"Even After the Glitter Fades": Dating as a Ph.D.

“You know, the man of my dreams might walk round the corner tomorrow. I'm older and wiser and I think I'd make a great girlfriend. I live in the realm of romantic possibility.”

©     Stevie Nicks

Five years ago, as I contemplated which grad school to go to, I did a little bit of research. Not the kind of research that involves looking at the school’s English program or the type of instructors that taught there or even how reputable the place was—no, I researched the dating life of a grad student. I stumbled upon blogs and wikis dedicated to dating life in grad school, and as I sat reading through the threads, a tiny black cloud burst upon my head: the consensus was dating in grad school sucked. I combed through more and more threads sure that this was wrong—how could it be so hard to date in grad school? There would be boys, ahem, men there. There’d be a whole new city to explore. Yet every blog and wiki said the same thing. Shaking my head in defiance, I declared that would not be the case for me—I would find a way to date, and date a lot, throughout grad school.

Decision made, I set out to truly figure out what grad school to attend. One day, I was walking to grab coffee with my mentor when he said he had advice for me,

“Don’t get married in grad school.”

“Uh, ok??”

“No, seriously. Don’t get married in grad school. Don’t go there to date.”

“Um….”

The black cloud returned above my head, just what was it with dating in grad school? Could people really not multi-task within their lives?

Needless to say, advice and research aside, I survived grad school having found a way to mostly mingle my dating life and my academic life. Though as I made my way through the program, one thing did become crystal clear: men don’t tend to like hard-core women. You know, the women that are smart, perhaps slightly aggressive in their take-charge personalities, and marginally competitive. Personally, I hate the term “hard-core woman”—it makes me shudder and squirm—but I’ve heard the term two or three times…maybe even thrown my general way. But, what is so wrong with a woman with direction? A woman with goals? A woman who knows her mind and isn’t afraid to share it? I didn't/don’t get it.

Several months ago, I was at a bar with a guy friend and no one was there but the bartender and the two of us. The bartender was totally cute, so I shamelessly flirted with him. He flirted back. We played the get-to-know you game:

Cute Bartender: “What do you do?”

Kt: “I’m a professor.”

Long pause.

Cute bartender: “I’m sorry, but what exactly do you profess?”

Kt: (inward sigh—I hate that question) “I teach writing.”
Cute bartender: "Oooh, you mean like creative writing? Like poetry."

Friend butts in: “You shouldn’t tell people that you’re a professor.”

Kt: “Excuse me?!? Why not?"

Cute bartender: (laughs) “Yea, I wouldn’t mention that either. No one wants to know that you are a (pause for dramatic effect) D.o.c.t.er.”
Kt: "DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG AND HARD IT IS TO BECOME A PROFESSOR?” (clenched teeth)

Friend: “Dude! No guy wants to know that you have a Ph.D. Seriously. Leave it out.”

Kt: “You guys are ridiculous. And I teach composition--you know there are other kinds of writing. I try and teach student how to..."

Cute bartender: (jumps in totally ignoring the writing comment) “You’re friend has a point—I wouldn’t tell people you have a Ph.D, especially not guys.”

Kt exits to the bathroom before the conversation turns ugly.

Long after the conversation had ended, it still haunted me. Could this be true, I wondered? Is this part of the whole anti-hard-core woman thing? Men don’t want someone who has a higher degree than them or may be as smart or smarter?

Around the same time a different friend suggested I join an online dating website. I have always rejected the idea of online dating because it just seemed so stale, but I thought ok, why not. Five hours after sitting through e-harmony’s painfully long process, I had an online profile. Before it went public, my fingers lingered above the keys as the conversation from bar teased within my thoughts: do I put I have a Ph.D? Do I put that I’m a professor? Inwardly I was cringing that I even thought these thoughts, so I put down: Kara, Ph.D. Professor of Writing. There, I thought, take that cute bartender! I am Kt, Ph.D. And there’s nothing you can do about it.

After getting only two invitations for "guided communication"--one of which looked much older than his professed 38 years of age and the other looking his 36, but still seeming too old for me--the conversation returned to haunt me. What, I wondered, was wrong with my profile? 

About a month into e-harmony, I was talking with my mom on the phone when I wondered out loud if the cute bartender was right: did my Ph.D and status as a professor mark me in some way? Ever the one to try out some research, I updated my profile: education, “some college”;  job, “education”; and I took out all my sassy comments and made my profile as minimal as could be.

