It's NOT a Gen Thing

Of joy and comparison.

Madhur Jaffrey!

First row girlies, represent! This last weekend, I sat maybe fifty feet from a few legends while I was in New York City for the Cherry Bombe Jubilee, a women in food conference. I’m not chilling in the back, or playing it cool with a third or fifth row seat, I’m copping a squat in the front chairs and sitting up straight. Maybe I know what it’s like to talk to a room when the first few rows are sparse, so, hello: I’m here.

On stage, the legendary Madhur Jaffrey sat next to other food world icons such as Jessica B. Harris, and Grace Young. The work of these women forged not just roads in food writing, but cultural highways along which others have traveled to better understand the world and find their place in it. For all that they’ve seen and understood and recorded, they’ve earned a packed house.

Though it was one question that brought the house down. Madhur was asked by Cherry Bombe founder Kerry Diamond what she would do if she was just starting out now, in today’s world. The petite 91 year old, who is working on still another cookbook to add to the more than 20 she’s already written, remarked, “I would have a lot of sex. And eat some food.”

Affirmative. The laughter and cheering went on for a few minutes, and there was no woman in that room that did not feel seen. It brought me back to a feeling I often boil down to, that this generational definition stuff is just bullshit.

Sure I will tell you that I’m a proud Gen X, that I was a latch-key kid, and that yes: I was a free-range human gone for literal DAYS before my mom knew exactly where I was. I understand that these experiences shaped who I am, but I’m not sure they defined me the way it seems like people clamor to be so rigidly defined.

I understand the need to belong, to find a tribe. But I think an intergenerational one is the collective we should be forming.

That room, that conference was a thick melange of women from many backgrounds, many ages, many experiences. Besides the obvious icons on the stage there were women freshly launching their food brands, women looking to leave their solid careers to start a new gig, women who were nominated for Pulitzers, women who were sneaking off to pump. Dear god it was loud, but it was also inspiring. Because everyone had something to bring to the party.

When I was entering the workforce, post-college in advertising, women were harder towards each other. There were nylons and expectations and a stripes-earning vibe that kept us in our place. The internet literally showed up as I was working as an assistant account executive and because I had experience playing with something called a LISTSERV Digest (or as we now call it, email) in college, suddenly I was interesting.

Funny thing was, I was just as interested in the lives of these women in their 40’s as they were of this new world I was talking about. They had been divorced, lost companies, talked about so much sex they were having. It seemed both glamorous and terrifying. My boss Marcy Little let me run meetings, told me I had to grow up and start drinking black coffee (because all that cream and sugar took too long), and taught me how to make artichoke heart dip to woo those gents on a first date.

Maybe that’s when I figured out that the only way through this crazy whirl was in a clutch of wise women—their wisdom earned through whatever experience they’ve lived through, at whatever age, and passed on. But, there is a catch.

You have to be open.

Besides the great buzzy lady vibe in NYC this weekend, I did recognize another frequency. Envy. Especially in this day and age of likes and followers and viral trends, it’s easy to see a woman doing well and feel like you are not measuring up. What’s funny to me was that I talked to a younger up-start recipe developer who was just agog with what

Zoë François

had achieved and felt like she’d already failed and not done enough. And then I spoke with another, very successful podcaster who said that she’s always worrying about the next talent coming into her space, that she feels like she can’t give away too much, so ends up feeling isolated.

I told both of them:

If comparison is the thief of joy, why not let joy be the thief of comparison?

Your intergenerational friendships, allegiances, networks can fight this idea that you are not enough just because someone else is quite a lot. Women hating on other women for their age or success just puts more bricks in the patriarchy.

I have extremely close friendships with women who are closer to my daughter’s age than to mine. I have shared parenting advice to pals ten years above me and ten years below me, and one of my favorite nights happens at the Silly Suppers with my late mother’s best friends cackling around a dinner table.

Count yourself among the unabashed hype women and throw joy at the next person you see doing something cool. I guarantee that it stings less and yields more. Step into the continuum that is womanhood and refuse to close down around generational divides. Learn from anyone and anything in your path to expand, and never, ever contract into that small box marked with a nasty green E.

And above all: have a lot of sex. And eat some food.

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