Day of the nerd
The bookish,
spectacled guy next door is no longer the marginalised figure he once
was, writes Alice-Azania Jarvis
Recently, a film
about a skinny, bespectacled boy named Harry enjoyed the most
profitable opening period in cinematic history. At the same
time, a series of children’s books starring a group of gauche
young tweens, NERDS, is expected to be one of Christmas’ big
sellers. The festive must-have for adults, meanwhile, is Apple’s
iPad: an invention so extremely elegant, so undoubtedly cool,
that it’s easy to forget it was designed by Silicone Valley’s
current Nerd-in-Chief Steve Jobs. Or at least, it would be easy
were he not quite so famous, his grinning visage not quite so
synonymous with success.
What of 2010 more
broadly? The Social Network, a pacy thriller about
Facebook’s founder Mark Zuckerberg, was the film everyone
wanted to see. Off-screen, at $6.9b Zuckerberg was named the
youngest billionaire on the planet, while Bill Gates, once
again, was awarded the number one spot on the Forbes Rich List.
Bill Gates, bespectacled, chino-clad, a man so extremely nerdy
he might well have been pulled from a Hollywood casting lot and
handed his job, along with a script.
Of course, if he
were, that script would be 1984s college comedy Revenge of
the Nerds. Because the nerds, it’s safe to say, have won.
Things weren’t
always this way. In 1951, Newsweek reported on the rise
of a new term in the national dialect. "Someone," the
magazine observed, "who once would be called a drip or a
square is now, regrettably, a nerd." By the next decade,
the idea of the ‘nerd’ as a derogatory term, indicating
uncoolness, was well established.
What happened in
the second half of the twentieth century, though, was that these
various ideas — the notions of the straight-laced killjoy, the
cleverer-than-thou swot, and the unloved loner — coalesced
into a single, pejorative stereotype, duly adopted and
reinforced by the television sets that took up residence in
every home.
Nerds, with their
exaggerated ineptitude, were used as plot devices to make the
other, more emotionally intelligent characters look good —
and, by extension, make observers feel better about themselves.
Combined with his
own more-appealing qualities — loyalty, kindliness,
intelligence — the position later bagged him his fair share of
popularity and romance. Either realising the empathetic
potential of the nerdy underdog, or clocking the custom to be
found among their real-life equivalents, authors and producers
started to feature them centrestage.
At the same time,
inextricably linked to this, a broader economic shift was
underway. The rise of the Silicone Valley and the first dotcom
boom saw nerds, long preoccupied with the intricacies of maths
and computer science, blossom from the unpopular kids in school
to serious financial power players.
When Bill Gates
became the world’s richest man in 1995, nerds finally had
their own hero to whom they could aspire. According to columnist
Mikki Halpin, "There was a real feeling that the geeks were
the future." What this added up to was a burgeoning culture
of nerdism as a lifestyle choice. A Nerd Pride movement emerged,
spearheaded by Gerald Sussman at the Massachusetts Institute of
Technology.
As the nerd
community enjoyed a cultural blossoming, so the outside world
sat up and took interest. When JK Rowling’s Harry Potter books
became a literary sensation in the late 1990s, the fantasy genre
— hitherto a characteristically nerdy corner of publishing —
went mainstream. "There was a huge explosion of
interest," reflects Andy Sawyer, science fiction librarian
at Liverpool University. "Suddenly, it was OK for younger
people, girls, and so on to take an interest." Buffy the
Vampire Slayer continued the trend on television, while The
X-Files became a phenomenon on both the small and big
screens. With the dawn of the new millennium — and the threat
of the Y2K bug — geeks only assumed greater prominence. After
all, without their expertise in reconfiguring our computers, we
were in danger of watching aeroplanes fall from the sky.
Then, in 2003,
millions of women around the world fell head over heels for one
particular man — or, rather, one particular character: Seth
Cohen, star of the glossy teen mega-drama The OC. Created as an
awkward, comic book-loving antidote to the series’ uber-hunk
Ryan, Cohen, with his diamond-print tank-tops, love of video
games and comprehensive comic book collection, rapidly became
the main event. He was geek chic personified.
Of course, if the
nerd of late twentieth century imagination — the bookish,
awkward caricature — is no longer the marginalised figure he
once was, neither is he, necessarily, the guy everyone wants to
be.
Just because Steve
Jobs and Bill Gates are international celebrities, just because
Mark Zuckerberg is the most popular man on the planet, it doesn’t
mean that the everyday lot of the classroom dork is suddenly
rosy.
— By arrangement
with The Independent
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