Enough About Us. What About Them?

"I'm a Rorschach test," Hillary Clinton said of herself, describing the ways Americans projected their own hopes, anxieties and fears about women onto her lightly padded shoulders. Having spent the past two months—dear God, has it been only two months?—bonking each other over the heads with our gender differences, race differences, income and education disparities, Clinton and Obama supporters may not have learned all that much about their candidates. But we sure do know a lot about ourselves.

Democratic women now recognize all of the invisible fault lines between first-wave, second-wave and third-wave feminists, the post-feminists, the "shoulder pad" feminists, the Obama Girl feminists, the angry feminists and the medicated ones. Having turned the entire primary season into a protracted exercise in group therapy, we have explored, deconstructed and shared our collective way into a fog of gender enlightenment. Gloria Steinem has scolded us, Robin Morgan has disowned us, and "Saturday Night Live" has called us the B word. It took the women in Ohio and Texas and Vermont and Rhode Island to remind us that group therapy isn't a luxury everyone can afford.

As has been the case throughout the primary season, women broke big for Clinton again last Tuesday. In Ohio particularly, Clinton took two out of every three white women, and that split may have had less to do with internecine debates between soccer moms and tae kwon do moms than with working-class moms fretting about health insurance for the twins.

In Ohio, where a third of voters are working class, 58 percent of Democrats said the economy was the most important issue to them, and they broke for Clinton. In both Texas and Ohio, Clinton took voters with no more than high-school diplomas by margins of six in 10. In Ohio she took workers earning less than $50,000 a year. None of which means Clinton is necessarily better for those who worry about the economy. It does suggest that those folks care more about their wallets than her pantsuits.

For months we've been watching a primary campaign in which voters—like adolescents on a first date—cannot seem to stop talking and thinking about themselves. The novelty of all these Firsts led us to line up behind the candidates that look most like us: blacks and young people continue to vote for Obama. Women and folks over 50 continue to support Clinton. But just as relationships tend to transition from the early fizz when all you can see is yourself reflected in your partner's eyes, so too is this contest changing into a more sober scrutiny of the guy across the table. And for every woman who experiences sexist attacks against Clinton as echoes of the obnoxious boss who asked her to make coffee in 1986, there must be tens of women who still bring him that coffee every day, then head out for the night shift.

Perhaps the 2008 primary season will settle, once and for all, this question of whether identity politics is a luxury item or a necessity. And if it's truly a luxury item, maybe like the mink stole, it's on its way out. Perhaps at the end of all these months of peering in the mirror, we can stop looking for the candidate who embodies every slight and insult we've ever encountered, and contemplate which of them is better suited to govern. To be sure, the policy differences between Obama and Clinton may be slight. But there are differences of temperament and character that have nothing whatsoever to do with race or gender.