Of course a woman of substance is someone who’s intelligent. She doesn’t pursue knowledge to seem smart—she wants to genuinely understand the world around her. When she doesn’t understand something, she writes it down to come back to and learn later. She understands the power of placing yourself in rooms where you are not the smartest person, because that’s just an opportunity to keep learning. Her intelligence goes beyond common sense and books; it’s something she’s trained in herself to understand people and the world around her. It’s the way she connects with the world, through stories and art and culture.
Her nightstand holds Austen, not a screen. Not because it looks good there—because of what it gives her back. Every classic hands her a sentence structure, a word, a way of saying something she didn’t have before. Classics teach her a new way to view the world, training her to gather the clues before the story hands her the answer—to understand before she’s told.
That same instinct, paying attention and staying with something, carries into everything else she touches. When she starts something, she sets out to master it, because nothing worth doing should be done half way.
A woman of substance can speak more than one language. It takes discipline and persistence to truly learn one, and years of practice to actually master it. What it earns her is worth every hour: the ability to connect with another culture in its own words, not through translation. It may be hard in the moment, but it builds character, and it opens doors as she travels that stay closed to everyone else in the room.
Much like a language: when a woman takes the time to master a skill that takes years to learn, say a classical instrument, she gains so much more than a party trick. Yes, when a woman can sit down and play at a party, I find it incredibly impressive and très chic. But more than that, she can create something beautiful and hand it to a room as a gift, forming a connection between everyone present.