This one will have you wondering if you have inadvertently participated in a science experiment by way of Facebook. Actually, you probably did.
In 2010, a team of researchers led by UC San Diego political science professor James Fowler managed to get more than 60 million people to see a “get out the vote” message at the top of their Facebook news feed. The date, in case you want to review your memory, was November 2, 2010, the day of the U.S. Congressional elections. The message, described in a news release from UCSD as “non-partisan,” carried a reminder to vote–“Today is Election Day”–and a button Facebook users could click to let everyone know “I voted.” Also available to users were a counter showing how many Facebookers had reported voting and a link to a site for finding local polling places. I have a terrible memory, but I know that a button like the “I voted” one would be exactly something I’d’ve clicked out of pride in participating in our democratic process.
I feel so used. Sort of. But in the name of Science, right?
Of the 61 million people who saw the message, a total of 60,055,176 of them also saw up to six pictures of their Facebook friends–was I one of them?–associated with the message. These friends were subcategorized as close or not to the Facebook user based on their history of interactions. Another 611,044 people got everything but the friend pictures, and another 613,096 or so got no Facebook message about election day at all, unwittingly serving as the “control group” for this grand experiment.
The Facebook responses indicated that people who saw the message along with pictures of friends were about 2 percent more likely to report having voted and about 0.39% more likely to vote compared to users who got the message without friend images and associations. And the effect was contagious: Even users who didn’t see the information message at all–with or without friend images–but had a friend who received the message were 0.22% more likely to vote, and that likelihood increased by that amount for each close friend who’d gotten that message. People were also a little more likely to click on the link to find a polling place if a close friend had gotten the informational message.
These percentages may seem unimpressive at first look. But in a commentary on the study, both published in Nature, Sinan Aral writes:
Although these estimates may seem small, they translate into significant numbers of votes. A social message saying that a Facebook friend had voted generated 886,000 additional ‘expressed’ votes (clicks on the ‘I voted’ button), and messages involving a close friend generated an additional 559,000 expressed votes.
In fact, the authors say that the social message they distributed on Facebook might have directly increased voter turnout that day by 60,000 people–enough to take Florida these days in a presidential election–and that the social contagion of indirect influence from friends might have sent another 280,000 voters to the polls who might otherwise not have gone. In other words, social contagion had the bigger influence.
That reference to actual votes is based on the researchers’ analysis of Facebook users’ voting behavior and matching with voter records, which some states make publicly available. These states include Arkansas,California, Connecticut, Florida, Kansas, Kentucky, Missouri, Nevada, New Jersey, New York, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, and Rhode Island, and the authors report that “about 1 in 3 users” were matched successfully with their voting records.
If it seems a little creepy that a group of complete strangers might influence your voting behavior via Facebook and then check that against public records … well, it is, I think. Basically, if you logged into your Facebook account on November 2, 2010, you placed yourself unknowingly into a grand experiment into the viral effects of social networks on political action. The study authors also accessed information you may have provided on Facebook about your political affiliation and ideologies and assessed your interactions with people on Facebook to determine your level of connectedness and, the researchers hypothesize, social influence and contagion. Of course, if you spend a lot of your time on Facebook fighting with the same people, the effect might have been the opposite of what they assumed. I’m not as disturbed by scientists observing human behavior unknown to the humans as I am about Facebook’s making this information available. Did we sign off on that somewhere?
What might come as no surprise to anyone deeply engaged in social media, whether Twitter or Facebook or other networks, is that “online messages may influence a variety of offline behaviors.” What the study findings seem to show is that we don’t have to see each other’s faces to pick up and spread behaviors, but we do have to have close relationships, whether virtual or otherwise, for the behavioral “contagion” to have an effect. That said, face-to-face interaction still carries a big punch.
Women are known for their strong social networks in real life, and they dominate some of the virtual platforms. One thing the study doesn’t mention is differences in the strength of social networks and their influence based on sex, so I asked the senior author, Dr. Fowler, about that. He said that the team “would be taking a look at differences in effect size between men and women in future work,” so I guess we can anticipate more unwitting involvement in science to come.
Because I also am interested in the influence of these networks–real world or virtual–in the spread of misinformation and pseudoscience, I asked Dr. Fowler if this kind of virality could translate to these other contexts. “Absolutely,” he said, noting that a wide range of beliefs and behaviors can spread in networks “up to three degrees of separation.” He added, “I don’t see why the spread of pseudoscientific beliefs would operate any differently.”
My take-home from that? Those Facebook memes that say “Wow, your Facebook post about politics has changed my mind and my vote… said no one, EVER!” might be off base. Want to be influential? Get thee to your social media and begin spreading your messages about voting or evidence-based science or child-rearing or quick dinners in 20 minutes. And if you’re skeeved out by involuntary participation in scientific studies like this by way of Facebook (are you? Do you think you participated in this one?), you might want to avoid “public service” voting messages from here on out.
The views expressed in this post do not necessarily reflect or conflict with those of the DXS editorial team.
[Ed. note: I (Emily) just attended the National Association of Science Writers annual conference in Raleigh, NC, where I moderated a session on managing the information deluge that can overwhelm those of us who deeply engage in social media. During the session, Tinker Ready noted the all-woman makeup of our panel and asked about the role of social media in helping women in science. She also asked me a few questions after the session. Below is a repost of the resulting piece, which first appeared at Nature’s SpotOn Website. SpotOn focuses on how science is communicated and carried out online, something that obviously interests our Double X Science team a great deal. We repost here with permission, and our thanks to the SpotOn folks.]
The tweet read “What makes this panel rare at science conf? #sciwri12deluge”. The attached photos featured four women leading a session at this weekend’s National Association of Science Writers meeting.
Emily Willingham Credit: Tinker Ready
Moderator and science writer Emily Willingham said she and Scientific American blog editor, Bora Zivkovic, planned it that way when they were putting together a Twitter session for the Raleigh, North Carolina meeting.
“We just thought —how often do you get to see that?” Willingham said, with a nod to the panel. “I go to a lot of scientific conferences and you don’t see this that much.”
The topic of the session was how to manage Twitter. But, the panel’s subtext was: women have a prominent place in scientific social networks. And, said Willingham and others, social networks have a role in promoting women in science.
“What you see on Twitter is a kind of de-gendering, in a positive way, of what people have to say,” she said. “You present more with words on Twitter than with anything else. Words and personality are important. “
Panel member Marie-Claire Shanahan, a science communication professor at the University of Alberta, agreed.
“I don’t pay that much attention on Twitter to whether anyone is male or female,” she said “They are often just a Twitter handle.” Gender “is so much not part of the first impression on Twitter.”
Nor is anything below the neck. “Unfortunately,” Willingham said “…That’s useful.”’
“You see people whose heads you recognize and you think, ‘wow, I had no idea what their bodies looks like’,” she said. “By that time, you’ve already fixed who they are in terms of their personality and what you think of them.
Twitter and other social networks also offer a way for women scientists to connect. It allows women who work at home to stay plugged in. Willingham home schools two of her children. She also manages the Double X Science site, which promises to bring “evidence-based science writing to women.”
“In between, I’m watching Twitter go by,” she said. “I work at home, but in this way, I’m connected to humanity. I’m connected to my colleagues, I’m connected to the conversations that are going on about sciences.”
– Tinker Ready
The opinions expressed in this post do not necessarily agree or conflict with those of the DXS editorial team and contributors.
Climate vs weather: Do you know the difference? This video explains it oh so very clearly.
Vaccinating children is a social responsibility, like driving on streets and not sidewalks, not stabbing people, and giving pedestrians the right of way at street crossings. When you choose not to do it, you endanger others (see “measles,” above).
Can moderate red wine consumption cut breast cancer risk? This study found that red wine consumption altered hormone levels in the blood in a pattern that suggests it might halt the growth of cancer cells. Not anything definitive.
