Just passing along a nice service piece for the emerging social media generation of undergrads and the scads of unbelievers and cynics. It’s a NY Times article on using Twitter as a work and networking tool, not just for status updates.
Category Archives: Business
Forty years ago Dustin Hoffman in the title role of “The Graduate” got single work of what we, in the wised-up audience, knew to be idiotic career advice:
The advice giver, if memory serves, got justly punished for his bourgeois irrelevancy and dismissive attitude toward young adult angst. He got cuckolded by his wife, iconically played by Anne Bancroft, who seduces Hoffman’s Benjamin Braddock.
Mother Nature doesn’t like it when you make fun of her, as a commerical told us once upon a time. And youth doesn’t take kindly to being mocked by middle aged guys whose wives could be fair game.
All this is a long way around the barn to make the point that Benjamin’s plight the summer after his college graduation has much in common with the anxieties of today’s college grads. I should know. I’m a college professor.
I should know — but that’s really less than half the story. I should be able to help them. I try. Sometimes I succeed — although the success is not mine, of course, but theirs. They do the heavy lifting. They get the informational interviews (“Sir, as you know, I’m not here to ask for a job because, as you’ve told me, you’re not hiring. What I’m here for is to learn about your company and your industry. To do the kind of research that will help me put me in position to be a strong candidate when the economy turns around.”)
Then they follow up. Make lists. Get referrals. Take punches to their emotional solar plexus. It’s not pretty out there when the recent grads hit the street and the Internet to strut their stuff. For one thing, there’s just too much stuff on the street already.
I get emails from anxious students. I get emails from excited students who’ve landed a real job interview. I get messages posted on my Facebook wall from students seeking advice, registering complaints, feeling deflated. Sometimes I get texted by recent grads who are jumping for j0y in 140 characters.
Did I mention ambiguity? Or have I just buried it way down here? After four years of higher education, students who have majored in anything from sociology to communication to English to history are prone to suffer from not having the confidence to tell the world they’re this rather than that. They want to world to tell them who and what are. Not all of them, but many of them. “I want to be “in” advertising or publishing. “But I don’t know as what, exactly? What’s on the menu? What do you think I should be, having known me for all of l5 minutes?”
Ambi-this, ambi-that. Ambivalence.
Of course, there are the just-graduated who come on very strong. “I’m an actor,” she announces with second-nature gender neutrality. Or “I’m a musician — I play guitar (rock, soul, techno) — and bass.”
But it’s a lot harder for just-grads to say with a straight face, “I’m a broadcaster.” Or “I’m a writer.” Or “I’m a director.”
As for me, I didn’t stop at GO — I went straight to graduate school, where I was trained to parse novels, plays and poems for their meanings or to discover how I myself was reacting to them. But my real reward would be the doctoral degree that was intended to qualify me to compete for a job as an assistant professor. I didn’t get very much training to do the kind of work assistant professors actually do, which is teach and try to understand students and help them survive in a world of ambiguity. To do that, I needed to stop being an assistant professor and get what academics laughingly refer to as “a real job”. Out in the ambiguous world. Where I felt plenty of ambiguity — enough to drive me back to academia after more than a decade earning my living as freelance writer, magazine editor, corporate speech writer, marketing manager and PR agency account executive.
As one of those tenured professors — and months away from applying for Medicare — my professional life is nowhere nearly as ambiguous as it was when I was a corporate middle manager or freelancer in magazineville. But I’m glad for the time I served in the trenches of ambiguity because unlike some of my colleagues — academic lifers — I have the kind of experience of, and connections with, the ambiguous world that causes my just-grads such anxiety.
My sermon for today is taken from Animal Spirits, the title of a new book about the rising science of behavioral economics. A review of the book appears in the New York Times Book Review.
What attracts me to the book — and why I will read it– is its argument with the conventional wisdom of economics that human beings can be expected to make rational decisions. Not so, said J. M. Keynes. What market bubbles demonstrate — the Great Depression in Keynes’ era — is that people make decisions based on what he called “animal spirits” — over-confidence, greed an the naive belief that what goes up will never come down, and even an irrational belief in fairness.
The economics I was taught at The Wharton School of Economics was based on the concept of — but really the belief in and ideology of — human rationality. Had I been smarter and quicker back then, I might have realized that all the reading I had been doing on my own in high school — Freud, Nietzsche, Doestoevsky, Henry Miller — was either utterly absurd, aberrant and shallow, or that it flew in the face of the rational-choice foundation of conventional economic theory.
What I believe today isn’t that human beings are essentially irrational and thus prone to irrational exhuberance, in the phrase made popular by Alan Greenspan, that fallen idol of economics. What I believe today is what Jonathan Swift said about human beings, which is that we are capax rationis, or capable of reason. Which is what I learned in a graduate literature seminar taught by J. W. Johnson, a brilliant scholar of Eighteenth Century literature. That lesson was reinforced in a class with Norman O. Brown, whose Life Against Death made instructive use of Dean Swift and Dr. Freud. Man, Freud believed, is the neurotic animal. Human history, which Brown (no relation) puts on the couch, shows a clear tendency to do what neurotics do: repeat unsuccessful behaviors. For example, war.
It seems inconceivably dense that economics has for so long denied, ridiculed or marginalized such insights into human nature which drives marketplace decision-making. When I interviewed Milton Friedman in l978, he told me that psychoanalysis isn’t a science like economics. For rational-choice-based economics, Freud is mumbo-jumbo and Swift is for Eng Lit departments.
Nobel Prize-winning economist Friedman, I wrote 30 years ago in The Best of Business (Esquire), is smarter than you are. And he was. But history — modern history, included — has shown us that the smartest guys in the room can and do get it wrong. The geniuses who advised JFK about a war in Vietnam War were tragically off the mark. So were the best and brightest economists and Wall Streeters, econ professors and government types who wrote the computer models for credit default swaps and other animal-spirit investment innovations.
A bit of modesty would be in order — would it not? — for the smartest guys in the room.
For we are what Swift says we are — merely capable of reason. The final book of Gullivers Travels gives us the vulgar, shite-throwing animals of our nature, the Yahoos — as well as the depressingly, chillingly overly rationalized animals of our nature, the houyhnhnms.
And we are what Shakespeare’s Lear says we are, “poor, bare, fork’d” animals.
And thus we would be well advised to follow Aristotle’s urging to behave with moderation and regard the golden mean.
Such wisdom goes down well in the humanities — but it needs to go up on the walls of the S.E.C. and in the nation’s economics departments and in the Blackberries of the best and brightest across the fruited plain.