Kiss My Tiara Part 11

Besides, if a guy is threatened because we earn good money (as if!), then he's clearly impoverished in the ego department. It's not our job to build up his self-worth by diminis.h.i.+ng our net worth. And though guys are supposedly threatened by babes who earn bucks, they have utter contempt for those who don't. Just look at how this nation treats women on welfare.

But along with changing our minds, we divas also have to resist the desire to buy all of our fantasies.

Let's not be fooled by the cool s.h.i.+t so many people seem to own: the Nokia cell phones, Gucci shoes, and sport utility vehicles driven by yuppies in loafers who've never taken an unbeaten path in their life. Our economy is dedicated to selling us all kinds of nonessential c.r.a.ppola, and most Americans today live beyond their means and are mired in credit-card debt. Problem is, while their purchases are readily visible, their abysmal credit reports are not. Credit cards are aptly called plastic because, just like plastic surgery, they create the illusion that people are better off than they really are. They put an artificial face, a "lift," on people's appearances.

Plus, for too many of us, VISA is a sugar daddy, always there to buy us stuff when the whim hits. I say, let's cut the cord and cut up the cards if we can't live within our means. No way should those giant corporate patriarchs like Citibank or First National make nineteen-and-a-half-percent interest off us each month. Credit cards are vampires. Let 'em sink their fangs into our neck and we won't pay them off until we reach menopause.

Instead of subjecting ourselves to such monthly financial bloodletting, I think we should develop some big fat a.s.sets for the world to kiss instead.

Usually, when we girls are taught about risk, it's framed in terms of what we shouldn't do-like have unprotected s.e.x or wear a black bra under a white s.h.i.+rt to a water park. We're not educated about taking financial risks that might have big payoffs.

But playing the stock market is a far smarter way for righteous babes to take a few gambles. Time to put our common sense into common stocks and give the good ol' boys at Merrill Lynch a run for their money. h.e.l.l, if we can watch our weight, we can follow Wall Street. It's all about gains, losses, and antic.i.p.ated growth.

Plus, in the past few years a whole spate of books has been written to help us gals get a financial life and invest. There's also plenty of stuff online. Better still, for those of us who want to be Capitalists with a Conscience, there are a range of socially responsible, environmentally friendly, tobacco-free, pro-women mutual funds out there. So we can reap some dividends without p.a.w.ning our principles.

But ultimately, if we gals really want more coinage in our coffers, the bottom line is that we've got to make like the boys and ask for it.

Obviously, this is far easier said than done.

So often, our desire to be liked overshadows our ability to negotiate a salary. We worry that if we ask for more money, we'll alienate our employers and scuttle the deal. Other times, we want to be hired and accepted so much, we don't pay proper attention to the bucks. A job offer instantly transforms us into Sally Field: "You like me! You really like me!" we shout, so pleased to receive the stamp of approval that our employers could probably hand us a fake gold statuette as payment and we'd feel lucky.

A few years ago, I was offered a prestigious job for a nonprofit that asked me to "name" my price. When I consulted friends and colleagues about how to proceed, the advice I received was so cleanly divided along gender lines, you'd think it had been imported from Mars and Venus respectively.

The guys immediately geared up for hardball. "Sixty thousand bucks," they told me, their voices like gavels. "Not a penny less. Start with seventy. Let 'em bargain you down. If they don't give you sixty thousand, walk. Better yet, get a counteroffer from another agency first, then squeeze 'em by the b.a.l.l.s."

But the gals? "Well, it is a nonprofit," they invariably began, their voices hesitant and lilting, all chamomile and conciliation. "So you don't want to ask for too much, I guess. I dunno, maybe thirty-five thousand? After all, it's not like your boss has an unlimited budget, and you do want her to hire you . . ."

For the guys, salary negotiations are about, well, salary. The bottom line is the bottom line. But for the girls? Salary negotiations are about negotiation. They're about weighing our employer's needs and showing the boss we're a "team player" who's "considerate" by not being too demanding in the Dollar Department. If we want too much, our thinking goes, people might not want us.

"Women approach negotiations emotionally rather than as business," says my friend Jennifer, who's been president of her own company. "I see it time and time again."

