A Personal Story on the Effects of Society

Samantha Hornberger

Have you ever wondered where our social paranoia comes from? Is it implanted in us through genes, or is it a learned behavior? As I progressed through my teens, I worried constantly about my appearance, my grades, taste in music, who I dated, where I hung out-- I was consumed by the idea of perfection. No matter what my parents told me, I could never relax about anything. I worked constantly to achieve the perfect attitude and appearance. No one wants to be friends with a socially challenged slob. So I showered, brushed, ironed, starched, spritzed, applied, read, practiced, and watched. I knew everything there was to know about clothes, makeup, hair, boys, sports, music, trends, colleges, careers--you name it; I was a wealth of information. The fruits of my efforts were apparent by my status on the high school food chain. I was a cheerleader, a member of the Homecoming committee and student government, ran track, played tennis, belonged to the ski club and dance team, and participated in school productions. I was quite the little joiner and quite popular. I was never too shy and never too forward. I always had a smile; I never got angry or upset. I was always in control. Above all, I was pleasant to be around and always striving to be better at everything.

I participated in so many activities in high school that I never took the time to stop and notice what was going on around me. Since I participated in a sport every season, I was always fit and trim. I knew what it meant to look great in a bikini and I did; however, I worked very hard to look that way. My coaches stressed the contributing benefits on performance of healthy eating, and I listened. After all, I read the magazines; I knew how important it was to look the way I did. I just assumed for the most part that, while I was off participating in some activity, so were my friends. So there I went about the activities of my life.

I went off to college in Boston; I was on my way to living my life to the fullest. I got my first apartment, joined a sorority, went to parties, met the President of the United States in 1995, and continued as the little joiner. Life at the time was fun; I met my soul mate, chose a path, and worried little. It wasn't until Thanksgiving my third year in college that my world came crashing down. I flew home to the little town in Connecticut where I had grown up. It was snowing. My mother picked me up from the airport and we drove the hour and a half home. We exchanged gossip and talked about plans for Christmas.By the time we made it home the snow was piling up. I wanted to borrow the car to go see Jennifer, my best friend. When I told Mom, the color drained from her face.

"I wanted to tell you after you were settled," she said.

"Tell me what?"

"Jennifer is dead honey; she died Thursday."

I felt my knees go limp; I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"Why didn't anyone tell me she was sick?", I screamed.

"I wanted to tell you face to face. She wasn't sick, she had a heart attack."

"A heart attack!" I balked. "What are you talking about? She was 20 years old and in good shape."

"Her parents are expecting you, Sam. They will explain everything."

I was shocked. I couldn't believe what I had just heard. Nothing at that moment made any sense. I tried to collect my thoughts and made my way over to her parents' house. They told me Jennifer had died of Cardiac arrest, a condition that developed as a result of her anorexia. I was stunned; my best friend had been sick all those years and I noticed nothing. I remembered she was always thin, but then so was I. The only major difference between Jennifer and I was that she had a part time job after school. She worked while I stayed at school. I did not realize she never made it to after school activities, because when it came time to go to a football game or dance, she was there, with me. I had missed her. She was right next to me the whole time. I could have seen it coming, if only I had not been so self-involved. I decided that day to leave college for a while. I needed to get in touch with real people; I needed to spend time understanding the social pressures that I had been so oblivious to. I needed to spend time with my friends and family.

I asked questions, researched society, and found that women especially are the targets of misleading advertising. Our society teaches our young girls that they must be thin and beautiful. The perfect outfit, hairstyle, lipstick, body, and boyfriend are all the essentials of acceptance. In the eyes of society, supermodels are the epitome of perfection. What girl would not want to be a carbon copy of a sex goddess, with the so- called perfect body? Society, when it comes to feminine success, has effectively skewed the already thin line between fantasy and reality. Physical attractiveness, youthfulness, and sexuality are the minimum requirements for acceptance these days. Role models are outfitted in tight T-shirts, mini-skirts, and fun laid back lifestyles. The fact that they require personal trainers, stylists, make-up artists, and people to airbrush away their wrinkles, cellulite, and flaws never really makes it to the evening news. Let's face it, our role models are kept in showroom condition.

The negative images that are dictated to us, via society, contribute to our loneliness, social isolation, and low self-esteem and are contributing to the mental breakdown of our existence. This country has fallen into such a state of social ruin that we fail to see the harm that is being inflicted upon our youth. Once we have achieved the proper physical attractiveness, we then begin to attract potential mates. Then it's not just the physical that is harped upon, our mental states must also be structured.

When we begin the stages of dating, each of course has its own set of rules. Men are expected to provide gifts, flowers, and compassion to their special woman. They must open doors, order the meal, pick her up for dates, never expect physical relations, call on time, and above all, always be accommodating. Women must always be the pictures of perfection. They must never submit to physical intimacy on the first date, that would be unladylike. Women should never tell their secrets. To do so would shatter the facade and would prove detrimental to her reputation. Intimacy and honesty do not mix. At least that's what we are taught. God forbid we should spill our guts about a fling or how much we drank at the party last week. My grandmother used to tell me, "Samantha, girls should be seen and not heard." I bet my grandmother is rolling over in her grave at this very moment! Attraction, uncertainty, exclusivity, intimacy, engagement, and marriage follow in rapid succession, provided we behave the way society dictates. As a result, most Americans conform and are married between the ages of 20 and 30, and by the age of 30, they have or are in the process of having children.

Life is a complex series of ups and downs and, as a result, is hard as hell. I have never fully recovered from my period of absenteeism. I will tell you though, I rarely submit to my social expectations. I speak my mind as often as I can. I am engaged, but not immediately interested in the marriage part; we live in sin, and that drives my conservative mother mad. I have regained my place in my own life, although it's not quite the same. I don't participate in as many activities and my major is no longer Pre-med. Nowadays, when I have a spare moment I think about the time when I was selfish and detached; mostly I think about Jennifer. I wonder if things could have been different. Perhaps if I had not been so enthralled in my own social achievements, I would have heard her cries for help. Maybe if I paid more attention to her, I would have one more friend today.