1 day later: the traffic on my profile tripled, the number of “guided communication”

requests from men doubled, and suddenly men who I had sent “guided communication” weeks ago responded. No lyin’. Suddenly without the Ph.D. or the professor attached to my profile, it had become more desirable to men. I was torn between amusement and disgust at the cute bartender and friend who apparently had a point. I was more desirable to these nameless men without my Ph.D. or declaring that I was a professor.

Thus, five years after initially not believing the blogs and wikis, I think they might have been onto something. Dating in general is hard—we all know this—but dating as someone with a higher degree is much harder than without one. And perhaps dating as a woman who has her Ph.D. is harder still.

I love the Stevie Nicks quote that opened this post because deep down or perhaps not that deep, I’m a romantic at heart. Maybe the man of my dreams is around the next corner. Maybe it’s time I switch my profile back to Kt, Ph.D. and let the profile views fall as they may.  And maybe it’s time to re-stomp on the black rain cloud and live in the realm of romantic possibility and resume loudly declaring, Kara Taczak, Ph.D. Professor of Writing...I’d make a great girlfriend. ;-)

A New Year: A New Season

To Everything/there is a season

A year ago, I started this blog to document my last year as a Ph.D. student. Exactly one year later, I am no longer a Ph.D. student; I am a Ph.D. Success was had—I have the pretty diploma and its frame to prove it—yet it still seems slightly weird. And I wonder if that feeling will ever leave. My students refer to me as “Dr.” or “Professor” but the weirdness still hasn’t completely left. I walk down the street or into stores or talk to new people and still I wonder if I shine with “Ph.D.”—somehow I’m thinking no.

Purposefully I went to class this week with bright pink glitter nail polish. Why you might ask? Well, there’s part of me that still wants to prove that there isn’t a mold much like I tried to prove for years there isn’t mold to what makes a woman sexy (see blog post on short hair). One might think these tiny acts of rebellion would have left me by now—I’m sure some part of my mama is cringing even while she is proud at how she has raised me to be me—but, fortunately or unfortunately, they haven’t completely gone, and I sauntered into class the first week sportin’ glitter pink nail polish. Glitter is my go-to when I want to try and push the limits ever so slightly because glitter offers very specific (sparkly) images. I’ve almost come full circle with glitter: as an undergraduate I wore glitter eyeshadow to try and show that strong and independent women could and did wear make-up and could try and be—yikes—pretty.

So, one year later how has the season changed for me? What does it feel like to be able to reflect back on the last year of my Ph.D.?

A time to build up, a time to break down:

As evidenced by the blog posts throughout 2011, there is definitely a time to build and break down though perhaps more breaking down than building up, especially for the dissertation. I feel like my dissertation broke down many, many times before completion. And the break downs were hard because in order to finish you had build yourself back up--no matter how bad you didn't want to or feel like you wanted to. Also, the job market does a pretty job of building you up and breaking you down all in one massive-like swoop. Luckily, the build up had a longer lasting impression as I both finished my dissertation and got a job.

A time to dance, a time to mourn:

2011 held a lot of reasons to dance and many that even lived outside of academia. It was a solid year. The mourning that happened was only temporary and didn’t leave a lasting effect, which is the best kind of mourning. Also, I literally danced: I began to learn how to dance to Michael Jackson’s best songs via the Wii—totally awesome. Who doesn’t want to know how to dance like MJ?!?

A time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together:

I’m going to use this one literally, too, and stones stand in as money for me. Somehow it seems I had more of it as a graduate student. I still haven’t exactly figured that one out. I definitely cast away more money as a grad student than I am as a faculty member. After driving the poor tax guy nuts at DU, I’ve gathered that as a member of the “real” world there are more taxes. And Denver is way more expensive than Tallahassee. And I didn’t give moving enough credit: it costs A.LOT. Like for real. I'm hoping things will begin to even out more in this new year, and I think they will.

To everything there is a season for sure, and my season is still changing and has changed over the last year. I'm still working on figuring out this club I now I can say I belong to. I'm still working on feeling like a Ph.D. instead of a poser. And I have to wonder: in 2013 will I still proudly say that I wore glitter nail polish to class. My guess is probably. If four years of a Ph.D. couldn’t shake the glitter outta me…I’m not sure what would or could.

