You Are Not A Nerd

You are not a nerd.

No, you're not.

Seriously.

Quit pretending. And quit living in that fantasy world where high school was just so hard and you just couldn't fit in and you tried so hard to be accepted. Compared to actual dorks, you were the prom queen. I'm looking at you, former cheerleader/athlete/oboe player/class president who, now that the Geek Chic era has dawned, can only talk to your friends about those three Friday nights in four years you spent alone. I've seen the yearbooks. I've seen your name and face on every other page. And what's more, I remember everything you did to be accepted.

And you know what? It worked. While the real nerds watched in envious awe, you ran in any social circle you chose. People came to you, because being close to you made them cool. You were accepted then, and you are accepted now. Even today, when the only socially acceptable memories are complaining about how nobody ever liked you, the reality is you are now, and have always been, cool.

And that's fine, if that's what you want. Be cool. Be popular. Have lots of friends. Be who you are.

Just don't call yourself a nerd, a geek, a dork, or any of the other pejoratives you used to heap onto the heads of those of us who earned the names and the accompanying wedgies and swirlies. Because if you've never seen the inside of a locker with the door closed, you are not now, nor have you ever been, nor will you ever be, a nerd.

Quit trying to pretend to be one of us.

I don't really expect you to understand, nor even much care, but before the days of Facebook and the Big Bang Theory and the red carpet at ComiCon, being a geek came at a price. True nerd-dom is formed at an early age, and is not so much chosen as it is imposed. There were dues to be paid, hardships to be endured, and if you were one of the lucky dorks who had a friend or two to suffer with you, those friendships last to this day.

But just so you know, there is a difference. Real nerds can tell. We know the difference between those of you who had an actual date to your senior prom and those of us who had to build our prom date out of parts from Radio Shack. We can tell if you played on your high school baseball team or simply sat on the end of the bench keeping stats and stealing the other team's signs. We can see it if you watched Molly Ringwald movies and dressed like Debbie Gibson and listened to New Kids on the Block and did all those individualistic rebellious things that every other kid your age was doing.

We know, because deep down inside we wanted to be you. But for whatever reason – call it social ineptitude or dignity or whatever you want – we just couldn't manage it. And for that failure, we were made to pay.

So we learned early on that for us, caring what other people think was a one-way ticket head first into the nearest garbage can. Indifference, then, became a survival trait. If every emotional investment in the feelings of others produced pain for us, we simply quit. We learned how to not care what you think of our clothes, our music, our movies. We point at you and laugh as you desperately try to make a name for yourself on Survivor or American Idol or – toll the bell – Jersey Shore. We realize that “normal” in America is broke, stupid, and starved for emotional validation, and we smile, because in our nerdy pursuits of satisfying, meaningful work, genuine comradeship forged in shared hardship, and inner-directed self-esteem, we have everything you want – money, power, intelligence, and friendships that endure.

And right now, we're just loving the fact that suddenly you want to be one of us.

So go on pretending, if you like. If imagining a life you never actually lived is what you need to do to make yourself believe you “fit in,” I don't suppose I can stop you. So go ahead. Buy that Stormtrooper costume or those Vulcan ears. Watch that Babylon V boxed set, or Season 3 of Stargate Atlantis. Just know that the world you're trying to “fit in” with is one where you're the alien.

You don't belong here.

And when the time comes for you to move on to the Next Big Thing and leave us to our fantasy worlds and crossword puzzles and fake Hobbit feet, we won't miss you. We don't need the glare of the camera and the corporate sponsorship and the TV ratings and the societal acceptance to do what we do. We didn't need it before, and when the time comes we and our real friends will go right back into our basements and garages and never give you a second thought.

Because we're nerds. And you're not.