were dumb - it just taught you how to think critically and learn.   One of my favorite Einstein quotes is:  "Anyone who has never made a mistake has never tried anything new."  I once worked for a man who was petrified of making mistakes and hated when anyone on his staff did.  If he caught it - he'd totally blow it out of proportion and made you feel totally incompetent.   While I understand the "failure is not an option" mentality - sometimes you need to fail to learn how to succeed.  Fearing mistakes leads to stagnation and keeps you at a putrefying level of mediocrity. 

For me, the definition of stupid is having the knowledge to do or prevent something but choosing not to.   For instance, people who text and drive are really, really stupid.  You'd have to live under a rock to not know how dangerous and illegal it is.    Probably the best thing I've learned from the assumption that I'm a dumb blond is that you can't judge people based on how they look, what they wear, what country they come from, their religion or any of the other silly things we want to base our preconceptions on.  I try to get to know people instead of assigning a convenient label - it's just a smart thing to do.   As anyone whose ever worked with me can tell you, it's really a bad idea to underestimate me - in fact it's downright stupid. 

First Sight

The first time I saw the love of my life Max, he was wearing a t-shirt that said "I'm not wearing any underwear, film at 11:00!"  His long wavy brown hair was flowing over his shoulders right to the top of his tattoo of a pig devil named Hot Stuff holding a musket.    He was cutting up with his friend Richard, smoking a cigarette and going over his lines.    I had never really been into heavy metal bands, but was pretty sure this guy was probably in one. 

I was 24 at the time and dressed in a white shorts, a white shirt that was tied in a knot at my waist, white sneakers and my long blond hair was spilling over my shoulders (apparently I wanted to play the part of the vestal virgin).   I asked if this was the place for the auditions and expected to be condescended to  (as a life long blond, folks generally assume you're not very bright right off the bat - a big mistake).   But instead of making fun of me, he made eye contact briefly, immediately looked down and said "Yes" quietly.     "Oh, my God, he's shy.  That's so cute," I thought as we waited to go in and read for the show. 

We both got cast in the show All Men are Whores, (that was the original name of the play) for the FIU Playwrights' Festival.  As the weeks of rehearsals progressed,  I found myself drawn to this man who smelled of cigarettes and Wella Balsam.   For a guy with long hair, it was always very well conditioned and soft.  Best of all, I could talk to him easily.  But because I was dating another actor in the improv troupe Mental Floss, he had to remain my buddy Max.   He was also dating someone else, a gorgeous actress in Miami, so our relationship had to stay friendly and nothing more.   Ironically he played the two timing lead with me as his thing on the side.   

One day, we were rehearsing on the set with the rest of the cast watching and we had to do a long passionate kiss.   We had been just stage kissing in the other rehearsals, but something about that day - his minty fresh breath, the cream rinse in his hair, the warmth of his neck and the fact that he never treated me like a dumb blond converged into the moment when I forgot where I was.  I genuinely kissed him - a full on french kiss.  The scene ended and I felt mortified.  "That was so unprofessional, what must he think of me?" I thought as I hastily got up from the couch, shook his hand and said, "Good working with you," and then left quickly, my heart ready to pound out of my chest.   How could I have done that?  He's my buddy, nothing more I told myself and didn't say anything to Patrick, my boyfriend.  He was an actor too, but he wouldn't understand - our relationship was tentative enough as it was.   We had a five day break in rehearsals so I was hoping that Max would forget all about it. 

A few days later, I was auditioning for another play, called Raining Backwards.   I did my monologue and afterwards talked to the producer and then saw Max talking to the director.  It turns out he was also a designer and would be building the set.   I said a quick "Hi" and felt my face starting to flush.  "Hey," he said and we exchanged some quick pleasantries about the play we were in.   It seemed weird and random to see him there.  I had not mentioned this audition and he hadn't mentioned that he was the designer.  "Okay, what's going on?" I asked the universe as I drove home that day.  

I got over the tonsil hockey incident and we kept rehearsing  All Men are Whores.   One weekend, shortly before we were supposed to open, I auditioned for another play called Robin Goodfellow which was the children's theater version of A Midsummer's Night Dream.   I was auditioning for Titania when Max walked in.  "My God, does this guy know everyone in town?" I thought.  Again, another random meeting that neither one of us had mentioned.   We both got cast as the fairy queen and king for this show which had a six months month rehearsal schedule which under normal circumstances I would have objected to -- but it gave me an excuse to see Max on a regular basis.    On the drive home from this audition it was clear that the universe wanted us to be together.  

Whore Dogs  opened and was pretty well received (we had to change the title from All Men are Whores since the playwright had stolen the original name from a David Mamet play).   Patrick broke up with me shortly after it opened.   I was a little sad but not devestated.  It had never really been a good relationship from the start, just convenient.  I grew tired of his passive-agressive behavior.   I called Max that night using a ruse about starting an improv group and pumping him for information about decent theaters to work with.  He sensed that something was wrong but didn't press me for details.   The last thing I wanted to do at that point was date another actor - I just needed my buddy Max to talk to.  

As the rehearsals for Robin Goodfellow continued, Max and I got to know each other better and I let him know after six weeks that Patrick was no longer in the picture.   He told me that his girlfriend had gone to New York, but hadn't called in two weeks and it was pretty much over over.   So we went out, had chicken wings and talked about acting, our lives and the future.     

If you had told me 25 years ago I'd be married to a guy who was a dead ringer Ted Nugent, I would have said "Who the hell is Ted Nugent?"  Then after finding out,  I would have said, "No freaking way!  I'm going to marry a yuppie like Miles Silverberg," who was a character on Murphy Brown.    That was supposed to be my type - the career driven guy that would work all the time, be a little neurotic and make tons of money - that guy was supposed to make me happy.    But I wonder how many women have walked by guys like Max and never given them a second look in their quest for a doctor or a lawyer who could give financial security but not much else.   I've been around tons of women who had the nice house, cars,  and vacations.   But after being around them and their husbands for 10 minutes, it's pretty clear they've sold their souls for designer clothes, handbags and lunches at Bal Harbor.   I used to come home from work and think they could buy and sell me 10 times over but I wouldn't trade my life with them for anything.  Of course not all women who are married to well to do men end up like that,  but I feel for those that didn't give themselves a chance to be happy with someone who was not their "type."

In our 19 years of marriage, we've survived Hurricane Andrew, the deaths of three of four of our parents, a malpractice lawsuit, Max's near death from chicken pox, a child diagnosed with autism, and moving to Georgia without really knowing a soul.    It's been a challenge at times to make ends meet and we've had our fights along the way, but everyday I look at him I thank God and our guardian angels for those random auditions.  He's still my lover and my best friend - my buddy Max.  I think tonight we'll cuddle on the couch, say how much we love each other and watch a film at 11:00.