We Interrupt This Programming to Inform You that You’ve Been Programmed to Need Men

In the August 1996 issue of Seventeen Magazine, I wrote a story called “My Surprise Summer Love” which romanticized late night games of Questions my friends and I answered as we sat outside among a chorus of crickets. It described the coworker with the cute soccer butt beside whom I sliced deli meats at my morning job and my night job at the pizzeria where the uniform made me resemble a carrot (orange apron, green visor).

During those dewy summer nights, we asked questions that ranged from “Are you a virgin?” to “What does your most romantic evening look like? And that’s how I developed the crushiest of all crushes on Bobby.

In the story, my bestie, Nicole, and I run across a little wooden bridge in the woods while being chased by the cops (Ok, so in the story I described it as doing a happy dance and not running from the cops, but we were definitely running from the cops.) and one of my shoes flips off and splashes in the water.

In real life, Nicole and I exploded laughing because a.) it was funny and b.) we’d had a few cans of light beer as you did at house parties in NJ in 1990, and we were tipsy with a capital T.

It’s a miracle the cops didn’t detect our explosive laughter, because I’m pretty sure we stood on that bridge howling for quite a few minutes of lost getaway time before Nicole asked, “What are you going to do with one shoe?”

To which I shrugged and kicked the lone shoe off into the water.

In the first draft of that story (which no, I do not have it because I’m pretty sure I typed it up on a brother word processor as you did way back in the stone ages), I wrapped up the story about me and my crushiest crush parting ways by using a metaphor about the shoes.

Since he and I were attending different schools in the fall, I decided that it was better to kick the shoe off gracefully and walk barefoot, rather than limping along, unbalanced, with one shoe.

Just this weekend, Nicole (yes, we’re still ride or die besties 35 years later) brought up that story. “Remember that time we were running across that bridge and your shoe flew off into the water?”

“Yes! I wrote about that in Seventeen. Did I ever tell you that the editor changed the ending to that story?”

It’s true. I had written an ending that sent an empowering message. That young women could choose themselves instead of performing acrobatics to continue a long-distance relationship that should never go beyond summer love. The ending the editor chose was:

”Bobby and I knew we couldn’t survive a long distance relationship, so at the end of August we kissed goodbye on the driveway after Jack’s final party. Then we watched the sunrise together, and I drove alone to my last day at the deli crying the whole way."

Wait, WUT?

Who said anything about crying? And what’s with the ambiguity around who decided to break up the crushiest crush? Bobby and I knew? What did we know? I knew I’d be better off barefoot than limping along in a relationship where we’d be thousands of miles apart.But instead of choosing the empowering message, the editor chose to send millions of young girls the message that they can’t survive a long-distance relationship and they should cry about it.

Now, I totally admit that instead of arguing for my shoe metaphor, I gladly took my $2,000 (Yes! Magazine writing PAID way back when.) because at the time, that covered eight months’ rent in my crowded Hollywood bungalow.

But now as I reflect, it’s easy to see that in the 90’s (and every minute before then) we were being shown loud and clear that if we did not have boyfriend, we should be SAD.

The programming was so strong that when Kelly Taylor in Beverly Hills 90210 was faced with choosing Brandon or Dylan and she said, “I choose me,” my roommates and I were so offended by the idea of passing over two rich hotties to care for yourself that we actually yelled, “What is she thinking?!” at the TV.

Hats off to 90210 for trying to nudge the female collective into seeing that it is totally ok to walk barefoot without a dude, but damn, we were NOT READY FOR IT.

Even as I wrote that shoeless summer love story, I didn’t fully believe it myself. I pursued all the wrong men just to prove that I was worthy of wearing a pair of shoes throughout my 20’s, 30’s, and even my 40’s. (Feel free to subscribe to read about those shitshows in future posts.)

And that’s because the programming is STRONG. From childhood, we fantasize about being princesses who get rescued by princes. In adulthood, that story was reframed in Pretty Woman where even hookers get rescued by rich princes. (And dayuuum what’s wrong with you if Prince Charming isn’t rolling up to your spot on Hollywood Boulevard?)

We’re programmed to look down on the Old Maid, The Spinster, and the Crazy Cat Lady—horrendous fates to be avoided at all costs! God forbid you peacefully live out your life in a home you’ve paid for and decorated exactly the way you want where the only snoring you’ll ever hear is the purring of your feline friends.T he programming can be seen in the way men have been framed as protectors (Then why do we choose the bear every time?) while women have been framed as being responsible for completing men.

I don’t know about you, but I’d rather go barefoot.

The good news is, once you see the programming, you can’t unsee it.

You’re welcome.