We’ve been reading a lot lately about these great ways to trick picky eaters into eating. We know from experience that some picky eaters are untrickable. This scimom tells us what one of the latest studies really means.
The four basic categories of molecules for building life are carbohydrates, lipids, proteins, and nucleic acids.
Carbohydrates serve many purposes, from energy to structure to chemical communication, as monomers or polymers.
Lipids, which are hydrophobic, also have different purposes, including energy storage, structure, and signaling.
Proteins, made of amino acids in up to four structural levels, are involved in just about every process of life.
The nucleic acids DNA and RNA consist of four nucleotide building blocks, and each has different purposes.
The longer version
Life is so diverse and unwieldy, it may surprise you to learn that we can break it down into four basic categories of molecules. Possibly even more implausible is the fact that two of these categories of large molecules themselves break down into a surprisingly small number of building blocks. The proteins that make up all of the living things on this planet and ensure their appropriate structure and smooth function consist of only 20 different kinds of building blocks. Nucleic acids, specifically DNA, are even more basic: only four different kinds of molecules provide the materials to build the countless different genetic codes that translate into all the different walking, swimming, crawling, oozing, and/or photosynthesizing organisms that populate the third rock from the Sun.
Big Molecules with Small Building Blocks
The functional groups, assembled into building blocks on backbones of carbon atoms, can be bonded together to yield large molecules that we classify into four basic categories. These molecules, in many different permutations, are the basis for the diversity that we see among living things. They can consist of thousands of atoms, but only a handful of different kinds of atoms form them. It’s like building apartment buildings using a small selection of different materials: bricks, mortar, iron, glass, and wood. Arranged in different ways, these few materials can yield a huge variety of structures.
We encountered functional groups and the SPHONC in Chapter 3. These components form the four categories of molecules of life. These Big Four biological molecules are carbohydrates, lipids, proteins, and nucleic acids. They can have many roles, from giving an organism structure to being involved in one of the millions of processes of living. Let’s meet each category individually and discover the basic roles of each in the structure and function of life.
You have met carbohydrates before, whether you know it or not. We refer to them casually as “sugars,” molecules made of carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen. A sugar molecule has a carbon backbone, usually five or six carbons in the ones we’ll discuss here, but it can be as few as three. Sugar molecules can link together in pairs or in chains or branching “trees,” either for structure or energy storage.
When you look on a nutrition label, you’ll see reference to “sugars.” That term includes carbohydrates that provide energy, which we get from breaking the chemical bonds in a sugar called glucose. The “sugars” on a nutrition label also include those that give structure to a plant, which we call fiber. Both are important nutrients for people.
Sugars serve many purposes. They give crunch to the cell walls of a plant or the exoskeleton of a beetle and chemical energy to the marathon runner. When attached to other molecules, like proteins or fats, they aid in communication between cells. But before we get any further into their uses, let’s talk structure.
The sugars we encounter most in basic biology have their five or six carbons linked together in a ring. There’s no need to dive deep into organic chemistry, but there are a couple of essential things to know to interpret the standard representations of these molecules.
Check out the sugars depicted in the figure. The top-left molecule, glucose, has six carbons, which have been numbered. The sugar to its right is the same glucose, with all but one “C” removed. The other five carbons are still there but are inferred using the conventions of organic chemistry: Anywhere there is a corner, there’s a carbon unless otherwise indicated. It might be a good exercise for you to add in a “C” over each corner so that you gain a good understanding of this convention. You should end up adding in five carbon symbols; the sixth is already given because that is conventionally included when it occurs outside of the ring.
On the left is a glucose with all of its carbons indicated. They’re also numbered, which is important to understand now for information that comes later. On the right is the same molecule, glucose, without the carbons indicated (except for the sixth one). Wherever there is a corner, there is a carbon, unless otherwise indicated (as with the oxygen). On the bottom left is ribose, the sugar found in RNA. The sugar on the bottom right is deoxyribose. Note that at carbon 2 (*), the ribose and deoxyribose differ by a single oxygen.
The lower left sugar in the figure is a ribose. In this depiction, the carbons, except the one outside of the ring, have not been drawn in, and they are not numbered. This is the standard way sugars are presented in texts. Can you tell how many carbons there are in this sugar? Count the corners and don’t forget the one that’s already indicated!
If you said “five,” you are right. Ribose is a pentose (pent = five) and happens to be the sugar present in ribonucleic acid, or RNA. Think to yourself what the sugar might be in deoxyribonucleic acid, or DNA. If you thought, deoxyribose, you’d be right.
The fourth sugar given in the figure is a deoxyribose. In organic chemistry, it’s not enough to know that corners indicate carbons. Each carbon also has a specific number, which becomes important in discussions of nucleic acids. Luckily, we get to keep our carbon counting pretty simple in basic biology. To count carbons, you start with the carbon to the right of the non-carbon corner of the molecule. The deoxyribose or ribose always looks to me like a little cupcake with a cherry on top. The “cherry” is an oxygen. To the right of that oxygen, we start counting carbons, so that corner to the right of the “cherry” is the first carbon. Now, keep counting. Here’s a little test: What is hanging down from carbon 2 of the deoxyribose?
If you said a hydrogen (H), you are right! Now, compare the deoxyribose to the ribose. Do you see the difference in what hangs off of the carbon 2 of each sugar? You’ll see that the carbon 2 of ribose has an –OH, rather than an H. The reason the deoxyribose is called that is because the O on the second carbon of the ribose has been removed, leaving a “deoxyed” ribose. This tiny distinction between the sugars used in DNA and RNA is significant enough in biology that we use it to distinguish the two nucleic acids.
In fact, these subtle differences in sugars mean big differences for many biological molecules. Below, you’ll find a couple of ways that apparently small changes in a sugar molecule can mean big changes in what it does. These little changes make the difference between a delicious sugar cookie and the crunchy exoskeleton of a dung beetle.
Sugar and Fuel
A marathon runner keeps fuel on hand in the form of “carbs,” or sugars. These fuels provide the marathoner’s straining body with the energy it needs to keep the muscles pumping. When we take in sugar like this, it often comes in the form of glucose molecules attached together in a polymer called starch. We are especially equipped to start breaking off individual glucose molecules the minute we start chewing on a starch.
Double X Extra: A monomer is a building block (mono = one) and a polymer is a chain of monomers. With a few dozen monomers or building blocks, we get millions of different polymers. That may sound nutty until you think of the infinity of values that can be built using only the numbers 0 through 9 as building blocks or the intricate programming that is done using only a binary code of zeros and ones in different combinations.
Our bodies then can rapidly take the single molecules, or monomers, into cells and crack open the chemical bonds to transform the energy for use. The bonds of a sugar are packed with chemical energy that we capture to build a different kind of energy-containing molecule that our muscles access easily. Most species rely on this process of capturing energy from sugars and transforming it for specific purposes.
Polysaccharides: Fuel and Form
Plants use the Sun’s energy to make their own glucose, and starch is actually a plant’s way of storing up that sugar. Potatoes, for example, are quite good at packing away tons of glucose molecules and are known to dieticians as a “starchy” vegetable. The glucose molecules in starch are packed fairly closely together. A string of sugar molecules bonded together through dehydration synthesis, as they are in starch, is a polymer called a polysaccharide (poly = many; saccharide = sugar). When the monomers of the polysaccharide are released, as when our bodies break them up, the reaction that releases them is called hydrolysis.
Double X Extra: The specific reaction that hooks one monomer to another in a covalent bond is called dehydration synthesis because in making the bond–synthesizing the larger molecule–a molecule of water is removed (dehydration). The reverse is hydrolysis (hydro = water; lysis = breaking), which breaks the covalent bond by the addition of a molecule of water.
