Our brains like to utilize reputational bias because it keeps the status quo intact. Once people establish labels, those labels become cues for how they “should” treat each other. That treatment then perpetuates the labels, turning reputation into perceived reality. Reputational bias keeps the populars popular and the outcasts outcast. As reputational bias expert Shelley Hymel wrote, “Popular children acquire a ‘positive halo’ and unpopular children acquire a ‘negative halo,’ which color how their behavior is perceived, evaluated, and responded to by others.”
The halo effect is one of the oldest known phenomena in modern social psychology. It’s also highly relevant to social labels in school. The halo effect is the tendency to let one characteristic, even an irrelevant one, influence the total judgment of someone or something. This accounts for our inclination to judge attractive people as more talented, intelligent, and friendly than they might actually be.4 It is also a reason that many people assume an item is durable, cool, and of good quality simply because it carries a prestigious designer label. It explains why the iPod revitalized Apple’s other products. How guys can use puppies as successful chick magnets. And why we think someone is better-looking once he or she acquires celebrity status.
The halo effect also explains in part why the “cool” crowd stays cool. Because these students were crowned with high status, the halo effect extends that alleged superiority to other traits. The clothes they wear, the ways they act, the trends they follow, the words they favor, even the color of their hair can be cool simply because of the association with high status. This distinction between the populars and the cafeteria fringe doesn’t indicate that the latter are in any way inferior. They simply might not happen to be the beneficiaries of the halo effect, which creates an arbitrary, illusory, and ultimately meaningless aura of coolness.
An interesting aspect of the halo effect is that it has been proven that we don’t realize when it’s kicking in. So when Trey’s classmates assume that he is clumsy, stupid, and one-dimensional merely because he is labeled a musclehead, they likely don’t realize that their minds have taken a huge, improbable leap. They are unaware of the series of mental cop-outs they have taken to brand Trey with a label and let the resulting reputation color their views about his personality, character, and identity. And they have no idea that, by refusing to peel back that label—and refusing to mix up their cafeteria seating—they might be missing out on their next best friend.
WHITNEY, NEW YORK | THE POPULAR BITCH
Whitney decided to cast aside the preps’ aversion to Dirk, the leader of the punks. She had always admired him; her challenge would be a good chance to get to know him better. In the small advertising seminar they took together, they gradually grew closer. They IMed outside of school. Eventually, rather than the awkward eye contact they used to make in the hallways, they purposely bumped one another or gave playful shoves, teasing, “Ew!” If Whitney weren’t exclusive with Luke, she would have wanted to hook up with Dirk.
But as Whitney got to know the punks, chiefly through Dirk and his best friend, she was surprised to discover that they shared some of the preps’ characteristics. Many of the punks were promiscuous, or spent their spare time getting high. The girls shunned Whitney when she chatted with Dirk. The guys badmouthed other students. Maybe all cliques are the same, Whitney thought. They all have their own drama, their own backstabbing, their own conformities. How they treat people outside the group differs, but the insides are all the same.
When she realized that the punks weren’t the unique, free-spirited individuals she’d assumed they were, she was disappointed. “I’ve lost all hope in people. No matter what clique you’re in, you’re still in a clique and you still have to be fake and conform,” she said. “I don’t know if it’s even worth [branching out from the preps]. Like, the punks really aren’t as nice and laid-back as I thought. If I hung out with them, I would still have the same conformity problems. Because punks conform to their things too.”
A few days later, Whitney learned that Dirk had told a punk girl that Whitney disliked her—which was true, but Whitney had hoped those sentiments would not become public. Then Dirk promised Whitney he would text her about a party, but never did. I guess punks are just as unreliable as populars sometimes, she mused, and decided to go to the movies with the populars instead.
In the midst of Whitney’s social turmoil, the boys’ basketball team qualified for the state tournament. Unfortunately the playoff game—Whitney’s last chance to cheer during her high school career—fell on the same night as a mandatory all-county band rehearsal.
Whitney found her band teacher in the hall by the band room. “Hey, um, I need to talk to you,” she said. “So I just found out that the boys play Monday night.” Whitney’s heart pounded; she was worried her teacher would be angry.
“Oh,” the teacher said. “This is a problem.”
“Yeah.”
“Let me email the all-county president and see what he says. The rules say only sickness, weather, or death in the family are excuses for missing rehearsals. But I’ll see if there can be any exceptions.”
Later that week, Whitney asked the teacher if the president had responded. Whitney was optimistic. The president knew who she was. She had always gotten her way at school functions.
“I talked to him and it doesn’t look good.”
Whitney’s heart sunk. “Oh . . . really?”
“Yes. I explained that you couldn’t have known when the game was going to be scheduled and you can’t do half-and-half since they’re at the same time. And I explained that you’re captain and you already chose band over cheerleading for another event. But he said he can’t make an exception.”
“So, I have to choose?” Whitney asked.
“Yes,” said the teacher. “I really hate giving guilt trips, but as a musician, I have to say you’re more easily replaced in cheerleading than you are in band, since now they have to find a new first chair. . . .” He trailed off as Whitney started to cry.
