Why is the real world more hospitable to nerds? It might seem that the answer is simply that it‘s populated by adults, who are too mature to pick on one another. But I don‘t think this is true. Adults in prison certainly pick on one another. And so, apparently, do society wives; in some parts of Manhattan, life for women sounds like a continuation of high school, with all the same petty intrigues.

I think the important thing about the real world is not that it‘s populated by adults, but that it‘s very large, and the things you do have real effects. That‘s what school, prison, and ladies-who-lunch all lack. The inhabitants of all those worlds are trapped in little bubbles where nothing they do can have more than a local effect. Naturally these societies degenerate into savagery. They have no function for their form to follow.

When the things you do have real effects, it‘s no longer enough just to be pleasing. It starts to be important to get the right answers, and that‘s where nerds show to advantage. Bill Gates will of course come to mind. Though notoriously lacking in social skills, he gets the right answers, at least as measured in revenue.

The other thing that‘s different about the real world is that it‘s much larger. In a large enough pool, even the smallest minorities can achieve a critical mass if they clump together. Out in the real world, nerds collect in certain places and form their own societies where intelligence is the most important thing. Sometimes the current even starts to flow in the other direction: sometimes, particularly in university math and science departments, nerds deliberately exaggerate their awkwardness in order to seem smarter. John Nash so admired Norbert Wiener that he adopted his habit of touching the wall as he walked down a corridor.

As a thirteen year old kid, I didn‘t have much more experience of the world than what I saw immediately around me. The warped little world we lived in was, I thought, the world. The world seemed cruel and boring, and I‘m not sure which was worse.

Because I didn‘t fit into this world, I thought that something must be wrong with me. I didn‘t realize that the reason we nerds didn‘t fit in was that we were a step ahead. We were already thinking about the kind of things that matter in the real world, instead of spending all our time playing an exacting but mostly pointless game like the others.

We were a bit like an adult would be if he were thrust back into middle school. He wouldn‘t know the right clothes to wear, the right music to like, the right slang to use. He‘d seem to the kids a complete alien. The thing is, he‘d know enough not to care what they thought. We had no such confidence.

A lot of people seem to think it‘s good for smart kids to be thrown together with "normal" kids at this stage of their lives. Perhaps. But in at least some cases the reason the nerds don‘t fit in actually is that everyone else is crazy. I remember sitting in the audience at a "pep rally" at my high school, watching as the cheerleaders threw an effigy of an opposing player into the audience to be torn to pieces. I felt like an explorer witnessing some bizarre tribal ritual.

If I could go back and give my thirteen year old self some advice, the main thing I‘d tell him would be to stick his head up and look around. I didn‘t really grasp it at the time, but the whole world we lived in was as fake as a twinkie. Not just school, but the entire town. Why do people move to suburbia? To have kids! So no wonder it seemed boring and sterile. The whole place was a giant nursery, an artificial town created explicitly for the purpose of breeding children.

Where I grew up, it felt as if there was nowhere to go, and nothing to do. This was no accident. Suburbs are deliberately designed to exclude the outside world, because it contains things that could endanger children.

And as for the schools, they were just holding pens within this fake world. Officially the purpose of schools is to teach kids. In fact their primary purpose is to keep kids all locked up in one place for a big chunk of the day so adults can get things done. And I have no problem with this: in a specialized industrial society, it would be a disaster to have kids running around loose.

What bothers me is not that the kids are kept in prisons, but that (a) they aren‘t told about it, and (b) the prisons are run mostly by the inmates. Kids are sent off to spend six years memorizing meaningless facts in a world ruled by a caste of giants who run after an oblong brown ball, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. And if they balk at this surreal cocktail, they‘re called misfits.

Life in this twisted world is stressful for the kids. And not just for the nerds. Like any war, it‘s damaging even to the winners.

Adults can‘t avoid seeing that teenage kids are tormented. So why don‘t they do something about it? Because they blame it on puberty. The reason kids are so unhappy, adults tell themselves, is that monstrous new chemicals, hormones, are now coursing through their bloodstream and messing up everything. There‘s nothing wrong with the system; it‘s just inevitable that kids will be miserable at that age.

This idea is so pervasive that even the kids believe it, which probably doesn‘t help. Someone who thinks his feet naturally hurt is not going to stop to consider the possibility that he is wearing the wrong size shoes.

I‘m suspicious of this theory that thirteen year old kids are intrinsically messed up. If it‘s physiological, it should be universal. Are Mongol nomads all nihilists at thirteen? I‘ve read a lot of history, and I don‘t think I‘ve seen a single reference to this supposedly universal fact before the twentieth century. Teenage apprentices in the Renaissance seem to have been cheerful and eager. They got in fights and played tricks on one another of course (Michelangelo had his nose broken by a bully), but they weren‘t crazy.

As far as I can tell, the concept of the hormone-crazed teenager is coeval with suburbia. I don‘t think this is a coincidence. I think teenagers are driven crazy by the life they‘re made to lead. Teenage apprentices in the Renaissance were working dogs. Teenagers now are neurotic lapdogs. Their craziness is the craziness of the idle everywhere.