Although plants make their own glucose and animals acquire it by eating the plants, animals can also package away the glucose they eat for later use. Animals, including humans, store glucose in a polysaccharide called glycogen, which is more branched than starch. In us, we build this energy reserve primarily in the liver and access it when our glucose levels drop.
Whether starch or glycogen, the glucose molecules that are stored are bonded together so that all of the molecules are oriented the same way. If you view the sixth carbon of the glucose to be a “carbon flag,” you’ll see in the figure that all of the glucose molecules in starch are oriented with their carbon flags on the upper left.
The orientation of monomers of glucose in polysaccharides can make a big difference in the use of the polymer. The glucoses in the molecule on the top are all oriented “up” and form starch. The glucoses in the molecule on the bottom alternate orientation to form cellulose, which is quite different in its function from starch.
Storing up sugars for fuel and using them as fuel isn’t the end of the uses of sugar. In fact, sugars serve as structural molecules in a huge variety of organisms, including fungi, bacteria, plants, and insects.
The primary structural role of a sugar is as a component of the cell wall, giving the organism support against gravity. In plants, the familiar old glucose molecule serves as one building block of the plant cell wall, but with a catch: The molecules are oriented in an alternating up-down fashion. The resulting structural sugar is called cellulose.
That simple difference in orientation means the difference between a polysaccharide as fuel for us and a polysaccharide as structure. Insects take it step further with the polysaccharide that makes up their exoskeleton, or outer shell. Once again, the building block is glucose, arranged as it is in cellulose, in an alternating conformation. But in insects, each glucose has a little extra added on, a chemical group called an N-acetyl group. This addition of a single functional group alters the use of cellulose and turns it into a structural molecule that gives bugs that special crunchy sound when you accidentally…ahem…step on them.
These variations on the simple theme of a basic carbon-ring-as-building-block occur again and again in biological systems. In addition to serving roles in structure and as fuel, sugars also play a role in function. The attachment of subtly different sugar molecules to a protein or a lipid is one way cells communicate chemically with one another in refined, regulated interactions. It’s as though the cells talk with each other using a specialized, sugar-based vocabulary. Typically, cells display these sugary messages to the outside world, making them available to other cells that can recognize the molecular language.
Lipids: The Fatty Trifecta
Starch makes for good, accessible fuel, something that we immediately attack chemically and break up for quick energy. But fats are energy that we are supposed to bank away for a good long time and break out in times of deprivation. Like sugars, fats serve several purposes, including as a dense source of energy and as a universal structural component of cell membranes everywhere.
Fats: the Good, the Bad, the Neutral
Turn again to a nutrition label, and you’ll see a few references to fats, also known as lipids. (Fats are slightly less confusing that sugars in that they have only two names.) The label may break down fats into categories, including trans fats, saturated fats, unsaturated fats, and cholesterol. You may have learned that trans fats are “bad” and that there is good cholesterol and bad cholesterol, but what does it all mean?
Let’s start with what we mean when we say saturated fat. The question is, saturated with what? There is a specific kind of dietary fat call the triglyceride. As its name implies, it has a structural motif in which something is repeated three times. That something is a chain of carbons and hydrogens, hanging off in triplicate from a head made of glycerol, as the figure shows. Those three carbon-hydrogen chains, or fatty acids, are the “tri” in a triglyceride. Chains like this can be many carbons long.
Double X Extra: We call a fatty acid a fatty acid because it’s got a carboxylic acid attached to a fatty tail. A triglyceride consists of three of these fatty acids attached to a molecule called glycerol. Our dietary fat primarily consists of these triglycerides.
Triglycerides come in several forms. You may recall that carbon can form several different kinds of bonds, including single bonds, as with hydrogen, and double bonds, as with itself. A chain of carbon and hydrogens can have every single available carbon bond taken by a hydrogen in single covalent bond. This scenario of hydrogen saturation yields a saturated fat. The fat is saturated to its fullest with every covalent bond taken by hydrogens single bonded to the carbons.
Saturated fats have predictable characteristics. They lie flat easily and stick to each other, meaning that at room temperature, they form a dense solid. You will realize this if you find a little bit of fat on you to pinch. Does it feel pretty solid? That’s because animal fat is saturated fat. The fat on a steak is also solid at room temperature, and in fact, it takes a pretty high heat to loosen it up enough to become liquid. Animals are not the only organisms that produce saturated fat–avocados and coconuts also are known for their saturated fat content.
The top graphic above depicts a triglyceride with the glycerol, acid, and three hydrocarbon tails. The tails of this saturated fat, with every possible hydrogen space occupied, lie comparatively flat on one another, and this kind of fat is solid at room temperature. The fat on the bottom, however, is unsaturated, with bends or kinks wherever two carbons have double bonded, booting a couple of hydrogens and making this fat unsaturated, or lacking some hydrogens. Because of the space between the bumps, this fat is probably not solid at room temperature, but liquid.
You can probably now guess what an unsaturated fat is–one that has one or more hydrogens missing. Instead of single bonding with hydrogens at every available space, two or more carbons in an unsaturated fat chain will form a double bond with carbon, leaving no space for a hydrogen. Because some carbons in the chain share two pairs of electrons, they physically draw closer to one another than they do in a single bond. This tighter bonding result in a “kink” in the fatty acid chain.
In a fat with these kinks, the three fatty acids don’t lie as densely packed with each other as they do in a saturated fat. The kinks leave spaces between them. Thus, unsaturated fats are less dense than saturated fats and often will be liquid at room temperature. A good example of a liquid unsaturated fat at room temperature is canola oil.
A few decades ago, food scientists discovered that unsaturated fats could be resaturated or hydrogenated to behave more like saturated fats and have a longer shelf life. The process of hydrogenation–adding in hydrogens–yields trans fat. This kind of processed fat is now frowned upon and is being removed from many foods because of its associations with adverse health effects. If you check a food label and it lists among the ingredients “partially hydrogenated” oils, that can mean that the food contains trans fat.
Double X Extra: A triglyceride can have up to three different fatty acids attached to it. Canola oil, for example, consists primarily of oleic acid, linoleic acid, and linolenic acid, all of which are unsaturated fatty acids with 18 carbons in their chains.
Why do we take in fat anyway? Fat is a necessary nutrient for everything from our nervous systems to our circulatory health. It also, under appropriate conditions, is an excellent way to store up densely packaged energy for the times when stores are running low. We really can’t live very well without it.
Phospholipids: An Abundant Fat
You may have heard that oil and water don’t mix, and indeed, it is something you can observe for yourself. Drop a pat of butter–pure saturated fat–into a bowl of water and watch it just sit there. Even if you try mixing it with a spoon, it will just sit there. Now, drop a spoon of salt into the water and stir it a bit. The salt seems to vanish. You’ve just illustrated the difference between a water-fearing (hydrophobic) and a water-loving (hydrophilic) substance.
Generally speaking, compounds that have an unequal sharing of electrons (like ions or anything with a covalent bond between oxygen and hydrogen or nitrogen and hydrogen) will be hydrophilic. The reason is that a charge or an unequal electron sharing gives the molecule polarity that allows it to interact with water through hydrogen bonds. A fat, however, consists largely of hydrogen and carbon in those long chains. Carbon and hydrogen have roughly equivalent electronegativities, and their electron-sharing relationship is relatively nonpolar. Fat, lacking in polarity, doesn’t interact with water. As the butter demonstrated, it just sits there.
There is one exception to that little maxim about fat and water, and that exception is the phospholipid. This lipid has a special structure that makes it just right for the job it does: forming the membranes of cells. A phospholipid consists of a polar phosphate head–P and O don’t share equally–and a couple of nonpolar hydrocarbon tails, as the figure shows. If you look at the figure, you’ll see that one of the two tails has a little kick in it, thanks to a double bond between the two carbons there.
