Psychologists often describe these quick judgments as mental shortcuts or “schemas.” They allow our brains to process social situations quickly without overwhelming us with information. While these shortcuts are useful, they can also lead us to oversimplify the people around us - and sometimes ourselves!

Over time, I’ve noticed that the way we view others and the world around us affects how strongly we feel that we belong. Everyone looks at others through the lens of their own experiences. For those of us who feel like imposters in new situations, it’s easy to imagine everyone else as people who “have it all figured out.” That becomes our placeholder impression.

This kind of thinking is often made worse by isolation from other people’s experiences. When we don’t talk to others, we fill in the gaps ourselves, and we usually assume the worst about our own place in the room.��

But all hope is not lost. The solution is surprisingly simple: talking.��

Talking to people simplifies what we often overcomplicate; it reveals that everyone has their own struggles. The person who seems confident might be just as afraid to try something new as you are.��Maybe they step forward because they once let opportunities slip away and don’t want to repeat that mistake. Or maybe they push themselves because opportunities were once rare, and they’ve learned to treat each one like something precious.��

Fear doesn’t disappear. But when we understand why something matters, the idea of trying – despite that fear – starts to make sense.

Once we recognize these fears and give them names, they become easier to face. Even more powerful is realizing that these fears aren’t yours alone to carry. Many of the people around you are quietly carrying the same ones.��

Sometimes, the only thing separating us from realizing that is a conversation. 

Which brings me back to my original point: never judge a book by its cover; the real story lies in the pages we take the time to read. 

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There's a particular kind of compliment that reveals everything.  

“She's brilliant…and beautiful too!” The surprise in the voice. The too. As if intelligence and a good face are two prizes that weren't supposed to land in the same pair of hands. 

As with a lot of manufactured binaries, we've been trained to see beauty and brains as black or white, as a zero-sum game. But what I find interesting about this one in particular is that we only play this game with women. 

The “beautiful but dumb” and “brilliant but plain” archetypes didn't come from nowhere—they were constructed. Sociologist Catherine Hakim's work on erotic capital sparked serious debate in academic circles because it forced a conversation people weren't comfortable having: that attractiveness operates as a social currency, and when women hold that currency alongside intellectual authority, the cultural response has usually been suspicion. Think of the femme fatale: she uses her looks instead of her mind, which conveniently makes her dangerous and dismissible at once. Think of the bluestocking: too serious for vanity, therefore unsexed and safe. Two archetypes, one function: to contain her, whichever way she goes. 

Run the male version of this experiment. A sharp-dressed, conventionally attractive male professor walks into a lecture hall. Nobody questions whether he prepared. A male CEO who's physically fit isn't described as prioritizing his absover his balance sheet. The beauty-brains tension simply does not activate for men the way it does for women, and that asymmetry is the tell. 

Psychologists call the underlying mechanism the what is beautiful is good stereotype, which is the well-documented tendency to attribute positive traits to attractive people. But research shows this halo effect operates differently by gender. For men, attractiveness tends to reinforce perceptions of competence. For women, it can actually undercut them, particularly in high-status or intellectual contexts. Beauty, for women, becomes evidence of something—just not always intelligence. 

This isn't ancient history either.  

In 2015, software engineer Isis Wenger was featured in a recruiting ad for her tech firm, and the internet's immediate response was that she looked “too attractive” to be a real engineer. The ad was genuine. She was a real engineer. But the disbelief was the story that moved.  

It shows up in politics too, and rarely more clearly than in 2021 when Kamala Harris became the first woman ever elected Vice President of the United States. To mark the moment, Vogue ran a cover, but not the one Harris's team had agreed to. Instead of the powder blue power suit shot, the magazine ran a casual, poorly lit photo of her in sneakers. Washington Post critic Robin Givhan wrote that Vogue had “robbed Harris of her roses,” calling the image “overly familiar,” a cover that, in effect, called her by her first name without invitation. The detail that makes this worse: Harris had reportedly dressed herself down on purpose, anticipating that anything too polished would be called elitist. She played the game. She still lost. 

A fashion student at Montclair State put it plainly when analyzing Harris's signature pantsuit uniform: “Her appearance would come into focus if she wore dresses or skirts. Her body, makeup, hair, all of that would come into question.” The pantsuit, in other words, was armour. A calculation her male colleagues never have to make. 

And it's all around us. It's the girl in your class who deflects compliments on her work with jokes about her appearance or downplays her appearance in academic spaces because she's learned — somewhere — that she'll be taken more seriously if she does. It's the girl who removes her acrylic nails before a job interview, not because they get in the way of anything, but because she's been told, directly or otherwise, that they send the wrong message about how serious she is. It's the girl who keeps two separate Instagram accounts: one for her work, one for everything else, because she already knows that being visibly pretty and visibly accomplished in the same space invites a kind of scrutiny men posting the same content simply don't face. 

Women don't just receive this framework. They internalize it. That's how effective it is.  

Here's the thing about a no-win setup: the point was never to be won. If a woman is beautiful, her intellect is a surprise. If she's visibly intellectual, her femininity becomes a footnote or a loss. The “paradox” of beauty and brains was never a paradox. All it was was a sorting mechanism, designed to ensure that no matter which direction a woman moved, she could be reduced. 

