The XX Factor: What women really think.

On Not Sugarcoating the Future

That's a good question, Dahlia, and the answer for me is definitely wanting that economic security later. I don't claim to speak for all of twentysomething ladies, but when I fantasize about my work-life balance, I want what my parents had. They're both doctors who met in med school. My mother is a psychiatrist, my father, a cardiologist. From the time my brother was born, we had a housekeeper who did not live with us, but was with the family from 9 to 5 on weekdays. When I was 8 or so, my mom went into her private practice full time, and so worked from home, though was largely not available during the day. We always had dinner as a family and when we were little, my dad did the majority of the playing with my brother and me. Also, we went to a good suburban public school, if that's relevant. My parents both still work more or less full time.

Do I expect the full time housekeeper on a writer/editor salary?  Of course not. Does it sound nice in my fantasy world? Dear God, yes. As both Dahlia and Dana expressed, I have no idea what the reality of working motherhood is like. As Noreen points out, this is all still theoretical. I agree that the scars of this financial downturn will change the way Gen-Y thinks about money, Noreen. However, I also think we're more resilient and technologically adaptable than some of the generations before us. Even before this meltdown, we didn't expect company loyalty or consistency, so beyond the cosmetic (less conspicuous consumption, botox, and $400 strollers) I don't think there will be a major restructuring of romantico-fiscal relationships (and yes, I just made that word up).

And even though I aspire to my mother's example, she still likes to tell the story about how my brother burst into tears at his kindergarten class picnic because she had to leave and go to work. "You can't leave me!" he cried. The story is told jokingly, but you can tell that 25 years later, she still feels vaguely guilty. Maybe, as Dana suggested, Obama can help move policy toward helping working women, but I'm not holding my breath. Nor am I expecting to not feel conflicted about my work-life balance. Jeez, this conversation is making me really glad that I'm living in child-free, economically unencumbered sin with my boyfriend.

It's Not My Generation

Hanna, I think it's a misnomer that wanting a "sugar daddy" is a generational thing. While I posed the initial question, it was more an observation based on themes in The Secret Currency of Love rather than a personal conviction. Purely anecdotally, I've noticed that my fellow Gen-Y female friends would rather die than "opt out," sugar daddies or no. We've heard horror stories about women leaving their fast-paced jobs for several years to tend to their children, and when they come back they're unemployable; we've seen women of our mothers' generation spend their days with the PTA until a divorce sends them back into a workplace for which they're ill-equipped. Here's a cautionary tale that I often think about: A female rock star from the '90s with a cult following now has an incredibly rich and well-known boyfriend. I heard through the grapevine that all she does these days is sit in his townhouse and smoke cloves and go to yoga. She never writes music. That story makes me want to barf.

As a group, I think we're incredibly ambitious, and I can at least say for myself that I would hate going freelance unless I was so wildly successful that I could guarantee a series of lucrative assignments and continued relevance. It would make me too nervous otherwise. I like having a title and, like Dahlia, a dental plan.

I think what Sam is getting at is not that women in their 20s want a benefactor; it's that they want to work hard and succeed in the field of their choice and not worry about paying for private school for their future children. Perhaps in these economic times it's entitled, E.J., or a pipe dream, June, but I don't think it's an entirely unreasonable hope.

Sugar, What?

Searching for My Sugar Daddy

Jessica, I fear I am solidly, if not proudly, in Abby Ellin's camp. It's not that I want to be rich, exactly, but I do want those upper-middle-class comforts: separate bedrooms for the kids; occasional family vacations to far-flung countries; the assurance that I'll be able to send my kids to the college that's right for them, even if it's not the cheapest option. And, at least at age 8 or so, I also wanted a second car for my house in the country ... but that's a dream I'm willing to give up.

I remember in college having a long discussion about exactly what kind of sugar daddy would be right for me. I figured an investment banker or corporate lawyer wouldn't really work, since I find those professions fairly dull and have always had high on my List of Traits for My Future Husband that he have a job I enjoy hearing about at the dinner table. The other obvious choice was old money, but that didn't seem right either—I had spent a year of high school at a ritzy Manhattan private school (sandwiched among 12 years of public school in suburban Maryland) and found it tough to relate to the über wealthy there. By the end of that college conversation—still completely unaware of what my starting salary would be after graduation or if I'd even manage to snag a journalism job—I had at least one thing sorted out: I'd need to find an inventor of some kind, a creative thinker entrepreneurial enough to turn his grand idea into an equally grand paycheck. And then I'd need to marry him.

I don't think that any of that fantasizing (creepy as it was) took away from my assumption that taking care of myself would be my responsibility long before I brought a partner on to share the burden. My first priority out of college wasn't finding that inventor; it was getting health insurance. And unlike Karen Karbo, I've never let my boyfriends pick up all the tabs.

But I will say that I get it. I get how someone with a strong working mother can still grow up with this notion that she will be provided for in a vague sense that, when probed, starts to materialize as a man. And although I'm sure part of that stems from growing up in a society that continues to trumpet the notion—although obviously more subtly these days, than in the Mad Men era—of woman being cared for by man, I think another part is just the general tendency for people of both sexes to imagine things they can't have, then make the logical leaps to whatever missing factor might make those things possible. I've known for a long time that I won't have a job that gives me that extra car for my country home. And it seems less dangerous for me to occasionally wonder if a marriage might make that possible than to start hoping something like the lottery will.

For Love or Money

Hilary Black, the editor of an anthology called The Secret Currency of Love: The Unabashed Truth About Women, Money, and Relationships, was on the Today show this morning, gabbing with Ann Curry about—what else?—love and money. I read a good chunk of the anthology earlier this week and was struck by a thread running through several of the essays, most of which were written by women who supported themselves as freelance writers. Many of these women came from upper-middle-class backgrounds, and while it took them a while to admit to themselves, they all secretly expected that some wealthyish dude would ultimately rescue them from their quasi-bohemian, small trust-funded existences. Abby Ellin described it best in her essay, "Tool Belts, Not Tuxes":

And okay, there's this: I've always been taken care of. My family never had great wealth, but my parents managed to send me to camp and college and graduate school—an extraordinary gift for which I'm eternally grateful. And they even bought me an apartment. ... And so this leads to a mortifying admission—especially for a feminist who was taught that every woman should possess both her own bank account and the ability to be self-sufficient. On some level, I always believed that eventually someone else would take care of the big stuff. That someone, of course, would be my husband.