Phospholipids form a double layer and are the major structural components of cell membranes. Their bend, or kick, in one of the hydrocarbon tails helps ensure fluidity of the cell membrane. The molecules are bipolar, with hydrophilic heads for interacting with the internal and external watery environments of the cell and hydrophobic tails that help cell membranes behave as general security guards.
The kick and the bipolar (hydrophobic and hydrophilic) nature of the phospholipid make it the perfect molecule for building a cell membrane. A cell needs a watery outside to survive. It also needs a watery inside to survive. Thus, it must face the inside and outside worlds with something that interacts well with water. But it also must protect itself against unwanted intruders, providing a barrier that keeps unwanted things out and keeps necessary molecules in.
Phospholipids achieve it all. They assemble into a double layer around a cell but orient to allow interaction with the watery external and internal environments. On the layer facing the inside of the cell, the phospholipids orient their polar, hydrophilic heads to the watery inner environment and their tails away from it. On the layer to the outside of the cell, they do the same.
As the figure shows, the result is a double layer of phospholipids with each layer facing a polar, hydrophilic head to the watery environments. The tails of each layer face one another. They form a hydrophobic, fatty moat around a cell that serves as a general gatekeeper, much in the way that your skin does for you. Charged particles cannot simply slip across this fatty moat because they can’t interact with it. And to keep the fat fluid, one tail of each phospholipid has that little kick, giving the cell membrane a fluid, liquidy flow and keeping it from being solid and unforgiving at temperatures in which cells thrive.
Steroids: Here to Pump You Up?
Our final molecule in the lipid fatty trifecta is cholesterol. As you may have heard, there are a few different kinds of cholesterol, some of which we consider to be “good” and some of which is “bad.” The good cholesterol, high-density lipoprotein, or HDL, in part helps us out because it removes the bad cholesterol, low-density lipoprotein or LDL, from our blood. The presence of LDL is associated with inflammation of the lining of the blood vessels, which can lead to a variety of health problems.
But cholesterol has some other reasons for existing. One of its roles is in the maintenance of cell membrane fluidity. Cholesterol is inserted throughout the lipid bilayer and serves as a block to the fatty tails that might otherwise stick together and become a bit too solid.
Cholesterol’s other starring role as a lipid is as the starting molecule for a class of hormones we called steroids or steroid hormones. With a few snips here and additions there, cholesterol can be changed into the steroid hormones progesterone, testosterone, or estrogen. These molecules look quite similar, but they play very different roles in organisms. Testosterone, for example, generally masculinizes vertebrates (animals with backbones), while progesterone and estrogen play a role in regulating the ovulatory cycle.
Double X Extra: A hormone is a blood-borne signaling molecule. It can be lipid based, like testosterone, or short protein, like insulin.
As you progress through learning biology, one thing will become more and more clear: Most cells function primarily as protein factories. It may surprise you to learn that proteins, which we often talk about in terms of food intake, are the fundamental molecule of many of life’s processes. Enzymes, for example, form a single broad category of proteins, but there are millions of them, each one governing a small step in the molecular pathways that are required for living.
Levels of Structure
Amino acids are the building blocks of proteins. A few amino acids strung together is called a peptide, while many many peptides linked together form a polypeptide. When many amino acids strung together interact with each other to form a properly folded molecule, we call that molecule a protein.
For a string of amino acids to ultimately fold up into an active protein, they must first be assembled in the correct order. The code for their assembly lies in the DNA, but once that code has been read and the amino acid chain built, we call that simple, unfolded chain the primary structure of the protein.
This chain can consist of hundreds of amino acids that interact all along the sequence. Some amino acids are hydrophobic and some are hydrophilic. In this context, like interacts best with like, so the hydrophobic amino acids will interact with one another, and the hydrophilic amino acids will interact together. As these contacts occur along the string of molecules, different conformations will arise in different parts of the chain. We call these different conformations along the amino acid chain the protein’s secondary structure.
Once those interactions have occurred, the protein can fold into its final, or tertiary structure and be ready to serve as an active participant in cellular processes. To achieve the tertiary structure, the amino acid chain’s secondary interactions must usually be ongoing, and the pH, temperature, and salt balance must be just right to facilitate the folding. This tertiary folding takes place through interactions of the secondary structures along the different parts of the amino acid chain.
The final product is a properly folded protein. If we could see it with the naked eye, it might look a lot like a wadded up string of pearls, but that “wadded up” look is misleading. Protein folding is a carefully regulated process that is determined at its core by the amino acids in the chain: their hydrophobicity and hydrophilicity and how they interact together.
In many instances, however, a complete protein consists of more than one amino acid chain, and the complete protein has two or more interacting strings of amino acids. A good example is hemoglobin in red blood cells. Its job is to grab oxygen and deliver it to the body’s tissues. A complete hemoglobin protein consists of four separate amino acid chains all properly folded into their tertiary structures and interacting as a single unit. In cases like this involving two or more interacting amino acid chains, we say that the final protein has a quaternary structure. Some proteins can consist of as many as a dozen interacting chains, behaving as a single protein unit.
A Plethora of Purposes
What does a protein do? Let us count the ways. Really, that’s almost impossible because proteins do just about everything. Some of them tag things. Some of them destroy things. Some of them protect. Some mark cells as “self.” Some serve as structural materials, while others are highways or motors. They aid in communication, they operate as signaling molecules, they transfer molecules and cut them up, they interact with each other in complex, interrelated pathways to build things up and break things down. They regulate genes and package DNA, and they regulate and package each other.
As described above, proteins are the final folded arrangement of a string of amino acids. One way we obtain these building blocks for the millions of proteins our bodies make is through our diet. You may hear about foods that are high in protein or people eating high-protein diets to build muscle. When we take in those proteins, we can break them apart and use the amino acids that make them up to build proteins of our own.
How does a cell know which proteins to make? It has a code for building them, one that is especially guarded in a cellular vault in our cells called the nucleus. This code is deoxyribonucleic acid, or DNA. The cell makes a copy of this code and send it out to specialized structures that read it and build proteins based on what they read. As with any code, a typo–a mutation–can result in a message that doesn’t make as much sense. When the code gets changed, sometimes, the protein that the cell builds using that code will be changed, too.
Biohazard!The names associated with nucleic acids can be confusing because they all start with nucle-. It may seem obvious or easy now, but a brain freeze on a test could mix you up. You need to fix in your mind that the shorter term (10 letters, four syllables), nucleotide, refers to the smaller molecule, the three-part building block. The longer term (12 characters, including the space, and five syllables), nucleic acid, which is inherent in the names DNA and RNA, designates the big, long molecule.
DNA vs. RNA: A Matter of Structure
DNA and its nucleic acid cousin, ribonucleic acid, or RNA, are both made of the same kinds of building blocks. These building blocks are called nucleotides. Each nucleotide consists of three parts: a sugar (ribose for RNA and deoxyribose for DNA), a phosphate, and a nitrogenous base. In DNA, every nucleotide has identical sugars and phosphates, and in RNA, the sugar and phosphate are also the same for every nucleotide.
So what’s different? The nitrogenous bases. DNA has a set of four to use as its coding alphabet. These are the purines, adenine and guanine, and the pyrimidines, thymine and cytosine. The nucleotides are abbreviated by their initial letters as A, G, T, and C. From variations in the arrangement and number of these four molecules, all of the diversity of life arises. Just four different types of the nucleotide building blocks, and we have you, bacteria, wombats, and blue whales.
RNA is also basic at its core, consisting of only four different nucleotides. In fact, it uses three of the same nitrogenous bases as DNA–A, G, and C–but it substitutes a base called uracil (U) where DNA uses thymine. Uracil is a pyrimidine.
