hot girl software engineer manifesto

i'm a woman in tech, female software engineer, woman who codes, girl geek, whatever they're calling it these days. i work at a startup: my salary is a direct derivative of venture capital funding and a modern capitalist tech ecosystem. i can implement a neural network from scratch, conduct a code review, translate PyTorch to Tensorflow, write highly-performant SQL, explain the upsides of a TPU v4 chip, debug a distributed system, pretend to understand Kubernetes. i can also write a creation myth, give a serious conference talk, give a joke conference talk, put human concerns above technological ones, subvert LinkedIn, and look good in a tea-length skirt while doing all of the above. but don't worry, i'm multi-dimensional: i can carry on a conversation about progress studies or the Dark Enlightenment and the rise of the neo-reactionary movement or urban policy, whatever you want—yes, i think that we should tear down the expressway and replace it with mixed-use housing and an urban park. i bike everywhere; not having a car is a core part of my identity. i like farmer's markets and i can cook, though i rarely have to do so because—well, you know.

i would describe myself as a techno-optimist and vaguely interested in technology which makes the world a better place, though, yes, the AI-backed SaaS platform i'm working on ultimately powers the advertising industry in some way or another. i vote like a leftist and complain about the decline of democracy, but i still have Facebook and Instagram accounts—too many friends who i couldn't migrate to another platform. i talk about maybe going to therapy like it's trendy, and make self-deprecating jokes about being unable to keep a plant alive. have you read Trick Mirror? add me on Goodreads. i live in crop tops and leggings when i'm working from home. my entire closet is made up of tech conference t-shirts and sweaters from Aritzia—if i'm particularly sensible, then most of the latter were secondhand from Poshmark because i've decided to stop contributing to the fast-fashion ecosystem. save the planet, guys. oh, wait, guys is no longer okay—peeps, it is. my jewelry is from a minimalist D2C brand—you've probably seen my necklace on Instagram ads. i wear sneakers with dresses—Allbirds if i'm American, Vessi if i'm Canadian. they're water-resistant, have you heard? on weekends i carry a tiny backpack, probably Fjällräven or black vegan leather. my boyfriend is a software engineer or product manager working in blockchain or AI, maybe both. several of my exes are white guys who also work in tech. i've considered non-monogamy before, but really, who has the time?

on weekends you can find me at a third-wave coffee shop with light blond wood walls and exposed Edison bulbs. i've paid $7 for a turmeric latte exactly once, though i'd never do it again. i love the mint mojito iced coffee at Philz. i drink pumpkin spice lattes, albeit ironically and with chagrin. i work out at a boutique gym, where i attend group fitness classes and everyone is already hot. if you check my Spotify i'm probably listening to Porter Robinson or Tritonal. my Twitter bio has emojis in it. i report on Tensorboard results from the salon chair while getting a blonde balayage. you would probably lose me at a rave; i'd be impossible to find in the sea of tanned, blonde Asian girls. my secret superpower is that i code while i cry better than anyone does. i've tried listening to the Sam Harris podcast, i've read LessWrong, and i know who Eliezer Yudkowsky is. i tell interviewers that i want to work on “high-impact work", but i don't identify as an effective altruist. i've dabbled in meditation and mindfulness because i once dated a tech man who told me that perfect rational thought was the way to happiness and enlightenment, only to reject it for purposeful inefficiency. i write on the internet and total strangers DM me their compliments on Twitter. you would learn more about me from twenty minutes spent perusing my internet blog than two hours spent talking to me at a party. i grew up on Tumblr and Thought Catalog; now i read Griefbacon and excavate my deepest, innermost feelings for consumption by perfect strangers on the internet. i think i'm happy and maybe i am? it's kind of hard to tell.

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