Part of the problem is that salary negotiations are combative: "They're about battle and strategy," says my friend Desa, who regularly negotiates for money. "These things we're not traditionally schooled in."

Ain't that the truth. The only strategies we gals seem to get traditionally schooled in (ad nauseam, I might add) are "man-catching" tactics. Time and time again, we're inundated with advice on how to "hook" a guy, attract love, and "make him want you." Don't give it away, girls, we're chronically told. He won't pay the cow if she gives milk for free.

Yet when it comes to salary negotiations, most of us are given zero guidance whatsoever. So we give our milk away for free in the workplace all the time. Great.

But it occurs to me that we could use this irony to our advantage. Why not take all that frilly s.e.x-and-relations.h.i.+p advice-all those "time-tested secrets" for capturing the heart of Mr. Right-and apply them to salary negotiations instead?

For example, one of the oldest lines of dating advice is: You can't find true love until you love yourself first. Well, before we seek a better salary, we've got to "love ourselves," too. We've gotta believe that we're valuable in the marketplace, that we deserve big Bennies, and that we're ent.i.tled to ask for them. Just like in relations.h.i.+ps, a sense of self-worth is a prerequisite to getting what we want.

We're also told: Be really clear about what you're looking for in a man. Make a list and stick to it. Well, before we demand anything in salary negotiations, we've got to figure out what we want, what we need to live on, and what's the lowest price we can realistically settle for-and stick to it, too.

This way, in addition to serving as nifty doorstops and hot plates, books like The Rules or Guerrilla Dating Tactics can actually do us some good. So many reactionary prescriptions for "Getting the Guy" that we learn from self-help gurus, relatives, and women's magazines are far better suited to the negotiating table-where they don't smack of emotional trickery and can make us the mistresses of our own fortune, instead of man-ipulators.

Here's how some cla.s.sic "man-catching" tactics might actually help make us the millionaires we're supposedly dying to marry.

a Act aloof and mysterious. Don't talk too much. Studies show that job candidates routinely ask for less money than employers are prepared to pay-and women tend to ask for less than men. So when it comes to salary negotiations, it literally pays for us to hold back and keep our mouths shut. We shouldn't broach the subject of money; let the employer bring it up first. And then, let the employer name a salary first, too. After all, once a gal names her price, the negotiations can only go down from there.

a Let the man make the first move. If an employer asks what kind of salary we're looking for, never say, "I need at least X amount of money." Don't let them know what you'll settle for, either. Instead, try to make them make the first move and name a number, even if you have to do this by responding to their question with another question: "What does the position pay?" or "What is your range?"

If the employer claims not to know what the position pays (yeah, right), suggest they get back to you when they do.

If they say, "Tell us what you want," name a salary that's so astronomically high, they laugh or gasp. Then you can say, "Well, okay, if a million dollars isn't in your ball park, what is?" (Interesting note: I did this several times, and it worked like a charm. I got a laugh and a clue. Another friend of mine did this once-she asked for twenty thousand dollars more than the position was supposed to pay-and the company gave it to her.) If the employer names a number lower than you want, say, "Well, I'm really looking for-" and name the top end of your range plus ten to twenty percent. If they respond with, "We can't afford that," ask them what they can.

In order for this to work, of course, we've got to have done our homework beforehand. In addition to keeping in mind the amount that we want, we should know in advance what a particular job tends to pay, including those that pay by the hour (just fifty-cents-an-hour more means an extra thousand dollars in a year of forty-hour workweeks). This way, we know what to expect, and what sum is realistic to aim for. We should also bear in mind that entry-level salaries are far less negotiable than those of mid- and upper-level positions. The lower we are on the ladder, the less leeway we have.

Luckily, since Americans always want to know who's got the proverbial bigger d.i.c.k, researching salaries is not too difficult. We can check trade-a.s.sociation newspapers, financial magazines, surf the Net, and ask other people in the profession. Calling employment agencies and checking salaries in the help-wanted ads helps, too. With a little Nancy Drewing, we'll be able to walk into a negotiation knowing Which Way Is Up.

a Play hard-to-get. Don't accept the very first offer. Test the waters instead. After an employer names the salary, say, "Well, I was actually hoping for more."

