 She writes a regular column about politics, culture, and gender for nymag.com. She also contributes to the New Republic, the Gentlewoman, and lots of other publications. Please welcome Anne Susan. OK. I have not written a book unlike my co-panelist, co-presenters tonight. So I'm going to read some things that I wrote for the internet, both over the past year. And usually I write about things that are kind of happening in the news. So I tried to pick two that felt like a little bit more timeless. They're both about being women and growing up. The first one's called The Power of 29. Like most people of my generation, I'm quick to say that my 20s, frankly, kind of sucked. There's a cultural consensus that modern post-college 20-somethings are in a strange, extended adolescence, full of the contradictions and anxieties that come with being overeducated, minimally employed, mostly single, and on your own, according to the Tumblr turned book, fuck, I'm in my 20s. What's less acknowledged is the moment when it all starts to turn around. My 29th year was when things started to click for me, personally and professionally. I finally found the courage to quit a job I'd long hated and leave a city I liked even less. I was still working really hard, but felt like I was finally gaining some traction. It was around age 29 that the number of fucks I gave about other people's opinions dipped to critically low levels, which freed up all kinds of mental and emotional space for the stuff I was really passionate about. I don't think I'm the only one. The late 20s and early 30s seemed to be a turning point in many modern women's lives. For a while, I've been taking note of creative women I admire who come into their own and start producing amazing work on the cusp of 30. Margaret Atwood and Joan Didion published their first books at age 29. Patty Smith recorded horses at 29. Tina Fey was 29 when she was named head writer of Saturday Night Live. Bell Hooks published her first major work, Anti-A Woman, Black Women and Feminism, when she was 29. Oprah had just turned 30 when she landed her first TV talk show. Yes, I cited Oprah. Martha Graham was 32 when she opened the Martha Graham Center for Contemporary Dance. Diana Vreeland landed her very first job in magazines at age 33. Almost none of the so-called greatest novels of our time were penned by writers in their 20s. I don't mean to imply that you are, by comparison, a failure if you're turning 30 and have yet to create your own New York Dance Academy. I'm just noting that for so many women, our 20s are a warm-up decade. 30 is when things start to get really good. I think this has something to do with the fact that many women really won't go for it, pour their whole selves into something and push like hell to make it work. Wow, that is a super mixed metaphor. Until they're convinced they can crush it. Creative breakthroughs and professional successes require a significant amount of confidence, which is something that most of us spend years building up. Women in particular feel pressure to make professional strides so they don't fall behind if they have kids in their 30s, all while trying to meet a person they want to raise those babies with. But even for women who realize they still have a lot of things to figure out, around age 30, a sense of acceptance begins to settle in. It's when many of us experience our first big career payoffs and allow ourselves to exhale a little because for once it doesn't feel like we're building our lives from scratch. On the cusp of 30, in stark contrast with prior milestones like college graduation, you're set up to finally start living your best life or at least a realistic approximation of it. You realize you'll never be a wonderkind and you're okay with that. In general, you give way fewer fucks. The hard truth is that even if you manage to stop holding your life to a culturally defined timetable, other people will still try to assess your progress. Quote, lately I've been fielding a torrent of unsolicited pep talks from older people offering me advice on turning 30, wrote my friend Megan Greenwell last year. Usually their words of wisdom boil down to don't panic about finding a man. But what they really mean is don't panic about finding a man yet. Yes, transitioning to your 30s means transitioning to a new set of expectations and stereotypes. At this age, though you're so much better equipped to deal. By 30, you've either gotten pretty good at playing by the rules or figured out how to sidestep them. This is not to say that entering your 30s is a magical, confident frolic through the financially secure mid-century decorated life you've built for yourself, despite what Buzzfeed lists may have told you. Even for women who don't consider themselves particularly conventional or competitive, it's easy to slip into measuring your life's progress against other people's. To notice the younger women at work who've already accomplished what took us half a decade to lock down and think I am so far behind, or worse, she's gunning for me. But all you have to do is remember the sort of insecurities you felt in your 20s and remind yourself she probably doesn't see herself the way you see her. Writer Alice Monroe once described your early 30s as an age when it is sometimes hard to admit that what you are living is your life. I think that's hard at any age. What gets easier with each passing decade, I suspect, is not comparing yourself to how other people are living their lives. As I age, I fully intend to give fewer and fewer and fewer fucks about how I'm supposed to be or when I'm supposed to accomplish certain things. It frees up headspace for the sort of creative thinking I'd rather be doing. Monroe, of all people, should understand that this is a skill it takes time to acquire. She published her first collection of short stories when she was 37. And the other one, which kind of relates to that, has a bit of a dated news hook, but I think you'll forgive me when you hear this subject. Kelly Rowland has done okay for herself since her days with Destiny's Child. More than okay, really. She's had a handful of solo hits embarked on a short tour