Speaking objectively, I am not a handsome man.
Listen, I'm not saying I am a troll, just that At 5'6(ish), I lack the statuesque physique and imposing presence commonly associated with male beauty. You should know about some other shortcomings (insert short joke here). My jawline is as strong as my biceps, my complexion reveals my fifteen years of sun-drenched rehearsals, and my once full head of hair has given way to a grey mop, hanging on for dear life.
It's safe to say, Ryan Reynolds, I am not, much to my wife's (and my) dismay. But there is some upside to my model mediocrity.
I used to foolishly believe that whatever success I achieved in my life and work was due to hard work, diligence, perseverance, and perhaps a bit of luck. A foolish belief indeed. What do I have to thank for my successes?
My looks. Or, more specifically, lack thereof.
A recent article in The Guardian dispels the myth of masculinity with science that verifies that good-looking guys not only don't get the girls/partners, they don't get the job either.
According to a new study from University College London's School of Management, men are more likely to be overlooked for competitive roles that rely upon individual talent – if perceived as handsome.
The study stated, "Male superiors were reluctant to place those they consider to be more handsome at the same level as themselves. This seems obvious. Work is hard enough without Ken stopping by your cubicle every day asking where Barbie is?
The genesis of the distrust lies in jealousy. The study stated that the less dashing males perceived their more alluring counterparts as having an easier pathway to success. They were determined to right this wrong by passing over their more striking counterparts.
In other words, the world resents your perfection and makes you suffer for it.
The article made me wonder if we don't do something similar in music, specifically how we view our more successful colleagues and how they got to be so successful.
I am not a musical savant and was never confused with conductor of the President's Own, or any other professional wind band. I never aspired to be a college professor or a household name as a conductor. However, I do know what it's like to be competent, which is exhausting. So, I can't imagine the burden and pressure if you are wildly successful.
Think about it. Have you ever thought the following when watching another group perform at a high level?
I could do that if I had their drill writer and arranger.
If I had their budget, I would have placed first, too!
It's all because their kids take private lessons.
They won't be good next year; they're a one-hit wonder.
I have. And frankly, I have heard colleagues say similar things about me.
It's not that we're (myself included) bad people. We're putting everything into our jobs and still not achieving the success we want for ourselves and our students. We're coming up short, and it's easier to believe that it is something that they have, instead of something we could do.
Success is a hungry monster that demands to be fed. You're never allowed an off year. Meanwhile, if the football team loses eight games in a row, it's called a "rebuilding year," and everyone nods sympathetically. If your clarinets flub Molly on the Shore (and who wouldn't), colleagues start eyeing my job like vultures circling a musical carcass.
Specifically, as a music teacher, the second your program succeeds, some assume you're coasting on a wave of sheer, effortless talent. They think your students come to you as savants, your boosters bankroll anything you need, and you have a former band director as your admin.
It's not you - you're just lucky. As if luck and not the soul-crushing early morning rehearsals, the endless hours of score study, or the fact that you have begged clarinet players not to treat their reeds like the fine wood and swap them out once in a while. Nope, just luck.
Being a band director is like being a model - we are judged on what people see. Every concert, every halftime show, every competition—people see the polished final product, but no one sees the blood, sweat, and tears behind it. Like a male model struggling to be taken seriously intellectually, a successful band director sometimes struggles to convince the world (and their peers) that this isn't as easy as it looks.
But, I am speculating, as I am neither uber successful nor uber handsome. I am an average band director, doing my best, running on caffeine and desperation.
So yes, I feel for my beautiful brethren who suffer the unbearable burden of being too handsome for this world, just as I feel for those music teachers who are too successful for the profession because I know their struggles are real. Their pain is valid, and they have earned their success the old-fashioned way with talent, grit, and hard work.
Now, if I could figure out how they get their marching bands to triple-tongue? Must be the articulation fairy? It can't possibly be me.
Have a great week.
Scott
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