There are two news stories about women and their hormones today, both of which are fascinating in a sort of scary way. First, they are working on a sort of countdown mechanism for women and their biological clocks. Just in case we weren't neurotic enough already, if the researchers reach their goal we will know exactly how long we have to establish ourselves in our careers (get tenure, whatever) before we lose the chance to grab the brass procreation ring. There's a really good Margaret Atwood novel in this notion, I am certain. I have this hideous vision of women with these wristwatches on (or some sort of blog ticker) either getting their yayas in until the last practical moment or increasing their daddy search as the time draws to a close. It's not a pretty vision.
The second story has the intriguing title "Study: the Pill Changes Women's Taste in Men." Sadly, the story content isn't nearly as interesting as one would hope. In brief, women with higher progesterone levels are more likely to be attracted to "healthy looking" men (whatever that means). The researchers draw the conclusion that this may be due to an evolutionary imperative to reduce the risk of infection to developing babies. That seems sort of spurious to me. (What's the logical fallacy when you have a conclusion in mind and shape the evidence to fit it?) It's all about the fetus. It's always all about the fetus.
Am I wrong to be creeped out by all of the attention paid to women's reproductive capacity lately? It makes me nervous. Is it just because I've chosen not to spawn? I don't know. I guess any sort of "biology is destiny" argument gives me the heeby jeebies.
Okay, enough about hormones, time for West Wing.
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