Devolution

Two Nice Jewish Girls caught my eye on television recently.  As an amateur cultural anthropologist and a former NJG myself, I am always interested in how our species is turning out.

My first case study is that of Lisa Randall.  She’s pictured above.  If Jody Foster had married Dr. Robert Oppenheimer, Lisa would be their only brain child.

Born in 1962, she is the first tenured female theoretical physicist at both MIT and Harvard.  She is an expert in the field of particle physics and cosmology.  And she has done ground-breaking work in cosmic inflation, baryogenesis, grand unified theories, and the extra dimensional theory- the famous Randall-Sundrum model.

Her discoveries have changed the world we live in.

And she’s a knockout!  A preppie stunner with a no-nonsense, icy sexuality.  A cross between an Armani-clad Helen Hunt and Enrico Fermi.  Oh, I almost forgot.  She writes best-selling books in her spare time and her opera libretto debuted at the Pompidou Center in Paris.

I watched in awe as she waxed eloquent to Charlie Rose about the beauty of the symmetry of space and time.  She was brilliant about the importance of mathematics, what lies at the heart of matter and how quantum mechanics led to the semi-conductor industry.

I was mesmerized by her easy references to the notions of causality and why that theory would make time travel possible- and why it wouldn’t.

And I kvelled as she gracefully discussed the similarities between scientists and artists. And then just as gracefully, discussed the differences between them.

She singlehandedly made me want to study calculus.

And all the while, looking incredibly glamorous, shockingly brainy, and nakedly unapologetic for being both.

She was the living breathing avatar of the Big Badda Bing Bang Theory.

Who was this supernova of a human being?  Was she married?  And if so, who on earth would ever be fabulous -and secure enough- to be married to her?

As she gestured to illustrate yet some new mind-bending scientific theorem, I strained to see if she was wearing a wedding band.  (This was the first time in my personal ethno-sociological history that I ever did that with a woman.)

I didn’t see a ring.

I had to learn more.

Faster than you could say E=MC squared I Googled her.  Try it yourself and prepare to be amazed.

But nowhere could I find the presence of any significant other- male or female.

There’s probably no one in this galaxy good enough for our beautiful doctor.

My second NJG case study is another blonde born in 1971, Rachel Rosenzweig.  You might know her better as Rachel Zoe.

If Tony Soprano and an Olsen twin had a daughter the result would be Rachel Z.  A boho fairy princess mixed with mob boss.

Rachel wants to change our world, too.  One red carpet at a time.

Her curriculum vitae lists her occupation as “stylist.”  This means that she and her relentlessly-trendy minions “pull” clothes for actresses to wear to movie premieres, photo shoots, gallery openings, any place a paparazzo might lurk.

She also hawks her jewelry and clothing line on QVC  and stars in the reality television show The Rachel Zoe Project.

She’s into “lifestyle branding,” which is another way to say that she goes around air-kissing, all the while saying memorable things like ” I’m beyond exhausted,”  “Jeremiah killed it,”  “I honestly can’t deal with that it right now,” “That dress looks so insane on her,”  and “Everything to me is too personal.”

In her spare time she edits three newsletters: The Zoe Report, Zoe Beautiful, and AccessZoeries.  She has her sights set on a furniture line, too.

She’s self-made, successful, and driven.  An aspirational empire-builder who takes herself, her clients and her mission to accesorize seriously.

And no need to look for a ring on her finger. There he is, along for the ride.  Her poor, bewildered, metrosexual husband, Rodger.

He tags along in every episode, always with the same “deer-in-the-headlights” look of every man who suddenly finds himself to be deadwood.  By a quirk of fate, he’s married to the major breadwinner in his house.

He might have been, at one time, a businessman, an investment banker, according to Wikipedia.  (Although for me “investment banker” is one of those catchall terms that tells you nothing.  There was a well-known society dame around here who used to refer to her husband as an investment banker.  On closer inspection, it was revealed that he owned pawn shops and currency exchanges.)

But now, Rodger’s nice guy attitude, combined with his wife’s steamrollerism and bigger paycheck, has thoroughly gelded him.

He’s reduced to worrying about his wardrobe, carrying the luggage, placeholding at Fashion Week, and tamely repeating the words “cushion cut” to the jeweler when buying Rachel the fabulous “push present” she expects from him when she’s expecting.

He’s the perfect Stepford husband.

(Note to potential suitors:  I like my men masculine, thank you.  I do not want one who even knows the words “cushion cut” and/or “push present.”  Yuk.)

And though her husband has been neutered and she worried incessantly (“Do I look fat in this?” was her constant pregnancy refrain) Rachel miraculously has managed to reproduce.  Meet son Skyler, born this season on TRZP.

(Can anyone in that family spell, by the way?  Rodger?  Skyler?  Are these the “Phonics Can Be Fun!” traditional spellings?)

Two women, both successful, both self-made, both important in their fields.  They share much in common.

And yet their value systems are so different that for every scientific advancement one makes, the other sets the course of women’s studies back 500 years.  Kind of interesting, when you think about it.

As Dr. Randall would put it, their mutual existences insure that harmony, balance and symmetry has been restored to the universe.

Or to quote Rachel Zoe:

“Darwin killed it, babe.”

Now here’s an encouraging word from the (very) good Doctor Randall.