Wonder Woman 1996

When I tell people that I graduated from an all women’s college, they always say, "Wow! What was that like?” What was that like? It’s as though a single-sex education is nearly unfathomable, highly secretive, and a mix of titillating and intimidating. Perhaps when they hear the words “all” and “women”, they envision a campus on a remote island. They imagine an undisclosed location, protected by giant megalodons, occupied by dryads and naiads, a dinosaur or two, and other mythical creatures, each taking refuge among beautiful tropical flora. Perhaps their imaginations lead them to a segregated nation of women, a feminist utopia, governed by Aphrodite's law, hidden and protected from the rest of civilization, especially men. The students dress in togas and sandals, sporting shields, breastplates, and helmets. Each is tall, tan, and highly skilled in the arcane arts. Between classes they practice hand-to-hand combat and fight using bow, arrow and sword, with tools they forged. They have super human agility. They are fierce. They are smart. They are competitive. They are damn sexy. Plus, they look out for one another. They're wonder women. While my questioner imagines me wielding a magic lasso, and galloping on a pegasus, at first year orientation, I wield them back to reality. I throw data at them. I cite stats outlined in US News and World Report rankings. I explain the benefit of small class sizes, the excellent retention rates, and the comfort of the impressive residence halls. If I were to admit that I forged and sharpened any implements during my time on campus, I'd direct them to my tool box of writing, critical thinking, effective speaking, and problem solving tools. I might also reference my four-year, full academic scholarship, which enabled me to graduate with the same level of debt, if not less, that I would have had if I’d attended the big state school down the road. “But, wait. There really are no men?” They still ask. Apparently, the popular perception of the recipe for a reputable, top-knot college has to include men. I reassure them that, unlike in Themyscira, men are allowed to enter campus. I had male professors and the college employs male staff. Men could even come to parties, (though we called them boys back then) and they were not murdered and thrown overboard after the students had their way with them, as were the men who encountered wonder woman’s family. Despite the impressive data I share, and reassurances that men are welcome at my all women's college, I don't feel confident that I have ever convinced someone that didn't go to an all women's college, to attend an all women's college, which may be why admissions didn't hire me as a student worker in 1998. Long ago, I stopped aligning myself with any man who ever asked me about how kinky my experience was, or conversely how hard it must have been to live as a teen spinster for four years. Except my husband, who calls the alumni magazine the "Spinster Quarterly" just to watch my eyes catch fire. So, what was it like?

In a world where I could be as vulnerable and honest as I wish, I would share that I attended an all women's college not only for the academic rigor but because I felt safe there. My early relationships with men were negative, and sometimes violent. At 16, I already understood the dangerous power dynamic between men and women. I was deeply angry at, and hurt by, specific men, and also men as members of our patriarchal society. With less than two decades of life experience, I had already been a victim of toxic masculinity. Sure, some may think I was sitting around, knitting with a bunch of spinsters, but in reality, while at college, I removed myself from places and spaces, and relationships, that would have ingrained in me that it was acceptable for men to be violent toward me. That would have reinforced that being a victim was my fault. For four years, I never worried about being pretty enough. I didn’t care if the spaghetti strap of my tank top fell off my shoulder in class, accidentally distracting a young male learner from the lecture. I didn’t worry about finding a female buddy to go with me to a frat party. I was seen in the way in which I wanted to be seen-for my academic abilities, creativity, humor, and heart, not whether a group of guys thought I was hot, or not. I met some pretty damn good knitters, and bad ass women whose paths may not include children and a spouse. And yes, we had parties, and no, I'll never tell you what they were like. Unless I've had wine, and maybe then you'll be lucky enough to hear a few tales. I went to an all women's college because I could be me there. I removed myself from unnecessary competition with boys, whose presence in the classroom often took up more space than I could match. I chose to be educated by leaders who debunked the myth that men are inherently smarter than women. I chose to learn through the lens of the female experience. I chose to better understand injustices toward women, and marginalized populations, and learn how to serve as an advocate, not just for myself, but for others. I emerged from college a true Wonder Woman, equipped with all the tools I need to be a successful person, the greatest being the power and value of female communities. Since then, Some of my involvement with women’s communities has been intentional, like serving on the local board of girls on the run. Some of my involvement has been serendipitous, like being the mother of two daughters. While I am not on a secretive island, and I am no longer a college student at an all women's college, in some ways I have created a similar environment for myself over the last twenty five years, and that environment continues to provide me with a safe haven in times of need, and supplies me with tools when my arsenal is low. So, inquisitive minds still want to know, what was it like going to an all women's college? Come on over and I'll show you my bullet proof bracelets. I'll even let you try them on.