If they refuse to budge on the money, my friend Sarah (another career diva) suggests negotiating benefits, vacation days, profit sharing, and stock options. You also might ask: When will you be up for a salary review? How often might you expect a promotion? And get everything in writing.

Remember: It doesn't hurt to try. The worst they can say is no.

a The man should pay for you on a date. Don't go dutch. Because the person involved in salary negotiations is going to be our future employer, we often feel the impulse to prove that we're a helpful and cooperative future employee, that we're accommodating and willing to compromise easily. Meet them halfway? Sure, why not?

But, remember, it's our salary that's on the line here. And each time we accept a job, our pay becomes part of our salary history-which is often used to calibrate salaries when we accept new positions in the future. (Job interviewers have an annoying habit of asking, "And how much are you earning at your present position?" Apparently, they can check, too, which makes bald-face lying tempting but not an option.) Therefore, what we negotiate now can affect what we negotiate at our next job as well. Plus, our salary also determines our Social Security, 401(k) plans, and pensions, if we get them.

So, whenever possible, we've got to stand firm and make sure the company pays us decently and compet.i.tively. For when all the negotiating is said and done, we'll be living with our paychecks far longer than our bosses will be living with the memory of how "nice" or "flexible" we were during salary talks.

Besides, companies hate hiring as much as singles hate dating. It's a grueling, boring process that takes the bigwigs away from what they really want to be doing: playing computer games and eating lunch. So if they find a job candidate they like, they really want to clinch the deal and be done with it. This works in our favor. They won't scuttle everything if we ask for an extra three grand. Again, the worst they can say is no.

a If a man won't commit to you/give you a ring/treat you like a princess, leave him. Part of negotiating means that we've got to be willing to walk if we're not treated (i.e., paid) respectably. "Remember, a job is like a relations.h.i.+p. If a relations.h.i.+p turns abusive, you've got to be able to leave. Well, if an employer doesn't want to pay you what you're worth, that's abusiveness, too," said Desa. "If you're not willing to walk away, then you relinquish your only source of power. You'll settle for anything, and so you'll get nothing."

a Don't appear too eager with a man. Finally: Try never, never to accept a salary offer on the spot. Even if they're offering you three million bucks and your own love-slave, reply, "Is that your final number? Okay, thank you. I'd like to think it over. I'll get back to you shortly."

"Just like with s.e.x, hold back a little. See if they'll sweeten the deal a little more to lure you in, whether it's with more money or benefits," says a corporate lawyer named LaTisha. "You don't want to appear too 'easy.' Just like guys don't value women they can hook up with real fast, companies tend to believe you're more valuable if you've been harder to get."

Stupid, perhaps, but true.

Of course, if we have trouble adopting these att.i.tudes and making them second nature to us, I say we listen to the Liz Phair song "s.h.i.+tloads of Money" over and over again. "It's nice to be liked," she croons, "but it's better by far to be paid."

This tune should be our mantra-and the national anthem of the New Girl Order. Because we've got to remember: Being voted Miss Congeniality is all fine and dandy, but ultimately it won't earn us any power, it won't win us more respect-and certainly it won't pay the d.a.m.n rent.

Cha-ching!

Chapter 19.

Latifah Weapon, Brooklyn p.o.r.n Whenever I see ads with the quote,

"You'll have to see this picture twice,"

I know it's the kind of picture

I don't want to see once.

-PAULINE KAEL Why is it that Thelma and Louise, the only two chicks to have a truly excellent adventure in a big American movie, wound up driving off a cliff? Sure, it was a good film, but can't we also have some blockbusters where girls get to be romantic antiheroes and not commit suicide?

There are more women producers than ever working in Hollywood today, but you wouldn't know it going to the cineplex. Given the shallowness and limitations of most females in the movies, the movie theater is more like the "simplex." I mean, popcorn buckets have more depth than some of the stuff I've seen lately.

