It’s a term that seems to haunt me wherever I go.
Back in college, on dates, in normal life, at the office, etc.
Yet I’m not a wife. Or a trophy for that matter, but I assume you all know that much.
I’ve been told on numerous occasions that this is what I’m going to be when I grow up. So prestigious I know. While you're out there getting your doctorate I'll be working on how to turn into gold plated plastic.
In college I received “Trophy Wife” as one of my sorority superlatives. I also received "Soccer Mom", "Touch of Innocence" and some that may in fact be too vulgar for even me to put on Blogland...but that's besides the point.
Another instance occurred in college during a senior sendoff when the seniors go around in a circle and say what they’ll miss about each sister.
(P.S. I failed at this game. This game also involves about 10 jugs of wine. Erin + Wine = Deepest darkest secrets revealed. And there were a few sisters that I didn’t think I’d miss a single thing about, and I kind of let them know just that. Whoops.)
But anyway, back to the trophies. One of the sisters I actually would miss (she’s nice, I called her “friend”) told me that she had always pictured me as a pretty little thing that had her whole life together and that I was going to make for one hell of a Trophy Wife one day. Serious words right there. Told ya she was nice.
It has also come up on dates. “Who knows, maybe one day you’ll be my Trophy Wife.”
There wasn’t a second date.
It came up today at work too. I was eating corn, mashed potatoes, and naked tortellini’s for lunch. Yeah a plate full of starch, that’s all me. Don’t judge.
My one coworker asked where the meat was and I said meat is freakin’ EXPENSIVE. Because it is here in Manhattan - a can of corn costs me $2.50 alone - so steak, ya that’s certainly a treat.
Anyway, I said how I feel bad for my future husband because I don’t eat like a normal human and my meals will be alien to him.
For real, I eat guacamole for dinner more often than not…this little lady isn't your normal crayon in the box. I'm more of the weird confusing ones called "Yellow-Green" but then there's a "Green-Yellow" and you're all "What the frig is this noise?". Yup.
My coworker goes “Oh Erin when you marry some rich man and are a Trophy Wife you’ll have plenty of dough to buy the good stuff, don’t you worry.” I wasn’t offended at all because she’s one of my favoritest coworkers and I assumed she meant it in a nice way. But I got to thinking that maybe other people would be.
Is it derogatory to call someone a Trophy Wife? Does it mean that the only thing they have going on for them is a pretty face? Does the term basically infer that you have zilch for brains and your only option is to be the doll that you are standing next to your man?
It has never bothered me though. In fact, it usually yields the opposite reaction.
It means I don’t look like a trash bag. (Five points for me!)
It means I do have my Shiitake mushrooms together. (Even if I can’t afford meat at $10 a pound)
It means that I'm some sort of something that a decent man actually would desire. (I would hope so)
But it doesn’t mean that I have to fall into “that” stereotype. (Whatever "that" means)
It doesn’t mean that I can’t climb the corporate ladder.
And it certainly doesn’t mean that the only thing I’m good for is standing there with my mouth shut lookin’ pretty. (Obviously, or I wouldn’t yap to you guys every day)
What do you think about the term "Trophy Wife"?
Have you ever been called one?
Would you be a flattered betch or would you slap the betch?