When I was in school, suicide was a constant topic among the smarter kids. No one I knew actually did it, but several planned to, and some may have tried. Mostly this was just a pose. Like other teenagers, we loved the dramatic, and suicide seemed very dramatic. But partly it was because our lives were at times genuinely miserable.

Bullying was only part of the problem. Another problem, and possibly an even worse one, was that we never had anything real to work on. Humans like to work; in most of the world, your work is your identity. And all the work we did was pointless, or seemed so at the time.

At best it was practice for real work we might do far in the future, so far that we didn‘t even know at the time what we were practicing for. More often it was just an arbitrary series of hoops to jump through, words without content designed mainly for testability. (The three main causes of the French and Indian War were... Test: List the three main causes of the French and Indian War.)

And there was no way to opt out. The adults had agreed among themselves that this was to be the route to college. The only way to escape this empty life was to submit to it.

Teenage kids used to have a more active role in society. In preindustrial times, they were all apprentices of one sort or another, whether in shops or on farms or even on warships. They weren‘t left to create their own societies. They were junior members of adult societies.

Teenagers seem to have respected adults more in the past, because the adults were the visible experts in the skills they were trying to learn. Now most kids have little idea what their parents do in their distant offices, and see no connection (indeed, there is precious little) between schoolwork and the work they‘ll do as adults.

And if teenagers respected adults more, adults also had more use for teenagers. After a couple years‘ training, an apprentice could be a real help. Even the newest apprentice could be made to carry messages or sweep the workshop.

Now adults have no immediate use for teenagers. They would be in the way in an office. So they drop them off at school on their way to work, much as they might drop the dog off at a kennel if they were going away for the weekend.

What happened? We‘re up against a hard one here. The cause of this problem is the same as the cause of so many present ills: specialization. As jobs become more specialized, we have to train longer for them. Kids in preindustrial times started working at about fourteen at the latest; kids on farms, where most people lived, began far earlier. Now kids who go to college don‘t start working full-time till 21 or 22. With some degrees, like MDs and PhDs, you may not finish your training till 30, which is close the average life expectancy in medieval times.

Teenagers now are useless, except as cheap labor in industries like fast food, which evolved to exploit precisely this fact. In almost any other kind of work, they‘d be a net loss. But they‘re also too young to be left unsupervised. Someone has to watch over them, and the most efficient way to do this is to collect them together in one place. Then a few adults can watch all of them.

If you stop there, what you‘re describing is literally a prison, albeit a part-time one. The problem is, many schools practically do stop there. The stated purpose of schools is to educate the kids. But there is no external pressure to do this well. And so most schools do such a bad job of teaching that the kids don‘t really take it seriously-- not even the smart kids. Much of the time we were all, students and teachers both, just going through the motions.

In my high school French class we were supposed to read Hugo‘s Les Miserables. I don‘t think any of us knew French well enough to make our way through this enormous book. Like the rest of the class, I just skimmed the Cliff‘s Notes. When we were given a test on the book, I noticed that the questions sounded odd. They were full of long words that our teacher wouldn‘t have used. Where had these questions come from? From the Cliff‘s Notes, it turned out. The teacher was using them too. We were all just pretending.

Some of our teachers really tried to teach us, which was all the more impressive considering the conditions they had to work under. (I‘d like to apologize here, Mr. Drum, for not learning more in your excellent calculus class.) But they were individuals swimming upstream. They couldn‘t fix the system.

In almost any group of people you‘ll find hierarchy. Whatever the group‘s purpose, the top dogs will be those who are best at it. On a professional football team, the most skillful players are the most respected. In university math departments, the leaders will be those who prove the most significant results. This is, on the whole, healthy. Hierarchy is not the problem. The problem is what hierarchies in schools are based on.

When groups of adults form in the real world, it‘s generally for some common purpose. The leaders end up being those who are best at it. The problem with most schools is, they have no purpose. Their ostensible purpose, scholarship, is a joke, not taken seriously even by those who are best at it. But hierarchy there must be. And so the kids make one out of nothing.

We have a phrase to describe what happens when rankings have to be created without any meaningful criteria. We say that the situation degenerates into a popularity contest. And that‘s exactly what happens in most American schools. Since the group has no real purpose, there is no natural measure of performance for status to depend on. Instead of depending on some real test, one‘s rank ends up depending mostly on one‘s ability to increase one‘s rank. It‘s like the court of Louis XIV. There is no external opponent, so the kids become one another‘s opponents in an inexorable zero-sum competition.

Those who suffer most by this are the kids who would be the happiest if the school‘s purpose were really what it‘s claimed to be. The zero-sum game is painful for almost all the players, but it‘s most painful for the nerds, because they‘re only playing it part-time.

When there is some real external test of skill, it isn‘t painful to be at the bottom of the hierarchy. A rookie on a football team doesn‘t resent the skill of the veteran; he hopes to be like him one day and is happy to have the chance to learn from him. And the veteran in turn will be kindly disposed to the rookie. His success gives him a feeling of noblesse oblige: he is probably as much inclined to share his experience as the rookie is to learn from it. And most importantly, both their status depends on how well they do against opponents, not on whether they can push the other down.

