One-Dimensional Tropes

“Geez, Zac. I’m always a little bit surprised when you actually listen to me. I’m impressed.”

“Oh,” Zac laughed and shook his head, as if I were getting the wrong idea. “I usually don’t listen to your vacuous drivel, but occasionally I’m reminded that you aren’t as stupid as you look.”

“Naw, thanks,” I gushed. “It’s the blonde hair, isn’t it? I split-tested blonde versus brunette, and blondes definitely have more fun.”

“This is exactly the kind of vacuous drivel I was referring to.”

“Oh, come on, Zac,” I laughed. “I’m not some one-dimensional Hollywood trope. Am I not allowed to be simultaneously interested in intellectual things, and the color of my hair? If I like wearing pretty dresses, and watching rom-com movies, and curating home decor photos on Pinterest, does that make me vacuous and basic?”

“Well-”

“It’s just such a boring and uninspiring storyline, y’know? This idea that intelligent females wear glasses, are socially awkward or uptight control freaks, dress in frumpy clothing, and are romantically inept. I just don’t like the message it sends to young girls who want to use their brains. It’s almost as if you have to sacrifice your vibrant femininity for intellect, and it’s such bullshit.

I think I’m at least mildly intelligent, but I don’t wear glasses, and I used to run a goddamn fashion business. Now I run an online coding school for kids because I’m perfectly capable of caring about clothing and technology and children and education and the fundamental nature of reality and the color of my hair all at the same time. I also enjoy watching The Bachelor with my mom and my girlfriends. My celebrity crush is Henry Cavill, if you must know. And I really don’t have a problem getting a date when I want one.”

“Well someone’s a little sensitive about this issue,” Zac teased.

“I just don’t like being put in such a tiny box! I mean, do men have this problem? I just feel like women are conditioned to think of themselves as just one color of the rainbow: smart but uptight; beautiful but vain; hot but crazy; vulnerable but weak; strong but aggressive. It’s taken years for me to realize that I’m allowed to be a lot of different things all at the same time. I’m allowed to be every color of the rainbow — which, by the way, is how you produce pure white light. I’m allowed to engage in ‘vacuous drivel’ while simultaneously thinking very deeply about this world I am a citizen of.”

“Well if you don’t like it, why don’t you change it? Write your own story.”

“Maybe I will.” I gave Zac a coy smile. “I mean, I’ve already turned you into a trope, haven’t I? You’re my funny bachelor sidekick whom I exploit for a bit of comedic relief and devil’s advocacy.”

Zac scoffed. “So I exist in your story purely as a prop to progress your own narrative of self-discovery?”

“Yes, exactly!” I pointed in his direction. “You’ll be brilliant in a supporting role — just like so many women before you. I’ll shine a light on you at a very specific angle and expose only the aspects of your personality that serve my agenda. No one has to know you’re actually a complex and nuanced and multi-faceted human being. No one has to think too deeply about it. People can love you or hate you, but they won’t really know you like I do. It will be a magnificent illusion.”

Zac’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

I giggled, stood up, and began returning to the whiteboard in my room.