Of My Moleskine Notebook

This is going to be really quick and most probably badly written, but I need to get this out or I shan’t sleep.

Earlier this evening I went out with Sha and Azlan for some dinner and coffee, and managed to get myself the first season of Mad Men. The press are always raving about the whip smart, fresh whatever whatever insert exciting one-liner comment here about it, yet sometime last year The Guardian was raving on about the whole chauvinism around it.

Ok, after two episodes, I have to say I’m hooked. But I couldn’t agree with Hadley Freeman more.

Tomorrow morning, in exactly less that six hours; I will be sitting for a 3 hour test on industrial organizational psychology. We write long ardorous essays on human resource and ‘leadership’. We recite researchers names on this and on that, and we evaluate and argue fact against reason, like we do.

We learn that apparently  women are more likely to collaborate, ask for opinions, and are more people-oriented than task-oriented.

We analyse performance/situation graphs which plot : Good Leader-Member Relationship + High Cohesion + Strong Leader = Low Productivity.

And without fail we find ourselves integrating what we have learnt to what we do, as we do.

I’ve been thinking about my work in societies and club-work more and more now that we’ve started on this topic. What was my management style? What type of leader was I? Why couldn’t I find that cohesive force in the board that I was chair of?

For example; why did I let people delegated with a certain task off the hook more than I can remember? Is it called being weak? Was it because I wanted to be nice? Or was it because at the end of the day, we were all just students and I’m thinking ahead of myself.

In French class a few years ago, we had to discuss the role of women in organizations. We had to read opinions of various executives on what they feel about managerial styles and the implication it had on the women that exercised it.

The conclusion from our group discussion then, for which I still agree to now is this, really. We will never be given the same ground. Men can be decisive and egoistic and sure of themselves and we applaud them for having a stand. Women do the same and end up being called tyrannical and get nicknames such as Nuclear Wintour.

A few weeks ago, the Economist published an issue with a picture of Rosie the Riveter, applauding how women make up for more than half the workforce. As that was the theme of their issue, they also had interesting articles on new human resource research, on new statistical facts I can quote in my psychology essays, on how the oft seen ‘weak’ or ‘humanistic’ approach of women are now seen in better light, as actually being more effective than what was ever thought of.

My father has always given me the room to flex my own thoughts and actions, and has an opinion that I should make my way in the corporate world. I speak my mind, bulldoze my way through, and always felt that my gender roles will only ever be fully seen in the bedroom. There, I grew up telling myself, is only where we can correctly see the difference.

Women in Malaysia share equal pay rights as men, we make up more than 60% of the class in higher education, and our pocketbook is handled by a governor, who in any other muslim-majority nation would not even be given the respect to be a governess.  The glass ceiling, I thought, was giving in; and I was so sure that the cracks will come off clean ‘when I become big’.

But there was something about watching Mad Men that scared me. It may have been filmed in a completely different era, way before the Sexual Revolution, and in a different culture altogether. The world has progressed and we’re in some kind of post-post post Germaine Greer stage, but-

I recognize those looks.

The way the copywriters look at the new secretary, compliment her and show her around; what she mistook for kindness and limelight for her innate charms- are the kind, oh so interested conversation I get plied by during intermission and breaks at debate tournaments and conferences.

I always thought, oh it’s because I’m a breath of fresh air, because I speak my mind and I argue what I believe in. Because I have a sharp tongue and sarcasm that used to shut up the Malay boys back in school, because all that Economist and Monocle gave me opinion and taste. Because, in the end; the privilege of confidence had given me an air of authority amongst the boys club.

But no.

It was because I was eager to charm, ready to be friendly and interesting and make good conversation. A childhood of entertaining my parents’ friends and my doting relatives had given me the practice of knowing what to say to the right people; striking the right chord in the right string. And without knowing it, I had played right into their hands.

It feels disgusting. I feel now like I was just whoring my intellect to be fondled by eager and expectant young men. Just like they do in the 60’s.

Papa, I think I may need some help. The structural design of the ceiling is sturdier than we both thought.