Court hierarchies are another thing entirely. This type of society debases anyone who enters it. There is neither admiration at the bottom, nor noblesse oblige at the top. It‘s kill or be killed.

This is the sort of society that gets created by default in American secondary schools. And it happens because these schools have no real purpose beyond keeping the kids all in one place for a certain number of hours each day. What I didn‘t realize at the time, and in fact didn‘t realize till very recently, is that the twin horrors of school life, the cruelty and the boredom, both have the same cause.

The mediocrity of American public schools has worse consequences than just making kids unhappy for six years. It breeds a rebelliousness that actively drives kids away from the things they‘re supposed to be learning.

Like many nerds, probably, it was years after high school before I could bring myself to read anything we‘d been assigned then. I couldn‘t face "Macbeth" again till 24, and it still has a bad odor. Even now I can‘t tell if I dislike Hemingway, Faulkner, and Steinbeck because they‘re bombastic American novelists, or because we had to read them in school.

I lost more than books. I mistrusted words like "character" and "integrity" because they had been so debased by adults. As they were used then, these words all seemed to mean the same thing: obedience. The kids who got praised for these qualities tended to be at best dull-witted prize bulls, and at worst facile schmoozers. If that was what character and integrity were, I wanted no part of them.

The word I most misunderstood was "tact." As used by adults, it seemed to mean keeping your mouth shut. Based on this I made up an etymology for it. I assumed it was derived from the same root as "tacit" and "taciturn," and that it literally meant being quiet. I vowed that I would never be tactful; they were never going to shut me up. In fact, it‘s derived from the same root as "tactile," and what it means is to have a deft touch. Tactful is the opposite of clumsy. I don‘t think I learned this until college.

That wasn‘t the worst trick high school played on me, though. Since everyone in my school seemed to view college as a form of job training, I decided to major in the most impractical subject I could imagine: philosophy. Alas, I actually did.

Nerds aren‘t the only losers in the popularity rat race. Nerds are unpopular because they‘re distracted. There are other kids who deliberately opt out because they‘re so disgusted with the whole process.

Teenage kids, even rebels, don‘t like to be alone, so when kids opt out of the system, they tend to do it as a group. At the schools I went to, the focus of rebellion was drug use, specifically marijuana. The kids in this tribe wore black concert t-shirts and were called "freaks," though I think now everyone uses the west coast term "stoner."

Freaks and nerds were allies, and there was a good deal of overlap between them. Freaks were on the whole smarter than other kids, though never studying, or at least never appearing to, was an important tribal value. I was more in the nerd camp, but I was friends with a lot of freaks.

They used drugs, at least at first, for the social bonds they created. It was something to do together, and because the drugs were illegal, it was a shared badge of rebellion.

I‘m not claiming that bad schools are the whole reason kids get into trouble with drugs. After a while, drugs have their own momentum. No doubt some of the freaks ultimately used drugs to escape from other problems-- trouble at home, for example. But, in my school at least, the reason most kids started using drugs was rebellion. Fourteen year olds didn‘t start smoking pot because they‘d heard it would help them forget their problems. They started because they wanted to join a different tribe.

Misrule breeds rebellion; this is not a new idea. And yet the authorities still for the most part act as if drugs were themselves the cause of the problem.

The real problem is the emptiness of school life. We won‘t see solutions till adults realize there is a problem. The adults who may realize this first are the ones who were themselves nerds in school. Do you want your kids to be as unhappy in eighth grade as you were? I wouldn‘t. Well, then, is there anything we can do to fix things? Almost certainly. There is nothing inevitable about the current system. It has come about mostly by default.

Adults, though, are busy. Showing up for school plays is one thing. Taking on the educational bureaucracy is another. Perhaps a few will have the energy to try to change things. I suspect the hardest part is realizing that you can.

Nerds still in school should not hold their breath. Maybe one day a heavily armed force of adults will show up in helicopters to rescue you, but they probably won‘t be coming this month. Any immediate improvement in nerds‘ lives is probably going to have to come from the nerds themselves.

Merely understanding the situation they‘re in should make it less painful. Nerds aren‘t losers. They‘re just playing a different game, and a game much closer to the one played in the real world. Adults know this. It‘s hard to find successful adults now who don‘t claim to have been nerds in high school.

It‘s important for nerds to realize, too, that school is not life. School is a strange, artificial thing, half sterile and half feral. It‘s all-encompassing, like life, but it isn‘t the real thing. It‘s only temporary, and if you look you can see beyond it even while you‘re still in it.

If life seems awful to kids, it‘s neither because hormones are turning you all into monsters (as your parents believe), nor because life actually is awful (as you believe). It‘s because the adults, who no longer have any economic use for you, have abandoned you to spend years cooped up together with nothing real to do. Any society of that type is awful to live in. Occam‘s razor says you don‘t have to look any further to explain why teenage kids are unhappy.

I‘ve said some harsh things in this essay, but really the thesis is an optimistic one-- that several problems we take for granted are in fact not insoluble after all. Teenage kids are not inherently unhappy monsters. That should be encouraging news to kids and adults both.

PaulGraham.com February, 2003