Back in the first half of the twentieth century, movie studios may have treated their stars like chattel, but they also had stars like Bette Davis, Katharine Hepburn, and Elizabeth Taylor playing magnificent, juicy, complicated dames. In All about Eve, Adam's Rib, or Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? the main female characters are pa.s.sionate and contradictory. Not a single one is a wisp in a slip dress.

Go to the movies today, and we basically see wisps in slip dresses playing one of the following: A supposedly accomplished lawyer or detective who falls for a psycho-killer because, gosh, he's cute.

A waitress who falls for a racist obsessive-compulsive because, gosh, he's cute.

A US marshal who falls for a bank robber because, gosh, he's cute.

A woman with all the personality of a Nilla Wafer who begs her husband-the hero of the movie-to stop flying to the moon/fighting terrorists/tracking down JFK's a.s.sa.s.sins, so that he can stay home with her and the children.

A prost.i.tute.

A girlfriend of a guy old enough to be her grandfather.

Part of a difficult mother-daughter relations.h.i.+p in which one of them is dying of cancer.

Chain-saw fodder.

Okay, maybe there are a few others, but really. Most gals in the movies rarely get to have fun: They're usually too busy being held hostage-in one way or another. Women have become such secondary, one-dimensional characters that any film that has more than one female in it is now instantly labeled a "chick flick." In fact, any film that doesn't blow up federal buildings and contain mind-numbing sequences of automatic-weapons fire is now considered a chick flick. I mean, The Horse Whisperer was called a chick flick, and it starred Robert Redford playing a cowboy.

Chick flick is also derogatory, the implication being, of course, that if it's designed to appeal to women, it's not worth seeing. Adding insult to injury: This is sometimes true. Some chick flicks really do suck. They're these insipid, refried fairy tales bathed in overdetermined sentimentality. But are they any worse than all those action movies with three hundred explosions and no coherent dialog? (Grunting is not dialog.) I don't think so.

Which is why I say we gals should start calling every big-screen bullet orgy a "d.i.c.k flick" or "t.e.s.t.i.c.l.e fest." (Hey: If we're going to start s.e.xual stereotyping and name-calling here, let's keep things equal, no? I mean: t.i.t for tat, so to speak.) Next time a guy starts talking about how he wants to see Lethal Weapon 30, and not "some chick flick," just roll your eyes and go, "Lethal Weapon 30? Ugh. t.e.s.t.i.c.l.e fest."

More and more, it seems popular media is becoming s.e.xually stereotyped and segregated-on the small screen as well as the big. As I'm writing this, Fox Cable Network is launching The Boyz Channel and The Girlz Channel (so much for educational television-and they wonder why kids can't spell), separate channels with "gender-specific programming."

Then there's so-called reality television, which has elevated home movies and security-camera footage to an art form. We girls are being wooed with what the Was.h.i.+ngton Post dubbed "all-relations.h.i.+ps-all-the-time." There's A Wedding Story and Weddings of a Lifetime (real! live! weepy! weddings!). A Baby's Story ("childbirth sagas") and Reunion (in which "long-lost relatives and friends fall tearfully into one another's arms").

Meanwhile, the guys get "shock.u.mentary" shows like Wildest Police Videos (self-explanatory), When Good Times Go Bad 2 (vacation disasters), When Good Pets Go Bad (psycho doggies), and World's Most Shocking Medical Videos (don't ask).

So, basically, we girls watch people get married, while boys watch them bungee jump into a caisson on their honeymoon. And this is how we're trained to see the world.

(Why not combine the two genres into When Good Weddings Go Bad? Now that would make for some interesting television that we'd all watch. ) In terms of the "fictional" TV shows, it doesn't get much better. There are now what? Over two hundred available channels, and yet almost none of them ever show women over 110 pounds or thirty-five years of age. In the movies it's even worse. Nowadays, actresses over twenty-five are considered "old."

None of this, unfortunately, is news. The question is, how can smart sisters deal with all this stupidity? I mean, it's one thing to be entertained; it's another to be insulted. And the line between the two is getting thinner than Calista Flockhart.

How do we generate alternative sources of entertainment and imagery-especially if we don't have access to our own movie studio or television production company? Or if we're among the 99.9 percent of the population that doesn't have the money to bankroll lots of nifty, pro-woman, multicultural HBO specials?