DNA vs. RNA: Function Wars
An interesting thing about the nitrogenous bases of the nucleotides is that they pair with each other, using hydrogen bonds, in a predictable way. An adenine will almost always bond with a thymine in DNA or a uracil in RNA, and cytosine and guanine will almost always bond with each other. This pairing capacity allows the cell to use a sequence of DNA and build either a new DNA sequence, using the old one as a template, or build an RNA sequence to make a copy of the DNA.
These two different uses of A-T/U and C-G base pairing serve two different purposes. DNA is copied into DNA usually when a cell is preparing to divide and needs two complete sets of DNA for the new cells. DNA is copied into RNA when the cell needs to send the code out of the vault so proteins can be built. The DNA stays safely where it belongs.
RNA is really a nucleic acid jack-of-all-trades. It not only serves as the copy of the DNA but also is the main component of the two types of cellular workers that read that copy and build proteins from it. At one point in this process, the three types of RNA come together in protein assembly to make sure the job is done right.
Liz Neeley: Science communicator extraordinaire and lover of fine fashion… and bread.
Liz Neeley is the assistant director at COMPASS where she helps develop and lead the communications trainings for scientists, and specializes in the social media and multimedia components of their workshops and outreach efforts. Before joining COMPASS, Liz studied the evolution and visual systems of tropical reef fishes at Boston University. After grad school, she helped communities and researchers in Fiji and Papua New Guinea connect their knowledge of local coral reefs ecosystems to the media. She also dabbled in international science policy while working on trade in deep-sea corals. Liz is currently based in Seattle, at the University of Washington. You can find Liz on Twitter (@LizNeeley) and on Google+. Also check our her passion projects, ScienceOnline Seattle and her SciLingual hangout series.
DXS: First, can you give us a quick overview of what your scientific background is and your current connection to science?
I was one of those kids who knew from a really young age what they wanted to be, and that was a fish biologist. Sea turtles, dolphins – no way – I wanted to study fish. My mom actually found an old picture I drew when I was in third grade about what I wanted to be when I grew up: it was me in a lab coat, holding a clipboard, and tanks of aquaria behind me.
You combine this with the fact that I am also a really stubborn person, and I just wanted to do science straight through all my schooling. Not just the coursework either – I did an NSF young scholars program in high school, was the captain of the engineering team, and, of course, was a mathlete.
I did my undergraduate work in marine biology at the University of Maryland. I did three years of research there on oyster reef restoration, and then went straight into my PhD at Boston University, where I studied the evolution of color patterns and visual systems in wrasses and parrotfish.
I actually did not finish my PhD. Life sort of knocked me sideways, and instead of finishing my PhD, I ended up taking a masters, and then going into the non-profit world. At first, I mostly worked on coral conservation in Fiji and Papua New Guinea, and I did a big project on deep sea corals.
After I left grad school, I started a 20-hour per week internship at an NGO called SeaWeb. Vikki Spruill, who was the founder and president, has killer instincts and a passion for women’s high fashion that I share. She had noticed coral jewelry coming down the runway in Milan, Paris, and NY. People just didn’t have any idea that these pieces of jewelry were actually animals, much less that they were deep sea corals.
So we launched a campaign called “Too Precious to Wear,” which partnered with high-end fashion and luxury designer to create alternatives to these deep sea corals – celebrating coral but not actually using it. The Tiffany & Co. Foundation was our major partner, and we got to throw a breakfast at Tiffany’s that brought in fashion editors from Mademoiselle and Vogue.
Everyone always dismisses women’s fashions as shallow and meaningless, but this ended up being this huge lever that got a lot of attention for deep sea coral conservation, and my piece was the science that pinned it all together. I got a taste of the international policy component of that as well, and headed to the Netherlands for CITES (the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species) as part of the work. I knew the science, but certainly helped that I knew how to pronounce the names of the designers too – opportunities like that to bridge cultures that seem foreign to each other are tremendously powerful.
I currently work at COMPASS, which is an organization that works at the intersection of science, policy, and communication/media. Our tagline is “helping scientists find their voices and bringing science into the conversation.” For my part, this means, I teach science communications trainings around the country, helping researchers understand how social media works, how reporters find their stories, and how to overcome some of the obstacles that scientists often put in their own way when they talk about their work.
What I love about this work so much is that it keeps me in the science community – around people who are pursuing tough questions. That is how my brain works, it is how my soul works, and I want to be a part of it. The power of this for me is to be able to take in all of this knowledge that is generated by these scientists and help connect it to the broader world. I feel like this is the best contribution I can make.
DXS: What ways do you express yourself creatively that may not have a single thing to do with science?
I am a pretty artistic person – or at least I think of myself as a pretty artistic person! My creative outlets usually involve some kind of graphic design. I am always giving presentations for my work, and I constantly ask “what do my slides look like, and am I telling a good story?” I so lucky that I get to spend a lot of time thinking about imagery, visual storytelling, and how people react to art or data visualization.
I also paint and draw (though I wouldn’t really share those) and I cook. I am actually doing a bread baking experiment this year where I am trying out a different type of bread recipe every weekend.
It can be really funny because sometimes, if it has been a really stressful week, I will look for a recipe that really needs to be punched down or kneaded for a long time. It’s a good workout too! And then we have this amazing bread every weekend. It is all about the aesthetics for me – I host dinner parties, bake, have a great garden – all of that is sort of my own creative outlet.
Some experimental results from Liz’s bread project.
DXS: What is your favorite bread?
The delicious baguette
LN: Oh, the baguette. I made my own for the first time last weekend and it was really fantastic! I realize that baking is one of these things that, if you want to do it properly, you have to be very precise. You should weigh the ingredients. But I’m precise in the rest of my life. When it is the weekend and I am having fun, I kind of love it when the flour is just flying everywhere. As a result, my loaves are a little bit mutated, or just not quite right, but they are delicious! Some of my other favorites also includes a great focaccia (the recipe for it is below!).
DXS: Do you find that your scientific background informs your creativity, even though what you do may not specifically be scientific?
Yes, absolutely. It’s funny because when you asked the question about my creative outlets that have nothing to do with science, it was not entirely easy to answer. You know, science is who I am – it permeates everything I do. When I am baking the bread, I am thinking about the yeast and fermentation. When I am painting, I am thinking about color theory and visual perception – after all that would have been what my PhD was in!
Speaking of color theory, Joanne Manaster recently shared a “how good is your color vision?” quiz. I took that test immediately to see how I would do. That lead me on this interesting exploration around the literature, and I read one theory that Van Gogh might have had a certain type of color blindness. I love this question of how our brains interact with the world. In animal behavior the concept is called “umwelt” – each species has a unique sensory experience of the environment. I like to think about how that applies to individual people to a smaller degree.
I think about this all the time – science, creativity, art, aesthetics – it is all one beautiful and amazing thing to me.
DXS: Have you encountered situations in which your expression of yourself outside the bounds of science has led to people viewing you differently–either more positively or more negatively?
I accept the fact that, especially when it comes to strangers, we make up stories based on what we see – clothes, hair, etc. I know that this happens to me as well. When we talk about femininity, it’s no secret that I am a girly girl. I wear makeup and heels. That’s how I feel most like myself, how I feel best. I know that this doesn’t sit well with everybody, but that’s ok. I like to think that I hold my own. Give me enough time to speak my piece and I can back it up. I’ve got an interesting career, I am a geek, and it is not hard for me to connect with people once we start talking.
In science we say that we don’t have a dress code, but the reality is that we do. Maybe it’s unspoken, and sure it is not the same as you see in the business world, but when you look different from how everyone else looks, people do want comment on it. I don’t feel like it is particularly negative in my case, and I feel that it doesn’t impede me. What is most exciting is that it often opens up conversation – mostly with other women who say “oh I really like your dress, I’ve been wearing more dresses lately!”
