Of course, many highly intelligent people like Dan find a place to feel comfortable in adulthood, when there is a bit less stigma to being smart. Others lose the US presidency to George W. Bush, who may have been the less qualified candidate in 2000 but seemed more likable to the American people than Al Gore. Still others feel alienated for the rest of their lives and find a way to simply ignore their peers, because it is too painful to feel so different.
In adolescence, this latter strategy worked well for Dan. By deliberately disregarding what others thought was cool, he could evade the sense of inferiority he felt among his classmates. He decided that he didn’t care what his peers valued, because they didn’t value him. By adulthood, however, this strategy started to backfire. On performance reviews, Dan was rated as competent, loyal, and timely, but also judged to be “not a team player” and “difficult to work with,” and to have poor “agility.”
How about other Rejected children, who may have been disliked for any number of reasons other than being too smart? Research findings tell us that being rejected is one of the most consistent risk factors for a whole range of later psychological symptoms—depression, anxiety, substance use, even criminal behavior. Of course, not every Rejected individual experiences mental illness. But many such children do continue to feel shut out even as adults. Somewhere—at work, in their communities—there is a group that they try to avoid or feel uncomfortable being around. They may opt out of dinner parties or social events, for instance, if there’s a risk of being made to feel inferior again. Like Dan, they may find a spouse and have a few close friends, but they perpetually fear being marginalized. Alternatively, many find a vocation or a workplace populated by others who themselves were Rejected or Neglected. Some become so skilled at engineering their contacts with others that they report no longer feeling very rejected at all. But old feelings of insecurity continue to haunt them when they are thrust outside their comfort zone.
Rejecteds also may feel innately unworthy, anxious, or angry. These feelings can manifest themselves subtly, through a continual need for reassurance from loved ones, a sensitivity to signals that they’re being teased or excluded, or fear when meeting people who remind them of their childhood tormentors. It’s common for Rejecteds to develop a push-pull relationship with the world around them, often judging others as a way to feel superior, yet all the while dependent on positive feedback to gird their own fragile self-esteem.
Frank, the social-climbing assistant who manages up so persistently, is a Controversial. In childhood, the Controversials are often the class clowns—everyone’s favorite peer when part of a large group, if not necessarily someone whom people are eager to invite into their circle of close friends. These individuals can be very adroit socially but are also quite aggressive. Many describe them as Machiavellian—strategically using their social skills when it serves them, but also willing to knock others down to get what they want.
We don’t know a great deal about how Controversials fare over time. They are relatively difficult to find and as such are often excluded in research studies. But available evidence suggests that although they achieve short-term gain, they do not do well in the long term. One study revealed that out of almost three hundred girls who were categorized as Accepted, Neglected, Rejected, Controversial, or Average in the fourth grade of a low-income community, it was the Controversials who were most likely to become teen moms. In fact, compared to all teenage mothers, the Controversials were youngest when they gave birth.
Research also has shown that Controversial children grow up to be especially likely to have high status in adolescence—that’s the other type of popularity we will explore in this book.
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It was nearly noon when a representative from human resources finally stepped off the elevator and onto the floor where Billy, Carl, Dan, Frank, and almost a hundred other employees sat in gloomy anticipation. As if in a scene out of American Idol, the representative read off three lists of names, directing employees to separate rooms to learn their fate. Billy and Frank were sent to the same room. Carl was in another, and Dan was in the third.
After about twenty minutes of waiting, the workers in Billy and Frank’s room began to whisper, and soon rumors were circulating. Finally, the human resources director entered, shut the door behind her, and informed them that they were all safe. They were expected to return to work immediately.
She next entered Carl’s room and notified this group that while their positions were being eliminated in the corporate reorganization, they each would be offered one-year contracts with a subsidiary. It was not a great outcome, but it was better than unemployment.
“I knew I was in trouble,” Carl recalled. When the executives debated who would stay and who would go, he said, he understood that “I wasn’t anybody’s boy.” Others hypothesized that Carl was among those who were asked to move because he was connected to so few others, which meant that his departure had the lowest likelihood of upsetting the office network.
Dan’s room held the fewest workers. All were told that their duties had been reassigned, and they were expected to vacate their desks by the end of the week. Although Dan was smart and did his job well, there was no question that he would be laid off on that grim day. He just never seemed to fit in among his peers.
Of course, the decisions made regarding Billy, Carl, Dan, and Frank were based on a complex array of factors. Work performance, seniority, organizational needs, and future projections were taken into consideration. But were they all that mattered? Substantial evidence suggests that it is our likability that can predict our fate in so many domains of life. Likable people continue to have advantages, and dislikable people will almost always suffer.