Well, it's not easy, but I say we resort to the first, last, and best source of entertainment available to all of us: our imaginations. And I say that we publicize whatever we dream up using our first, last, and best source of PR: our mouths.

This sounds like a stretch, but bear with me a moment.

All our "cultural traditions," all our fairy tales, adventure stories, and folklore, began with a bunch of bored, broke people sitting around making s.h.i.+t up. George Lucas and the late philosopher Joseph Campbell both claimed that the Star Wars series is a modern re-creation of such folklore. They even went so far as to say that Star Wars was a twentieth-century version of an "archetypal myth."

What makes a story an archetypal myth? Well, among other things, people sitting around telling it over and over for a zillion years. I mean, give an idea enough PR and eventually it takes on the sheen of universal truth.

So let's start talking, girls.

It's time to create some new archetypal myths. I'm sick of these "traditional stories" in which girls wait around semiconscious in some castle for a guy (or in the case of Star Wars, a guy and some robots) to rescue them. Frankly, we've come too far to live on in the cultural imagination as damsels in distress, hookers with hearts of gold, or policewomen in love with psychopaths. Nope. That s.h.i.+t is old, not archetypal, thank you. Time to claim some of the action, glory, and epic ambiguity for ourselves.

Look, to hear most of the stories handed down within our culture, you'd think that every guy from Odysseus onward was a knight, a maverick, an adventurer, a dreamer who dared to dream, a romantic outlaw, a brilliant inventor, or a conqueror. The truth is: You know what most guys were doing throughout Western history? Farming. That and maybe picking lice out of their hair and living to, oh, age thirty-five. But in the name of entertainment, people made up stories about men who did more than suffer and grow wheat.

So, here we are. Women on the verge of a new millennium. And whether our lives are actually interesting or not, we babes have every right to imagine ourselves as mavericks, adventurers, or conquerors.

If we start talking about stories we'd really like to see, eventually they'll seep into the national consciousness. Consider this: Just a few years ago, the phrase "You go, Girl" was exclusive to drag queens and homegirls. Now eighty-year-olds in Branson, Missouri, are calling it out to each other on bingo night.

In this day and age, talk alone has the power to influence our culture. The cutting edge can become a mainstream cliche in no time. And if you repeat a mainstream cliche long enough, it may even become an archetype.

Besides, G.o.ddess bless our free-market economy, if we keep talking about the stories we'd really like to see, eventually some enterprising little b.a.s.t.a.r.d is going to pay attention.

Right now, the marketing departments of major corporations have scouts cruising the malls 24/7 trying to figure out what kind of sneakers girls consider cool, what kind of nail polish we're wearing, and what trend will result in the next big windfall. Plus, studies have shown that when a couple goes to movies, it's the woman who decides what they'll go see.

So greed is actually on our side. Companies want to market to us. Let's let it be known that cineplexes will sell more popcorn-and networks will sell more air time-by serving up something fresh and gender-bendy for us divas. Consider it a gra.s.s-roots cultural makeover, conducted by word of mouth.

To kick off this little campaign, let me offer up a few scenarios for movies that I, personally, would love to see.

1. Latifah Weapon. Queen Latifah stars as a special agent deployed to save Paris from a neo-n.a.z.i terrorist cult. Janeane Garofalo is her white sidekick, who complains about having to crime-fight in high heels. "First thing I'm going to do when I catch those d.i.c.kwads is stick their feet in a pair of Manolo Blahniks," she swears. "Comfortable shoes, my a.s.s."

In the middle of coolly rappelling down the side of the Eiffel Tower while being shot at by evil commandos, Latifah and Garofalo exchange flippant patter like: "Those suckers mess up my weave with their AK-47s and, let me tell you, I am blowing their a.s.ses to Jupiter." Blam blam!

"That's a weave? Get out. I thought that was your real hair." Blam blam!

"Oh my G.o.d, Girl. You don't know s.h.i.+t about black women's hair, do you?"

Blam blam! "No. Guess I don't. I thought the only women with fake body parts were white blond chicks in Hollywood." Blam blam! "Well, there's two more facists who won't be cleaning their boots on our necks."