Dear C,

Have you seen the Disney film, Ice Princess yet? It occurs to me that the movie’s plot provides the obvious answer to Lawrence Summers’ soul-searching as to why there aren’t more women in science. In case you haven’t seen it, the story revolves about a high school physics geek, played by Michelle Trachtenberg (the new Scarlett Johannsen), who throws away a chance at a scholarship to Harvard in order to take her chances in the cutthroat world of competitive ice-skating. The reason she does this, of course, may not be clear to the current dean of Harvard, but it is obvious to anyone in possession of a couple of X chromosones: adorable outfits and cute white boots. I am convinced that if girls got to twirl around the lab in tight-fitting, butt-grazing spangly pink costumes, many more of them might be inclined to discover the REAL cure for cellulite, and other burning issues of our time. (Come to think of it, more boys might be inclined to pursue such a career, as well). As a matter of fact, why not extend this principle to everything from combat (giving the term ‘women in uniform’ a whole new meaning) to writing op-ed pieces for The Washington Post (apparently, they are mostly men, although I have my doubts about Charles Krauthammer).  Think pink, and pretty soon we will rule the world!

Faithfully,

P.

P,

Although I wholeheartedly endorse your "bring more glamour to it and we’ll come" theory of women in the professions, I found another lesson in Ice Princess and it’s one I do hope my own daughters will take to heart.  As you might recall, the glamourous blond ice skating coach and mother, played by Kim Cattrall (still exuding her Sex and the City "I am really a slut" charm), had some moral failings.  She apparently had committed some heinous act against a fellow skater in the ‘72 Olympics which kept her from the glory she had otherwise earned.  However, instead of truly learning from it ("I’ve wished I could change that moment in every moment since" or something to that effect), she instead tries to sabotage  the competition in order to help her own daughter succeed.  I think the real message, dear P, is that blonds are, frankly, not to be trusted, even when they claim to have learned their lesson.  I only wish, dear P, that I was a natural member of your club and didn’t have to work so hard to get there.  It’s otherwise such a perfect fit.

Faithfully,

C.