When I was an undergrad, I was kind of oblivious to the whole dress code thing. One day, when I was in the lab, I was wearing this pink, strappy sundress, tied up the back, and these stupid platform sandals that were really tall (clearly not appropriate lab gear). I was scrubbing out this 100-gallon oyster tank and my advisor happened to walk by and he sees me doing this. I remember freezing – all of the sudden I was afraid he was going to mock me or lecture me, but he just said, “Oh, Liz… Keep on.”
My graduate advisor was the same way – he acknowledged who I am and didn’t bother about how I dress. We didn’t avoid the topic. It just wasn’t an issue. I hope that other women can have that same experience. It doesn’t matter if you are a tomboy or a girly-girl. I don’t care – I am not judging you. You don’t have to look like me because I am in a dress.
This is why I love this #IAmSciencememe, and the whole “be yourself” mentality. And that is what I am going to do. I’ve decided to be myself. I accept the fact that not everyone will like the look of me. But, I think that we will eventually get to the point where we understand that science can be presented in lots of different ways.
DXS: Have you found that your non-science expression of creativity/activity/etc. has in any way informed your understanding of science or how you may talk about it or present it to others?
For me, my job with COMPASS really is sitting at this nexus of asking how we share science with people who aren’t intrinsically fascinated by it or connected to it. This is very much a ripe field for thinking about creative expression. Mostly, we come at it in terms of verbal presentations, storytelling and written materials, but then I specialize in the social media and multimedia components. I am always thinking about everything I am reading and seeing – news, art, music, fiction – and how we can apply what resonates with others in these non-science realms. It is very much a two-way thing; my science informs my creativity and my creativity informs my science. That makes it really fulfilling and exciting for me.
I see this in terms of the ability to make connections. When I am standing up in front of a group of researchers doing a social media training, I am making pop-culture references, alluding to literary works, quoting song lyrics. When you get it right, you can see someone’s eyes light up. It’s just another way to connect – people sit up and pay attention if you can make a meaningful reference to the artist they love or the book they just read.
One of the questions we always use in our trainings is “so what?” So you are telling me about your science, but why should I care? Miles Davis has a famous song “So What?” and we play that in the background. It makes people smile. It makes it memorable. I love that. I really like this idea that we should be using the fullness of who we are and our creative selves, including all of the sensory modalities, to talk about the very abstract and difficult scientific topics we care about so much.
(DXS editor’s side note: A portion of the previous paragraph was delivered to me in song. What’s not to smile about?!?!)
DXS: How comfortable are you expressing your femininity and in what ways? How does this expression influence people’s perception of you in, say, a scientifically oriented context?
I feel very comfortable in my own skin, and who I am and where I come from does tend to be a classically feminine look (at least in terms of clothing choices and how I wear my hair). I am never quite certain the exact definition of “femininity”, but I don’t think how I look so much influences people’s perception of me as much as it opens up opportunities for us to discuss gender and personality and science.
Part of what I do for my work is to help scientists understand that in journalism, we need characters. So, I have the obligation to walk my talk – we are all the main characters in our own lives and we have to live with that and be true to that.
It brings up interesting questions of personality and privacy. I feel pretty comfortable talking about my clothes and my art and my dogs and my bread baking – but I also know that a lot of people don’t want that type of stuff out there. I like the challenge of helping them tell their own science stories and shine through as interesting people in a way that is authentic and represents who they are in a way that works for them.
DXS: Do you think that the combination of your non-science creativity and scientific-related activity shifts people’s perspectives or ideas about what a scientist or science communicator is? If you’re aware of such an influence, in what way, if any, do you use it to (for example) reach a different corner of your audience or present science in a different sort of way?
Sure, I think that I sometimes surprise people. For example, in the world of communications and journalism, we are seeing more and more that coding and programming has great value. To just look at me, you might not believe that I geek out over altmetrics and that I miss using MatLab.
It suprises people when they find this out, and I sort of like that. I know what it feels like to walk into a room and to be dismissed. I relish these opportunities because I consider them a challenge. Instead of feeling offended (though it can get tiring), my approach is thinking, “Guess what! I have something interesting to say, and you and I are actually going to connect, even though you don’t see it yet.”
I think that this sort of willingness to interact is something I try to help the scientists that I work with to understand. Maybe you think that you are going to be met with great opposition toward some subject like climate change, but if you have the willingness to approach it without assuming the worst, it opens new opportunties. I’m no Pollyanna, but I think relentless optimism and a commitment to finding common ground with others is very effective.
When I introduce social media to scientists, it has changed a lot over the last three years, but there is still a lot of skepticism and some outright scorn for “all those people online.” I like to encourage taking a step back from that in order to reveal all of the awesome things going on online and the ways you might engage. I truly enjoy the process of turning skeptics into something other than skeptics – I might not change them into believers, but they will at least be surprised and interested onlookers.
Liz Neeley’s Favorite Focaccia
Scant 4 cups white bread flour
1 tablespoon salt
Scant 1/2 cup olive oil
1 packet of active dry yeast
1 1/4 cups warm water
Favorite olives, roughly chopped if you prefer
Handful of fresh basil
Start this mid-afternoon (between 3 and 4 hours before you want to eat it, depending on how fast you are in the kitchen)
1.In a large bowl, combine the flour and salt with 1Ž4 cup of the olive oil, the yeast & the water. Mix with your hands for about 3 minutes.
2.Lightly dust your countertop with flour and knead your dough for 6 minutes. Enjoy your arm workout and stress relief exercise!
3.The dough will be pretty sticky. Put it back in the bowl, cover it with a damp cloth, and let stand at room temperature for 2 hours.
4.Mix 1Ž2 or more of your olives and all the basil into the dough, and try to get them evenly distributed. It won’t be perfect, but it will be delicious.
5.Dump the dough onto a lined baking sheet. Flatten it with your hands until it’s a big rectangle about 1″/2.5cm thick. Slather with olive oil. Let rise for 1 hour.
6.Preheat your oven to 425°F/220°C
7.Sprinkle with flaky sea salt and drizzle with more olive oil if you want. Bake for 25 minutes or until golden.
8.Make your neighbors jealous with the amazing smell of baked bread wafting from your house.
Scene 1: Two fathers encounter each other at a Boy Scout meeting. After a little conversation, one reveals that his son won’t be playing football because of concerns about head injuries. The other father reveals that he and his son love football, that they spoke with their pediatrician about it, and that their son will continue with football at least into middle school. There’s a bit of wary nodding, and then, back to the Pinewood Derby.
Scene 2: Two mothers meet on a playground. After a little conversation about their toddlers, one mother mentions that she still breastfeeds and practices “attachment parenting,” which is why she has a sling sitting next to her. The other mother mentions that she practiced “cry it out” with her children but that they seem to be doing well and are good sleepers. Then one of the toddlers begins to cry, obviously hurt in some way, and both mothers rush over together to offer assistance.
Scene 3: In the evening, one of these parents might say to a partner, “Can you believe that they’re going to let him play football?” or “I can’t believe they’re still breastfeeding when she’s three!” Sure. They might “judge” or think that’s something that they, as parents, would never do.
But which ones are actually involved in a war?
War. What is it good for?
I can’t answer that question, but I can tell you the definition of ‘war’: “a state of armed conflict between different nations or states or different groups within a nation or state.” Based on this definition and persistent headlines about “Mommy Wars,” you might conclude that a visit to your local playground or a mom’s group outing might require decking yourself out cap-á-pie in Kevlar. But the reality on the ground is different. There is no war. Calling disputes and criticisms and judgments about how other people live “war” is like calling a rowboat on a pond the Titanic. One involves lots of energy release just to navigate relatively placid waters while the other involved a tremendous loss of life in a rough and frigid sea. Big difference.