Those Byrds—they knew a thing or two about seasons. My seasons tend to come and go with different amounts of glitter. And I'm still ok with that.

Gotta Secret

“got a secret.
can you keep it?
swear this one you'll save.
better lock it in your pocket,
taking this one to the grave.”

I’ve got a secret. Well two actually.

I’m not going save these secrets—I’m going to share.

Secret #1: Still the Same Me

The transition from graduate student to Ph.D. is weird. And amazing. And slow. And anti-climatic. And awesome. And. And.

For two weeks now (I know, I know that’s not technically a lot of time, but really it’s been four years in the making…more if you count all of years spent going to school and teaching), I’ve been Kara E. Taczak, Ph.D, and the emotions I've gone through are simply put, weird. It’s amazing for sure, and I’m not sure it will e-v-e-r get old to hear someone say Dr. Taczak (although note taken: no one is going to get the pronunciation correct) or to refer to myself as Dr. Kt (or to my family Dr. Siss—yes, I’ve been signing emails as Dr. Siss). But what’s weird is I’m still me: I still watch too many reality TV shows, venture online to obsess over shoes, scarves, and bags I can’t afford, read People.com, plan most of my days, and do work (now that’s one thing I thought might change for whatever the reason: the amount of work I have to do!). I was secretly hoping I’d wake up somewhat different; like somehow I'd have changed--I’d look in the mirror and just look different. Like if I was walking on the street and someone walked past by me he/she might think: whoa! There goes one smart lady. She must have a Ph.D. I realize I might be reaching for some level of Cinderella where pumpkins can turn into coaches and maids into princesses, but still I had hope. Reality check came last week while I was at a week-long research seminar on transfer (which for the record was great!). First, I was mistaken for a student worker while I was grabbing a Dt. Coke from the office (I was even dressed in a super cute navy blue blazer!! Hello, what student worker would wear that?!?), and second, I was in the middle of group discussing some key points on transfer when one person in the group looked at me and said, “well, Kara’s the grad. student. She should know this answer!” Um. Ouch. And hello not very nice. So, I must not look very different to the outside world as much as I had hoped I would. And apparently there are no bright shining stars above my head that blink in time to Gaga’s “Edge of Glory” while spelling out “Kt—Ph.D…Kt—Ph.D.”

Which leads me to secret #2: The Dissertation Twenty

Everyone has heard of the freshmen fifteen, and I’ve witnessed it sneakin’ up on plenty of good folks; however, I never gained it. No, it’s not like I’m special—I was a swimmer so whatever I put into my mouth was burned off (just in case you might not believe me: I was a mid-distance swimmer, which means I could swim anywhere from 12, 000-18,000 yards a day. That’s a lotta calories. I mean I could totally drink four, five, even six real Pespi’s in a day and not think anything of it.
;-). So I never had the pleasure of gaining the weight. I never gained weight during my master’s program either (though I might note that I’m not a superwomen…I have gained weight before. Try retiring from swimming after 13 years and not understanding you can’t eat everything/anything in the same frequency that you once did). But let’s fast-forward to the Ph.D and welcome the dissertation twenty. Ok, I didn’t actually gain 20lbs, but it feels like I gained 20lbs—I’m short the weight has no where to go. The weight has slowly but surely crept up on me within the last two years. And I’m not the only one that it has happened to. I have several friends (both young and old; newly minted Ph.Ds and seasoned veteran Ph.Ds) that agree that this happens. Stress makes people eat and some people eat while they work/write. And let's not forget what a dissertation entails: sitting, sitting, and more sitting. Not only are you sedentary, but some people snack while they work. Like me. I tend to feel like I need to snack my way through a writing project. Um, 265 pages later there is additional weight on my body. I should have counted the snacks I ingested throughout the process (and the Dt. Cokes). Plus I, for the record, really enjoy food—one will probably never refer to me as a dainty eater. So, here I sit. Ph.D in hand, but a pudgier version of myself. You might not notice, but I notice (and for that matter so does the scale). Plus, I’m on the verge of moving to a city that is constantly ranked among the top five “fittest” cities in the nation. Uh, yikes. Good thing I’m moving there—motivation.

Two secrets. Two things to learn. One, I think, is easier to handle than the other. I know I’m different—bright and shiny in my own way—even without the twinkling stars above my head. The other can be avoided. So take note soon-to-be-dissertating followers and beware of the dissertation twenty.