Argh: the pitting of the word “nerd.” The word used to be a haven for bookish outsiders, many of whom had been shunned for being different, an identity I latched onto it at an early age.
A shy kid who had been bullied, I did not feel like I could be the things society preferred: popular, outgoing, and “normal.” But by claiming the identity of nerd, at least I could be something. I latched onto the related attribute of being studious. That was easy for me; I loved to read; I loved to learn.
Although “nerd” was a paper-thin stereotype, as an adolescent it was hard to be myself because I did not know exactly who that was. Nerd-hood gave me a place to go until I could figure it all out.
Like the Island of Misfit Toys, it was not the most desirable island, but it was a place to go where weirdness was allowed. And contrary to the perception of nerds that existed during my high school years, I did not have a low self-esteem, and I was not unhappy. I loved words, biology, and writing. I felt sorry for the popular kids.
Years passed and, while I was not looking, nerdy had somehow become super-cool, at least in certain circles. Quirkiness was celebrated; “smart” was something people wanted to be. A stampede ensued; everyone crowded in under the label, elbowing each other to claim it for themselves.
It was nice that traits I cared about were suddenly being recognized as having value, but they mattered less and less as more people came aboard.
Claimers of the nerd title multiplied as the umbrella expanded to include more and more types of people. New nerds sprung up for every possible topic of interest. Music nerds. Car nerds, wine nerds, even sports nerds; my high school had a different name for sports nerds: jocks.
Poseurs, I say. I was nerdy before nerdy was cool, before self-professed nerds began to look like Angelina Jolie with glasses. I earned my nerd title, which was forged in the fires of grammar school social rejection, which forced me to develop something called “inner qualities.”
What were they? Well, you had to develop your mind and a sense of identity apart from who the world said you were. Being a nerd meant re-inventing yourself. It required creativity and introspection and the courage to love what others shunned.
But the barrier to entry keeps falling. And falling. Rather than more people actually becoming nerds, the definition has been stretched to include, well, anyone. There are beer nerds now.
What next? Heroin nerds? Prom Queen nerds? Ex-con prison nerds? It seems like anyone who is interested in anything at all has crowded under the nerd umbrella. At what point do we just start calling ourselves people?
Which brings me to another point: Why do I care? During my adolescence, I needed to belong. To be alone meant stumbling through the wilderness of my own complexity, and I was not ready for that yet. Much easier to have an image I could present to people like a business card: My name is Lisa. I am a nerd. I like Wookies.
I understand myself now much better than I used to. The need for the “card” has gone away. But I still feel a nostalgic fondness for the nerd tag. It allowed me to be a type the world recognized while giving me space to move around inside. It gave me the freedom to be different without having to be utterly alone.
I still use the word, often facetiously, to describe myself, but it is good that I no longer need the label. Its meaning is disappearing. The walls of my adolescent haven have been breached by the very people who created a need for it.
The nerd ideal is now someone who is beautiful, sexy and popular but smart enough to be interested in something. It does not even have to be a niche something; it can be anything from beer to basketball. The Island of Misfit Toys has been invaded by non-misfits, so that there is no place left for the natives. I feel crowded out, jostled and pushed aside by the upstart nouveau contenders. There is no space to stand and no place left to go.
Well, that is not exactly true. I have my own island. To be unique and even alone is not so bad. I can handle it now far better than I could as an adolescent. But I still mourn that a word I once loved has been stripped of all meaning. It is like discovering that a house you grew up in has been torn down.
Rootless, I will continue the never-ending quest to understand the complexities that the nerd label once allowed me to ignore. To accomplish this I will need to draw on all my resources. Good thing I have “inner qualities.”
They are useful for that sort of thing.