Whitney agonized over her decision: miss her last all-county concert, letting down the band that had rehearsed with her as first chair, or abandon her last cheerleading game of her career, letting down the squad. She asked Luke for advice. “I think you should go to the game, because it will be a better memory for you to look back on,” he said.
Whitney agreed, but for other reasons. This year alone she’d been hospitalized twice for minor injuries sustained during cheerleading stunts; if those didn’t stop her, she didn’t think a scheduling conflict should. But even more, she wanted revenge on the all-county organization for its rule. “I wanted to make them scramble to find a replacement,” she explained later. She chose the game.
EVERY YEAR IN HIGH school, the preps had been in charge of Class War, the culmination to Spirit Week. Class War was a grade-versus-grade battle of silly games, relay races, obstacle courses, and skits performed in front of most of the town. The preps planned activities and decorations and decided who would participate in each event. When they discussed who should represent the class for tug-of-war, Bobby cracked, “Basically it could just be Fern and we would win.”
“Asshole,” Whitney muttered. Since the twins had moved, Fern was the only new student left in the class. Students continued to alienate her, a fate she seemed to accept passively from her usual spot in the corner.
A few days later, the preps were in a classroom painting Class War banners along with a smattering of other students. Because they were seniors, some non-preps decided they wanted to be involved, for once. Bianca came into the room. “Ew,” she said. “I heard people saying they don’t do Class War because they’re afraid of us.”
Jessica, the Future Farmers of America student who had run against Whitney for class treasurer, looked up from her banner. “Well, it’s true. The same little group runs it every year and you guys are intimidating to the rest of the grade.” She left to refill her paint cup.
The preps looked at each other. “Wha
t is she talking about?” one asked.
“Yeah, because we’re so scary,” Chip said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“We’re not intimidating,” said Bianca.
The teacher looked at the populars as if to say “duh.” “Uh, yes you are,” she said. “You guys scare the rest of your grade away from being involved in Class War, since you run the show. Not everyone gets your sarcasm, and some people get offended.”
Bianca grew defensive. “I am not fucking scary,” she said to the teacher. “People are just pussies.”
As usual, the teacher didn’t bat an eye at Bianca’s language because Bianca was a prep, and preps could say what they pleased. “You’re bossy,” the teacher said.
“I just like things done in a certain way, that’s all. I don’t scare people,” Bianca sniffed. “That’s so stupid.”
The rest of the preps remained quiet. I need to make an even bigger effort than I realized to get away from that reputation, Whitney thought. And I only have three months to do it. She had her work cut out for her. Even the wannabes weren’t sucking up to Whitney like they used to.
Whitney had a small lunch period attended mostly by preps, band kids, and freshmen. One day, she sat at the band kids’ table, where she was surprised that they acted as if it were natural for someone from another clique to join them. They chatted about Spirit Week; it was Costume Day. Whitney took pictures of Shay (the frizzy-haired band kid she used to ignore) and Shay’s friend Grace in costume. When the band kids left the lunchroom, Whitney rejoined the preps. The group stopped whispering as soon as Whitney sat down. Bobby looked at her pointedly, glanced at the empty band table, looked at Whitney again, and snorted.
That afternoon, Whitney overheard the honor society advisor telling an administrator that Fern, whose family didn’t have a car, had no way to get to the honor society’s induction ceremony. I should help her, Whitney thought. Anyone else would tell the whole world Fern doesn’t have a car.
The next day, Whitney approached Fern in Spanish class. “Hey, Fern, do you need a ride to the honor society thing tonight?” Whitney asked. Chelsea shot her a perplexed look.
Fern looked stunned, then nodded and smiled broadly.
“My mom knows where you live so she’ll give me directions. Can I have your number in case I get lost?”
Fern wrote down her number and handed it to Whitney. Whitney turned to Grace, a neighbor. “Grace, you need a ride too?”
“Sure, Whitney!”
“Okay, I’ll get you after Fern,” said Whitney, making the quick decision to go out of her way to pick Grace up last so she wouldn’t see that Fern lived in a broken-down apartment building. Whitney assumed that Fern would be more comfortable if fewer people saw her neighborhood.
On the ride to the ceremony, Whitney made small talk with Fern while Grace sang along with the radio. “Do you like Riverland?”
“I’m afraid to like it too much because I’m leaving soon.”
“I know what you mean.”
“I have a hard time making friends. So I don’t want to put the effort in when there’s only half a school year left, because it takes a lot of effort for me to make friends.”
“Yeah,” Whitney agreed. “I’m starting to drift away from my friends, so saying good-bye will be easier.” Whitney thought to herself that she was grateful she had friends, even if they were mean.
WHITNEY WAS HANGING OUT with Luke when Steph texted her. Steph sometimes hung out with the preps, even though she often told Whitney how much she hated them. She had transferred to Riverland from a school that the preps called “mad ghetto” because of its diversity. “My mom is going away,” Steph texted. “I’m having a small party and you’re invited.”