The question “Is she pretty or smart?” was never really about her. It's about the discomfort of a woman who refuses to be one thing. 

And once you see it framed that way, the question starts to sound less like an observation and more like an admission. 

So, the next time someone says, “she's got beauty and brains!” with that particular brand of surprise dressed up as a compliment, you don't need a lecture ready. You don't need a dissertation. You just need what Elle Woods gave us twenty-something years ago, walking out of Harvard Law with a 4.0 and a courtroom win: 

“What, like it's hard?” 

Yetunde is a fourth-year Political Science major at �첥��Ƶ and a writer drawn to the space where culture, gender, and identity collide. She's currently working on a young adult novel set between Lagos and Toronto: a story of family, displacement, and becoming, told in a voice rooted in Nigerian vernacular and the quiet weight of what goes unsaid. Her writing favors the implicit over the obvious, trusting readers to feel what her characters won't name. On TikTok, she's Bits of Bibi, digital proof that disciplined and pretty aren't competing storylines. She writes �첥��Ƶ Femme, a Sunday Substack for the girl who refuses to choose between the library and living the life.

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Balancing the Court, the Classroom and the Reality Behind the Glamour

Under the bright lights of Scotiabank Arena, on a movie set, or in the studio, professional dancers move in perfect synchronization as thousands of fans cheer around them. The routines look effortless, energetic, polished, and glamorous. For most viewers, these performances are simply part of the entertainment that surrounds professional sports. But behind those few minutes on the court is a demanding reality that most people never see. For Kaia Esnard, that reality includes balancing the physically intense world of professional dance with the equally demanding expectations of university life. A member of the Toronto Raptors Dance ‘North Side Crew’ and a student at �첥��Ƶ’s Schulich School of Business, Kaia navigates two very different environments every day. On one side is the structured, career-oriented world of business school. On the other hand, the fast-paced, constantly shifting industry of professional dance. Managing both at the same time requires extraordinary discipline, adaptability, and resilience.

Two Worlds, One Schedule

Balancing dance and university means Kaia’s days rarely slow down. Most mornings begin early with meal preparation and packing for the day ahead. Alongside textbooks and school materials, she brings dance gear, including heels used in rehearsals and performances. After attending classes at Schulich, she often spends time between lectures studying or completing assignments before heading downtown for rehearsals. The commute itself, about an hour, becomes another opportunity to multitask. Kaia sometimes listens to recorded lectures or prepares choreography for other teaching and dance jobs while driving. Rehearsals typically last around three hours, during which dancers may learn one or two full routines in a single evening, sometimes performing them the very next day at a game. Even after rehearsal ends, the night is rarely over. Additional training sessions help maintain the physical conditioning required to perform consistently at a professional level. By the time Kaia finally drives home, it is often past midnight. Only then does she finish any remaining schoolwork before preparing for the next day, sometimes waking up just hours later for an early lecture. “It’s basically two full-time worlds,” she says. The contrast between those worlds is significant. Business school is highly structured, with clear professional expectations and long-term career planning. The dance industry, by comparison, moves quickly and unpredictably. Schedules can change week by week, and networking often happens through collaboration rather than formal professional settings. Learning to navigate both environments has required Kaia to adapt her communication style, priorities, and daily routines depending on where she is.

Image and Gender Expectations

Performance is only one part of being a professional dancer. Image also plays an important role, particularly in an industry where casting decisions often consider aesthetics and branding alongside skill. Rather than being purely restrictive, these expectations can also shape how dancers develop confidence and professionalism over time. For female dancers especially, appearance becomes closely tied to opportunity, but it can also encourage a heightened awareness of presentation and self-expression. Kaia explains that as dancers transition into adulthood, they learn to embody a more polished and intentional version of themselves that aligns with industry standards. As a Raptors ‘North Side Crew’ dancer, she also represents the organization as a brand ambassador, requiring her to maintain a professional and composed image both in person and online. Over time, these expectations have translated into personal growth beyond dance. “I’m definitely more mindful now about how I carry myself,” she says, explaining that the role has helped her become more confident, improve her communication skills, and present herself in a more mature and professional way in everyday life, from how she interacts with new people to even small details like posture and styling.

Skills People Overlook

Kaia believes the discipline required to succeed in dance develops skills that extend far beyond the studio. Professional dancers build strong time-management habits, resilience, creativity, and physical awareness. The training also strengthens memory and coordination, as dancers must quickly learn and retain complex choreography. Dance communities also foster collaboration and support networks that help performers grow both professionally and personally. “Most dancers who succeed in this industry are incredibly disciplined,” Kaia says.These skills, she argues, are often overlooked by people outside the field. 

Macey Misa is a fourth-year student in Law and Society & Criminology with a strong interest in equity, media, and professional industries. Alongside her academic work, she is involved in York's Women in Law Association as VP of Marketing. She brings a critical, interdisciplinary perspective to her writing, exploring how industries like dance intersect with professionalism, identity, and legal studies.

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