I don't wanna be an ingenue

On backhanded "compliments" from men, why I sometimes hate DC - and what I'm doing next

I went to a wine-tasting in DC the other night and remembered why people from the Midwest sometimes dislike the kinds of people who go to wine-tastings in DC.

Photo by Michèle Eckert on Unsplash

I REALLY wanted to like the eventual villain of this story.

My husband had just received a text from a single friend asking if we knew any men for her. And minutes later we walked into this event and met a single man about her age. He was professionally successful, well-traveled, apparently cultured - and recently separated. (I’m going light on details deliberately because my point here is not to throw this guy under the bus.)

No good deed goes unpunished.

Maybe it was bashert, I thought (I’ve been picking up bits of Yiddish from my hubs and really love how specific it is).

I desperately want everyone who wants it to find love and be in love, so I was feeling excited and optimistic. I was going to set them up!!!

I invited this gentleman to sit with us. And at first, all was well: another couple joined us; the wine and conversation flowed.

For awhile…

In the Midwest, we don’t put on airs.

To explain what happened next I need to first explain that this was an impressive group in a DC kind of way: lots of graduate degrees and prestigious jobs. Fine.

Despite being a national journalist and feeling most days like I’m doing okay, I sometimes feel like a little bit of an imposter in these settings: “I’m glad your ex-wife went to Yale, sir, but would you be impressed to know that I attended a middling evangelical college that taught us that evolution was made up?”

And I hate - HATE HATE HATE - silly oneupsmanship games and being around people who name-drop or lead with their professional achievements rather than their - actual personalities. I think it’s gross and it’s really, deeply not my culture.

So on this night I did a lot of hanging back and listening…and drinking wine.

I gather, sir, that you hate Kansas.

Maybe I was too quiet, maybe I should have taken out my big NPR mic and hoisted it onto the table in a display of dominance, maybe I should have bragged more about things I’ve done recently. But for some reason our “new friend” decided that I was beneath him.

“Have you ever been to Italy?” he asked me, after I questioned a bizarre and very possibly racist theory he was spouting about the supposed differences between northern and southern Europeans.

“Yes, when I was about 20,” I said.

“Then you don’t have a sophisticated understanding,” he shot back.

Blessedly, the host tapped on a wine glass to announce the next round.

The dude was not finished. As soon as there was an opening, he had a follow-up: “Sarah, what I love about you is you’re so — Midwestern.”

“Thanks?” I looked at him quizzically.

My husband was deep in conversation with the other couple and couldn’t save me.

“You’re like an ingenue,” he continued. “Do you know what that means? Friendly, but you lack sophistication.”

I took a deep breath. “Where I’m from, we are not pretentious,” I hit back. “We value being down to earth.”

He didn’t like it.

“We’re not pretentious,” he insisted. “People with sophistication don’t have to be pretentious because we have the confidence of knowing we’re sophisticated.”

“What exactly are you trying to say?” I asked.

“Just that you have to understand that people from Kansas didn’t build Versailles,” he said, adding for good measure, “I think your husband would understand what I mean.”

(I’m not even from Kansas - I’m from Missouri - but whatevs.)

My husband was still deep in conversation. But he thinks I’m smarter than I really am - so no, he wouldn’t understand.

There’s not enough wine in Italy - or the world - for me to continue talking with you

That’s when I left. Made up a big lie about my kids needing something, and walked out of the joint, just like that.

It felt empowering but also humiliating. I’m not always great at saying ‘No, I don’t like that.’ It’s not what nice girls generally do.

And to be honest, I looked a lot like this for the next little bit:

Photo by Zachary Kadolph on Unsplash (Not me but this is a pretty good depiction of my mood at this point)

I am well aware that I’m an imposter, thank you!

All of this tapped, in a very specific way, into the worst aspects of my own specific version of Imposter Syndrome.

I was an evangelical girl raised in the Midwest. I was never supposed to work in mainstream media. Having a career at all was kind of questionable: most women I saw growing up were stay-at-home moms or maybe teachers or part-time office workers. All in support of their husbands and families and the “work of the Lord.” And I was often told that a woman’s role was to keep the house and raise children. I wanted all of that, absolutely - but I really wanted other things, too.

But it’s hard to forge your own path. You get a lot of scratches from the brambles you’re hacking through, and sometimes get lost along the way. You sometimes wonder why you couldn’t just be happy on the one that was already laid out for you - even if you knew exactly where it led and where it led was not a life you wanted for yourself.

Photo by Rosie Sun on Unsplash

There’s still, even now in my early 40s and mid-career, a little tape that plays in my mind sometimes that says, “You weren’t made for any of this. Get back in your place.”

I shouldn’t care what one jerk thinks, right? And yet…

When it feels like somebody has heard your secret tape, and even memorized it - it stings.

And yes - all the nasty stereotypes I’d internalized about DC/coastal people growing up came flooding back: Elitist. Snobby. Unable to appreciate the simple life.

And yet - that same night, we met another lovely couple, and had dinner with them the next night - who feel like great candidates for new friends.

Deep breaths, okay?

We’re all just trying to figure it out…

I’m thinking a lot about these themes as I finish the first draft of my first book, tentatively titled The Exvangelicals (anticipated 2024, St. Martin’s Press): about the way my subculture has shaped me and so many others of my generation; what it means to synthesize and re-interpret the lessons we never chose to be taught; and how we forge our own mature identities and find community.

Sarah McCammon📻 @sarahmccammon

It feels poignant that this week when I lost my remarkable grandfather who inspired me so much, I have some special news to share. Thank you @hanyanphil & George Witte @StMartinsPress & @MargRileyKing @WME! Excited to delve into the wide-ranging journeys of former evangelicals.

Expanding the conversation

I’ve (mostly) loved the book-writing process - the space to go beyond what I can do in a radio story, and the freedom to be a little more personal. As I move into the editing phase, I’ve decided I want to continue this kind of writing, right here.

So I hope you’ll join me for what I expect to be a slightly expanded version of what I do on twitter, if you happen to be following me there: reflections on the intersections of religion and politics, the rise of Christian nationalism, the post-evangelical experience, reporter’s notebooks as I travel the country covering abortion policy and U.S. politics - and probably a few thoughts on motherhood and re-marriage, because that’s my life right now!