“I’m down,” Whitney texted back. When Bobby invited her to the movies with the preps, she told him she had plans.
That evening, Steph called to give Whitney directions to her house. “Is Bianca going?” Whitney asked.
“Ugh, no. She’s so annoying and cocky,” Steph said. “I’m not inviting her.” Giselle, the only other prep invited, was going to the movies instead.
All of the other partygoers went to Steph’s old school, and most were black or Latino, drastically different demographics from Riverland. The guys wore hats with flat brims, baggy pants tucked into puffy Nike sneakers, and oversized zip-up hoodies. They rapped along with the background music. At Riverland, these attributes would classify the students as gangstas (or, as Chelsea later said to Whitney, “guido-ish”).
In the past, Whitney would never have gone to a gangsta party. Now, she was open-minded, uninhibited, and engaged, or at least acting that way, later calling it a “pretty cool culture shock.” She introduced herself to each new person who walked in the door.
The students were friendly, even as they chatted about dramas involving people Whitney didn’t know. She listened and laughed along anyway. Close to midnight, she heard one girl say to another, “I really like Whitney.” Whitney was having more fun at a gangsta party full of strangers than at most prep parties with friends. Better still, she felt at ease. She had been afraid that the gangstas would peg her as a prep as soon as she walked in the door, and ignore her for the night or ridicule her hippie fashion like the preps would. But they didn’t. The gangstas appeared to accept her without prejudice.
When Bianca found out that Whitney had gone to Steph’s party, she acted as if she’d been invited too. “Yeah, I didn’t want to drive all the way out for that,” she told Whitney.
DANIELLE, ILLINOIS | THE LONER
Danielle wanted to fulfill her challenge by starting small, but rejected my suggestion that she begin by smiling at people in the hallways rather than trudging with her head down. “It’s just plain weird to smile at someone you hardly know in the hallway. Chances are, you won’t be getting a smile back, and if you do, it’s one of those polite, awkward smiles, and they’ll be thinking, ‘Why is she smiling at me?’ ” she reasoned. Instead, she decided to start by saying a few extra sentences to people in class, even if only about that day’s homework.
On the last snow team trip of the season, Danielle sat alone in the front of the bus, silently berating herself for forgetting her iPod. Danielle was surprised to hear Shelby, the snow team president, calling her name from the back of the bus.
“Danielle! Come back here and be social!” Shelby shouted.
Danielle hesitated. She couldn’t think of anything to talk about with Shelby and her friends. And the only empty seat happened to be diagonally across from Margaret, a girl who annoyed Danielle. But Danielle was trying to turn over a new leaf. “Okay,” she said.
Shelby and her friends made no further effort to include Danielle. She wasn’t sure why Shelby had summoned her in the first place. When Shelby switched seats to talk to other students, Danielle returned to the front of the bus and spent the rest of the ride looking out the window. She had come alone on every snow team trip this season. At least, undistracted by socializing, she had improved her boarding skills. At one of the snow team resorts, she could now negotiate the black diamonds. At the other, she was able to tackle some of the hills that she couldn’t even go down on skis, and she had been skiing for years. She couldn’t do tricks yet, but the teacher in charge of the snow team said she was good enough that she could attempt tricks next year.
On the lift, Danielle recognized a couple of juniors from the bus, Stone Mill potheads who were fantastic boarders. One of them turned to her. “So how long have you been boarding?” Caleb asked. Danielle answered him.
“Where do you live?” he prodded.
“I go to Stone Mill,” Danielle said. Clearly, they didn’t recognize her.
“Wait, were you on the bus?”
Danielle smiled sheepishly. “Yeahhh.”
“Oh, I didn’t even notice!” Caleb said.
Danielle flew down the hills. She loved snowboarding; she loved the crisp pivot of the board on sharp turns, the risk that she could crash if she hit the sm
allest bump. Danielle wasn’t nearly as skilled as the boys, but she managed to keep up with them. Her confidence soared.
They got on the same lift again and talked during the three-minute ride up the hill. Danielle noticed Margaret on the lift in front of them. When Margaret was getting off the lift, she fell, rolling down the small mound of snow in front of her chair.
Both boys laughed. Danielle had some misgivings, but said, quietly enough that Margaret couldn’t hear, “When I took lessons, she wasted the entire lesson just falling,” she said. “She screwed me over because I never learned how to turn.”
The guys laughed. “What a loser,” Caleb said.
Danielle went down the hill first, and the guys caught up to her. They shared a chair on the lift going back up the blues. When the lift stopped suddenly, Caleb’s friend said, “God, I bet that fat girl fell again!”
“We should send her up to the top of the black diamond and she’ll just roll!” Caleb said.
Danielle didn’t respond this time; she felt uncomfortable referring to Margaret as fat and she didn’t want to make fun of her.
The Geeks Shall Inherit the Earth: Popularity, Quirk Theory, and Why Outsiders Thrive After High School Page 28