I’m sure many mothers can attest to the following: You have friends who also are mothers. I bet that for most of us, those friends represent a spectrum of attitudes about parenting, education, religion, Fifty Shades of Grey, recycling, diet, discipline, Oprah, and more. They also probably don’t all dress just like you, talk just like you, have the same level of education as you, same employment, same ambitions, same hair, or same toothpaste. And I bet that for many of us, in our interactions with our friends, we have found ourselves judging everything from why she insists on wearing those shoes to why she lets little Timmy eat Pop Tarts. Yet, despite all of this mental observation and, yes, judging, we still manage to get along, go out to dinner together, meet at one another’s homes, and gab our heads off during play dates.
That’s not a war. That’s life. It’s using our brains as shaped by our cultural understanding and education and rejection or acceptance of things from our own upbringing and talks with medical practitioners and books we’ve read and television shows we’ve watched and, for some of us, Oprah. Not one single friend I have is a cookie cutter representation of me or how I parent. Yet, we are not at war. We are friends. Just because people go online and lay out in black and white the critiques that are in their heads doesn’t mean “war” is afoot. It means expressing the natural human instinct to criticize others in a way that we think argues for Our Way of Doing Things. Online fighting is keeping up with the virtual Joneses. In real life, we are friends with the Joneses, and everyone tacitly understands what’s off limits within the boundaries of that friendship. That’s not war. It’s friendly détente.
The reality doesn’t stop the news media from trying to foment wars, rebellions, and full-on revolutions with provocative online “debates” and, lately, magazine covers. The most recent, from Time, features a slender mother, hand on cocked hip, challenging you with her eyes as she nurses her almost-four-year-old son while he stands on a chair. As Time likely intended, the cover caused an uproar. We’ve lampooned it ourselves (see above).
But the question the cover asks in all caps, “Are you mom enough?” is even more manipulative than the cover because it strikes at the heart of all those unspoken criticisms we think–we know–other women have in their heads about our parenting. What we may not consider is that we, too, are doing the same, and still… we are not actually at war. We’re just women, judging ourselves and other women, just like we’ve done since the dawn of time. It’s called “using your brain.” Inflating our interactions and fairly easily achieved parental philosophy détentes to “war” caricatures us all as shrieking harpies, incapable of backing off and being reasonable.
The real question to ask isn’t “Are you mom enough?” In fact, it’s an empty question because there is no answer. Your parenting may be the most perfect replica of motherhood since the Madonna (the first one), yet you have no idea how that will manifest down the road in terms of who your child is or what your child does. Whether you’re a Grizzly or a Tiger or a Kangaroo or a Panda mother, there is no “enough.”
So, instead of asking you “Are you mom enough?”, in keeping with our goal of bringing women evidence-based science, we’ve looked at some of the research describing what might make a successful parent–child relationship. Yes, the answer is about attachment, but not necessarily of the physical kind. So drop your guilt. Read this when you have time. Meanwhile, do your best to connect with your child, understand your child, and respond appropriately to your child.
Why? Because that is what attachment is–the basic biological response to a child’s needs. If you’re not a nomad or someone constantly on the move, research suggests that the whole “physically attached to me” thing isn’t really a necessary manifestation of attachment. If you harken to it and your child enjoys it (mine did not) and it works for you without seeming like, well, an albatross around your neck, go for it.
What is attachment?
While attachment as a biological norm among primates has been around as long as primates themselves, humans are more complicated than most primates. We have theories. Attachment theory arose from the observations of a couple of human behaviorists or psychologists (depending on whom you ask), John Bowlby and Mary Ainsworth. Bowlby derived the concept of attachment theory, in which an infant homes in on an attachment figure as a “safe place.” The attachment figure, usually a parent, is the person who responds and is sensitive to the infant’s needs and social overtures. That parent is typically the mother, and disruption of this relationship can have, as most of us probably instinctively know, negative effects.
Bowlby’s early approach involved the mother’s having an understanding of the formational experiences of her own childhood and then translating that to an understanding of her child. He even found that when he talked with parents about their own childhoods in front of their children, the result would be clinical breakthroughs for his patients. As he wrote,
Having once been helped to recognize and recapture the feelings which she herself had as a child and to find that they are accepted tolerantly and understandingly, a mother will become increasingly sympathetic and tolerant toward the same things in her child.
Later studies seem to bear out this observation of a connection to one’s childhood experiences and more connected parenting. For example, mothers who are “insightful” about their children, who seek to understand the motivations of their children’s behavior, positively influence both their own sensitivity and the security of their infant’s attachment to them.
While Bowlby’s research focused initially on the effects of absolute separation between mother and child, Mary Ainsworth, an eventual colleague of Bowlby, took these ideas of the need for maternal input a step further. Her work suggested to her that young children live in a world of dual and competing urges: to feel safe and to be independent. An attachment figure, a safe person, is for children an anchor that keeps them from become unmoored even as they explore the unknown waters of life. Without that security backing them up, a child can feel always unmoored and directionless, with no one to trust for security.
Although he was considered an anti-Freudian rebel, Bowlby had a penchant for Freudian language like “superego” and referred to the mother as the “psychic organizer.” Yet his conclusions about the mother–child bond resonate with their plain language:
The infant and young child should experience a warm, intimate, and continuous relationship with his mother (or permanent mother substitute) in which both find satisfaction and enjoyment.
You know, normal biological stuff. As a side note, he was intrigued by the fact that social bonds between mother and offspring in some species weren’t necessarily tied to feeding, an observation worth keeping in mind if you have concerns about not being able to breastfeed.
The big shift here in talking about the mother–child relationship was that Bowlby was proposing that this connection wasn’t some Freudian libidinous communion between mother and child but instead a healthy foundation of a trust relationship that could healthily continue into the child’s adulthood.
Ainsworth carried these ideas to specifics, noting in the course of her observations of various groups how valuable a mother’s sensitivity to her child’s behaviors were in establishing attachment. In her most famous study, the “Baltimore study” [PDF], she monitored 26 families with new babies. She found that “maternal responsiveness” in the context of crying, feeding, playing, and reciprocating seemed to have a powerful influence on how much a baby cried in later months, although some later studies dispute specific influences on crying frequencies.
Ainsworth also introduced the “Strange Situation” lab test, which seems to have freaked people out when it first entered the research scene. In this test, over the course of 20 minutes, a one-year-old baby is in a room full toys, first with its mother, then with mother and a strange woman, then with the stranger only (briefly), then with the mother, and then alone before the stranger and then the mother return. The most interesting findings of the study came from when the mother returned after her first absence, having left the baby alone in the room with a stranger. Some babies seemed quite angry, wanting to be with their mothers but expressing unhappiness with her at the same time and physically rejecting her.
From her observations during the Strange Situation, Ainsworth identified three types of attachment. The first was “Secure,” which, as its name implies, suggested an infant secure and comfortable with an attachment figure, a person with whom the infant actively seeks to interact. Then there’s the insecure–avoidant attachment type, in which an infant clearly is not interested in being near or interacting with the attachment figure. Most complex seems to be the insecure–resistant type, and the ambivalence of the term reflects the disconnected behavior the infant shows, seeming to want to be near the attachment figure but also resisting, as some of the unhappy infants described above behaved in the Strange Situation.
Within these types are now embedded various subtypes, including a disorganized–disoriented type in which the infant shows “odd” and chaotic behavior that seems to have no distinct pattern related to the attachment figure.
As you read this, you may be wondering, “What kind of attachment do my child and I have?” If you’re sciencey, you may fleetingly even have pondered conducting your own Strange Situation en famille to see what your child does. I understand the impulse. But let’s read on.
What are the benefits of attachment?
Mothers who are sensitive to their children’s cues and respond in ways that are mutually satisfactory to both parties may be doing their children a lifetime of favors, in addition to the parental benefit of a possibly less-likely-to-cry child. For example, a study of almost 1300 families looked at levels of cortisol, the “stress” hormone, in six-month-old infants and its association with maternal sensitivity to cues and found lower levels in infants who had “more sensitive” mothers.