and signed on to be a judge on the X-Factor. I can't believe I listed that on the list of accomplishments. When you read the stuff that you published for the internet like a year later, I don't know. Anyway, all of this only looks good until you compare Rowland with her former bandmate, Beyonce, which apparently Rowland has been doing for quite a while. Rowland's new single, not that new, Dirty Laundry, is about how she was resentful of Beyonce's success in the wake of Destiny's Child. Quote, when my sister was on stage killing it like a motherfucker, Rowland sings, I was enraged feeling it like a motherfucker. Few women are unlucky enough to have their successes measured against Beyonce's, but that feeling of resentment rather than joy at the personal and professional achievements of another woman is something most of us can relate to. The economy sucks and awesome jobs are in short supply. In many industries, women are perceived to be token hires, which means that other women can feel like our chief competition. Who Wore It Best isn't just a trashy tabloid feature, it's a dynamic that we apply to the sartorial choices of everyone in our friend group. If we've read The Atlantic in the past year or so, we've probably become convinced that there is a dearth of eligible mates, so we're all competing for them too. And with the advent of dating apps like Tinder that allow potential suitors to judge women side by side, it's not only women who are comparing and contrasting themselves. When we meet other women who seem happier, more successful, more confident than we are, it's all too easy to hate them for it. It means there's less for us. But even if it were somehow possible to objectively evaluate all of our female peers against ourselves, it's worth asking why we're spending all of this time creating a ranking system in our minds. When we hate on women who we perceive to be more together than we are, we're really just expressing the negative feelings we have about our own careers, or bodies, or relationships. Definitely like the most Oprah thing I've ever written. Here's my solution. When you meet a woman who is intimidatingly witty, stylish, beautiful, and professionally accomplished, befriend her. Surrounding yourself with the best people doesn't make you look worse by comparison. It makes you look better. I'm not immune to that icky feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you meet a woman who seems so on it. But I confess that I was always pretty good at quashing it. Still, I didn't actively seek out powerful women as friends until my late 20s. I don't shine if you don't shine is a lesson I learned from my best friend Amina, who is effortlessly stylish. She's been mixing prints since 2007. Frighteningly intelligent, she speaks a handful of languages and is adept at cracking-wise in all of them. And beautiful, too. We met at a gossip girl viewing party in 2009. It was relevant back then in Washington, D.C., a city where a lot of people, not all of them women, see other people's successes as a cause for insecurity, not celebration. Approaching and befriending women who identify as smart and powerful, sometimes actively pursuing them, as with any crush, has been a major revelation. First, there's the associate of property of awesomeness. People know you by the company you keep. I like knowing that my friends are so supportive because when they reach a professional milestone, it's a boost for me, too. We share a network and don't compete for context. Also, it's just plain tough out there for all the aforementioned reasons about the economy and the dating scene and body image pressures. I want the strongest, happiest, smartest women in my corner, pushing me to negotiate for more money, telling me to drop people who make me feel bad about myself and responding to my outfit selfies from a place of love and stylishness, not competition and body snarking. True confidence is infectious. In my experience, if a woman seems confident but has the effect of making others feel bad about themselves, you can rest assured she's kind of faking it. Most toxic friendships in my life have been with women who were deeply unhappy with their own lives and frequently compared them to mine. I don't think that competition made either of us better or happier. Still, it's tempting to compete. Whereas with male peers, we can use sexism or other factors to explain why they've found success in ways we haven't. Other women invite a more direct comparison. Women have long held the belief, if only at a subconscious level, that there are a limited number of spaces for them at the top. Have you seen many campaign tickets or boardrooms that are more than 50% women? There's a deep-seated belief that there can be only one or two or three at max. I confess I've occasionally enjoyed being a token woman in the room. This isn't just something that afflicts insecure sorority girls. Feminists ostensibly united by their shared desire to advance gender equality should be those who are most supportive of their peers' successes. But as long as there's been a women's movement, there's been a tendency to tear down its most prominent figures. In a 1976 essay on Trashing, Jo Freeman quotes her fellow feminist Anselma Del Olio as saying, quote, achievement or accomplishment of any kind would seem to be the worst crime. You are immediately labeled a thrill-seeking opportunist, a ruthless mercenary, out to make her fame and fortune over the dead bodies of selfless sisters who have buried their abilities and sacrificed their ambitions for the greater glory of feminism. But in reality, we've all been both of the women in this scenario, the idealizer and the idealized, often simultaneously. Forgoing the internal ranking system in favor of being my best self, or at least trying, and helping my girlfriends do the same was a revelation to me and also apparently to Kelly Rowland. Beyonce listened to her album and Rowland says, quote, she heard how real I was and was like, I'm so proud of you. If Kelly Rowland can come around to the idea that she shines more, not less, because of her proximity to Beyonce, there's hope for the rest of us. Thanks.