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Likability is an important type of popularity, but it is not what we typically think of when we judge who is most popular. What we usually imagine has much more to do with status. For some people, it is possible to be popular in both respects—to have power, influence, prestige, dominance, and also to be a person that everyone likes. But this is rare. Research studies measure status by using a different type of sociometric assessment, asking subjects to identify peers who are “Most Popular” and “Least Popular,” rather than whom they like the most and least. Findings reveal that only about 35 percent of those who are high in status are also highly likable. Many of the rest are Controversial.
Ignaz Semmelweis’s high status afforded him the opportunity to investigate a major medical crisis and ultimately propose a theory that had the potential to advance knowledge and save lives. When his peers adopted his new methods—washing their hands and disinfecting surgical instruments between procedures—hundreds of mothers were saved.
During his lifetime, however, Semmelweis never received the credit he deserved for his major medical breakthrough. Howard Markel, the University of Michigan historian, writes that Semmelweis’s shrill, harsh behavior ultimately led doctors in Vienna to stop washing their hands following autopsies. Soon mothers began to die again, at an even higher rate than earlier. In 1850, Semmelweis quietly resigned from General Hospital. It was not until over a decade later that Louis Pasteur conducted a series of experiments revealing the existence of specific disease-causing bacteria, which changed medical practice forever. In the meantime, thousands of women and babies died in Vienna, and Dr. Semmelweis himself passed away at the age of forty-seven—purportedly from an infection.
Alexandra Cort’s story similarly suggests a troubling outcome for those high in status. As part of our research, we continued to follow her and her peers for a few years after our first meeting. On measures of status, Alexandra was by far the most popular student in her grade all the way up to graduation, even as she continued to be rated by many as someone they liked the least.
But that was her downfall. It was because of her high status that she was invited to every party, where she drank, smoked pot, used ecstasy, and even experimented wi
th cocaine. Her grades dropped, and while her friends from the library were admitted to four-year universities, Alexandra was left behind. Her friendships eventually became strained, and her boyfriend broke up with her as he prepared to leave for college.
When we last collected data for our study, the most popular girl in school was lonely.
CHAPTER 3
The Problems with Popularity
What’s Wrong with What We Want?
In the center of Rome, nestled comfortably among historic landmarks like St. Vincenzo’s Church and the United Colors of Benetton, sits the Trevi Fountain. It is a glorious site, with over one hundred thousand cubic feet of water pouring through its aqueducts hourly. Every day it is surrounded by people who marvel at its beauty and listen to its endless roar. They take pictures, they sit nearby to have coffee, and the vast majority throw in a coin to make a wish. About three thousand euros’ worth of coins are tossed into the fountain every day, representing thousands of wishes from all over the world.
What does everyone typically wish for?
I wish to win the lottery.
I wish I were ten pounds thinner.
I wish to become famous.
I wish for a promotion.
I wish to fall in love.
I wish my family happiness and health.
I wish for no more war or suffering.
What would you wish for? Research studies have posed this question to adults from all over the world. Some studies have reframed the idea by asking people to report their “fundamental motives”—in other words, the deepest desires that drive their behavior. Others have investigated life longings, or what Germans call Sehnsucht. Still other researchers have analyzed subjects’ most important “aspirational goals.”
Results from all these studies reveal that while our wishes depend a bit on our age, our gender, our personality, and even where we are when we are asked, we all basically want the same things. Psychologists can group all of our wishes into just two main categories.
One of these categories includes our “intrinsic” desires—wishes that make us feel good without needing any external recognition or feedback. Psychologists posit that these intrinsic goals are inherently fulfilling because they make us feel as if we are honoring our own internal values. They promote psychological growth and self-actualization—in other words, they make us the best people we can possibly be. Intrinsic goals include our desire to feel connected to others, to find love, and to be healthy and happy. Altruistic wishes (e.g., desiring happiness for our loved ones or an end to world hunger) are a reflection of our intrinsic desires, because when we seek to help others, it feels good, even if no one else is aware of our benevolent intentions.
In one study, a group of psychologists asked 405 young adults, “If you could have three wishes, what would you wish for?” The results revealed fewer intrinsic wishes than might be expected. About 13 percent wished for happiness, and 12 percent wished for social intimacy, including “positive relationships with family and friends.” Only about 8 percent chose an altruistic wish. Others (6 percent) made a wish pertaining to physical health or the health of a loved one; this type of wish becomes more common as we grow older.
The other category of wishes has a great deal to do with popularity. This is not the kind of popularity based on likability, but rather one grounded in status and all of its trappings. Researchers refer to these types of wishes as “extrinsic,” because they are defined by a desire to be regarded favorably by others. Extrinsic desires are satisfied only when other people notice us and give us positive feedback, so fulfilling them is out of our own control.