Our understanding of attachment and its importance to infant development can help in other contexts. We can apply this understanding to, for example, help adolescent mothers establish the “secure” level of attachment with their infants. It’s also possibly useful in helping women who are battling substance abuse to still establish a secure attachment with their children.
On a more individual level, it might help in other ways. For example, if you want your child to show less resistance during “clean-up” activities, establishing “secure attachment” may be your ticket to a better-looking playroom.
More seriously, another study has found that even the way a mother applies sensitivity can be relevant. Using the beautiful-if-technical term ‘dyads’ to refer to the mother–child pair, this study included maternal reports of infant temperament and observations of maternal sensitivity to both infant distress and “non-distress.” Further, the authors assessed the children behaviorally at ages 24 and 36 months for social competence, behavioral problems, and typicality of emotional expression. They found that a mother’s sensitivity to an infant’s distress behaviors was linked to fewer behavioral problems and greater social competence in toddlerhood. Even more intriguing, the child’s temperament played a role: for “temperamentally reactive” infants, a mother’s sensitivity to distress was linked to less dysregulation of the child’s emotional expression in toddlerhood.
And that takes me to the child, the partner in the “dyad”
You’re not the only person involved in attachment. As these studies frequently note, you are involved in a “dyad.” The other member of that dyad is the child. As much as we’d like to think that we can lock down various aspects of temperament or expression simply by forcing it with our totally excellent attachment skills, the child in your dyad is a person, too, who arrived with a bit of baggage of her own.
And like the study described above, the child’s temperament is a key player in the outcome of the attachment tango. Another study noted that multiple factors influence “attachment quality.” Yes, maternal sensitivity is one, but a child’s native coping behaviors and temperament also seem to be involved. So, there you have it. If you’re feeling like a parental failure, science suggests you can quietly lay at least some of the blame on the Other in your dyad–your child. Or, you could acknowledge that we’re all human and this is just part of our learning experience together.
What does attachment look like, anyway?
Dr. William Sears took the concept of attachment and its association with maternal sensitivity to a child’s cues and security and… wrote a book that literally translated attachment as a physical as well as emotional connection. This extension of attachment–which Sears appends to every aspect of parenting, from pregnancy to feeding to sleeping–has become in the minds of some parents a prescriptive way of doing things with benefits that exclude all other parenting approaches or “philosophies.” It also involves the concept of “baby wearing,” which always brings up strange images in my mind and certainly takes outré fashion to a whole new level. In reality, it’s just a way people have carried babies for a long time in the absence of other easy modes of transport.
When I was pregnant with our first child and still blissfully ignorant about how little control parents have over anything, I read Sears’ book about attachment parenting. Some of it is common-sense, broadly applicable parenting advice: respond to your child’s needs. Some of it is simply downright impossible for some parent–child dyads, and much of it is based on the presumption that human infants in general will benefit from a one-size-fits-all sling of attachment parenting, although interpretations of the starry-eyed faithful emphasize that more than Sears does.
Because much of what Sears wrote resonated with me, we did some chimeric version of attachment parenting–or, we tried. The thing is, as I noted above, the infant has some say in these things as well. Our oldest child, who is autistic, was highly resistant to being physically attached much of the time. He didn’t want to sleep with us past age four months, and he showed little interest in aspects of attachment parenting like “nurturing touch,” which to him was seemingly more akin to “taser touch.” We ultimately had three sons, and in the end, they all preferred to sleep alone, each at an earlier and earlier age. The first two self-weaned before age one because apparently, the distractions of the sensory world around them were far more interesting than the same boring old boob they kept seeing immediately in front of their faces. Our third was unable to breastfeed at all.
So, like all parents do, we punted, in spite of our best laid plans and intentions. Our hybrid of “attachment parenting” could better be translated into “sensitivity parenting,” because our primary focus, as we punted and punted and punted our way through the years, was shifting our responses based on what our children seemed to need and what motivated their behaviors. Thus, while our oldest declined to sleep with us according to the attachment parenting commandment, he got to sleep with a boiled egg because that’s what he wanted. Try to beat that, folks, and sure, bring on the judging.
The Double X Science Sensitivity Parenting (TM) cheat sheet.
What does “sensitive” mean?
And finally, the nitty-gritty bullet list you’ve been waiting for. If attachment doesn’t mean slinging your child to your body until you’re lumbar gives out or the child receives a high-school diploma, and parenting is, indeed, one compromise after another based on the exigencies of the moment, what consistent tenets can you practice that meet the now 60-year-old concept of “secure” attachment between mother and child, father and child, or mother or father figure and child? We are Double X Science, here to bring you evidence-based information, and that means lists. The below list is an aggregate of various research findings we’ve identified that seem reasonable and reasonably supported. We’ve also provided our usual handy quick guide for parents in a hurry.
Plan ahead. We know that life is what happens while you’re planning things, but… life does happen, and plans can at least serve as a loose guide to navigation. So, plan that you will be a parent who is sensitive to your child’s needs and will work to recognize them.
Practice emotion detection. Work on that. It doesn’t come easily to everyone because the past is prologue to what we’re capable of in the present. Ask yourself deliberately what your child’s emotion is communicating because behavior is communication. Be the grownup, even if sometimes, the wailing makes you want your mommy. As one study I found notes, “Crying is an aversive behavior.” Yes, maybe it makes you want to cover your ears and run away screaming. But you’re the grownup with the analytical tools at hand to ask “Why” and seek the answer.
Have infant-oriented goals. If you tend to orient your goals in your parent–child dyad toward a child-related benefit (relieve distress) rather than toward a parent-oriented goal (fitting your schedule in some way), research suggests that your dyad will be a much calmer and better mutually adapted dyad.
Trust yourself and keep trying. If your efforts to read your child’s feelings or respond to your child’s needs don’t work right away, don’t give up, don’t read Time magazine covers, and don’t listen to that little voice in your head saying you’re a bad parent or the voice in other people’s heads screaming that at you. Just keep trying. It’s all any of us can do, and we’re all going to screw this up here and there.
Practice behaviors that are supportive of an infant’s sensory needs. For example, positive inputs like a warm voice and smiling are considered more effective than a harsh voice or being physically intrusive. Put yourself in your child’s place and ask, How would that feel? That’s called empathy.
Engage in reciprocation. Imitating back your infant’s voice or faces, or showing joint attention–all forms of joint engagement–are ways of telling an infant or young child that yes, you are the anchor here, the one to trust, and really good time, to boot. Allowing this type of attention to persist as long as the infant chooses rather than shifting away from it quickly is associated with making the child comfortable with independence and learning to regulate behaviors.
Talk to your child. We are generally a chatty species, but we also need to learn to chat. “Rich language input” is important in early child development beginning with that early imitation of your infant’s vocalizations.
Lather, rinse, repeat, adjusting dosage as necessary based on age, weight, developmental status, nanosecond-rate changes in family dynamics and emotional conditions, the teen years, and whether or not you have access to chocolate. See? This stuff is easy.
As you read these lists and about research on attachment, you’ll see words like “secure” and “warm” and “intimate” and “safe.” Are you doing this for your child or doing your best to do it? Then you are, indeed, mom enough, whether you wear your baby or those shoes or both. That doesn’t mean that when you tell other women the specifics of your parenting tactics, they won’t secretly be criticizing you. Sure, we’ll all do that. And then a toddler will cry, we’ll drop it, and move on to mutually compatible things.
Yes, if we’re being honest, it makes most of us feel better to think that somehow, in some way, we’re kicking someone else’s ass in the parenting department. Unfortunately for that lowly human instinct, we’re all parenting unique individuals, and while we may indeed kick ass uniquely for them, our techniques simply won’t extend to all other children. It’s not a war. It’s human… humans raising other humans. Not one thing we do, one philosophy we follow, will guarantee the outcome we intend. We don’t even need science, for once, to tell us that.