Common extrinsic wishes are craving fame and attention (e.g., “to be admired by many people,” “to have my name be known by everyone”), as well as power and dominance (“to be able to influence people”). Extrinsic wishes also include those qualities that we associate with high status, like beauty (“to have people comment how good I look”) and excessive wealth (“to have many expensive things”). No matter how the questions are posed or who the participants are, research reveals that at least one of the subjects’ top three wishes usually is extrinsic, with fame or attention being particularly common. Power (especially for men) and beauty (for women) are also typically in the top five. Ultimately we all want to be admired and influential—and maybe even a little envied.
Is this so wrong? Is it shallow? Immature? Maybe a little vain? Is there a part of us that still wants to live out our high school glory days, or fulfill a wish that was never granted in adolescence? Do we really still want this type of popularity?
I must confess, although I am not terribly active on Facebook, I do have an account that enables me to keep up-to-date with friends and colleagues who might otherwise fall out of touch. I occasionally post a picture of my family, and after a few days, and several pestering emails from Facebook, I log back in to see what I have missed. At the top of the screen is a little icon showing me that there has been activity on my account. When I click, it announces that dozens of people have “liked” or commented on the photo I posted. I didn’t upload the picture just to accrue some impressive number of “likes,” but I can’t help but feel a little uplifted knowing that so many people saw and approved of something I offered. Of course, this recognition has nothing to do with people actually liking me, despite Facebook’s clever use of the word. It is, rather, a simple way for them to indicate that they saw my picture, and it made them smile. It seems that the fundamental purpose of “liking,” retweeting, or offering any other form of endorsement on social media is to join the herd that says, “I see you. I notice you. I approve of you.” It is a way of granting people high status—showing them that they are visible and admired by many. And the tactic works. When I see the number of “likes,” it makes me feel . . . well, popular. It seems juvenile to admit it, but it offers a little bit of a rush, a small pat on the back, a feeling of being reinforced.
We typically look down on people who openly crave high status. Seeking this type of popularity is the kind of pursuit we associate with preteens and boy bands. We even use derogatory names for adults who seem to brazenly pursue status, like “status-seekers,” “wannabes,” or “fame-mongers.”
But is it wrong to desire high status? It’s certainly more socially advantageous to have this type of popularity than not. Imagine attending a party where everyone is excited to talk with you, amused by what you say, and impressed by how great you look. Consider how gratifying it would feel if, at every work meeting, your ideas were heralded as the most inspired and influential. Think how special you would feel if people were excited just to meet you and talked favorably about you afterward. Who wouldn’t want to be venerated by all their peers? This recognition appeals to all of us, just as all of us do secretly feel a little boost when we get “likes” on our Facebook page, or when we receive lots of invitations to parties and get-togethers. Why? It’s not appealing because we are still vying for a spot on the “Most Popular” senior celebrities page in our high school yearbook—it actually has a much deeper basis. Our pursuit of status can be traced back to the most primitive of origins.
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Deep within our brains, in a part of the limbic system that sits below the cerebral cortex, is a region that has been part of our anatomy for thousands of years and is found not only in humans but also in other mammals. It’s part of a network of coactivating substructures, but the area that may have most relevance is called the ventral striatum. The ventral striatum is a hub in our brain’s reward center and as such plays a major role in making us feel good. It responds to all kinds of rewards, from the promise of money to the high that comes from using drugs. But beginning in adolescence, the ventral striatum becomes especially activated when we experience rewards that are social in nature. One of its chief functions is to make us care about status.
The ventral striatum is among the first parts of the brain to change at puberty. This
is highly adaptive. About the time that our output of testosterone and progesterone begins to surge—even before our voices change and our sexual interests develop—our bodies prepare us to become autonomous. A first step in doing so is to help us separate from our parents and become more interested in our peers.
This interest is stimulated by a cocktail of neurochemicals. Our feelings, sensations, urges, and behaviors are all triggered by the activity of neurons in our central nervous system. These neurons each have receptors that are keyed to specific hormones, neurotransmitters, or other substances that signal the neuron to fire or not. When we are about ten to thirteen years old, our pubertal hormones stimulate the neurons in the ventral striatum to grow additional receptors for two brain substances in particular.
One of these is a hormone called oxytocin, which increases our desire to connect and bond with our peers. Receptors for oxytocin proliferate in many mammals at the onset of adolescence. Even mice prefer time with other teen mice over adults when they begin to mature—a fact that can bring comfort to millions of parents who wonder why they have suddenly become such an embarrassment to their tween children. The second substance is dopamine, the same neurotransmitter that produces the pleasure response triggered by many recreational drugs. Together these neurochemicals make tweens suddenly feel an urge to obtain “social rewards”—feedback that makes them feel noticed, approved, admired, and powerful among peers.
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