King of the Type A’s

My name is Lowell Chow and I’m a perfectionist.

Hi Lowell!

I’m very well aware that there are many people here on campus who might call themselves perfectionists. This is Harvard, after all, and there are reasons for our academic successes. Making sure that all of our work is perfect—or as close to perfect as we can get—is a key trait and a necessary skill for any student who wants to have that little bit of an edge over his fellow students, that little something extra that maybe, just maybe, no one else can bring to the table. We probably all know of such people. They seem to be everywhere.

You’ve never seen a perfectionist quite like me.

But first, some clarification. Perfectionism can take many different forms, stemming from different aspects of a person’s personality. Perfectionism in its most extreme form is a manifestation of psychological disorder or neurosis—a symptom of obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), perhaps. People who have this type of perfectionism could take up to 20 minutes to write a check or fill out a simple form because of the compulsive need to check, double-check, triple-check, quadruple-check their work and make sure that it is absolutely mistake-free. Neurotic perfectionists are unable to derive any sense of satisfaction from their efforts, because they are mentally prohibited from ever achieving a state of perfection.

Less extreme or “normal” perfectionists are individuals who can actually derive some sense of satisfaction from their work. I’d like to believe myself to be in this second category. I’m not neurotic—I simply demand the highest quality of work from myself, and I set high standards and strive to fulfill them.

In my Science A-36 class, “Observing the Sun and the Stars,” we have to perform six laboratory experiments and do a lab report for each one. In class, someone asked the head TF how much time we were expected to spend on each lab report. “Four to eight hours,” he responded. Here are the lab report guidelines (italics mine):

“Lab reports should generally be about 5 pages of text . . . We assume these will all be written on a computer (i.e. not hand-written). Figures may be hand-drawn, though, and no need or extra credit for fancy computer graphics. Some may find it easier/faster to use computer plots (e.g. use Excel), which we welcome.”

Well, guess what? My first lab report was seven pages long, single-spaced, and was accompanied by two illustrations done completely on the computer. Who needs hand-drawn figures when you can include high-resolution vector graphics from Adobe Illustrator outputted in EPS format for inclusion in a PostScript document? Who wants to use ordinary ol’ Microsoft Word and Excel when you can use PSTricks and LaTeX to generate book-quality pages? Who wants to spend four to eight hours cranking out this lab report when you can spend nine to fourteen hours—all in a row—to make sure that all the equations are aligned exactly at the equal signs and that every floating table is separated from the adjacent text by exactly 24 points (or a third of an inch)?

Excessive? Maybe. But I was rewarded with my instructor’s comments in the margins: “Good!” next to the symbol of the sun which is not available in any standard font. “Nice sketch” next to the Illustrator graphic of a sketch of the equipment setup. “Good!” again next to the PostScript-generated graph that is far fancier than anything Excel could make. “Well laid out!” as a general comment at the end of the report, right next to the big fat number telling me that I got full credit on this lab.

Could I have gotten full credit even without the elaborately formatted tables and painstakingly crafted illustrations? Sure. But that would not have been realizing my potential. I have the tools and the skills, so why not use them, even if it does mean spending an extra few hours or so working on the lab report? I was concurrently watching Game Seven of the ALCS between the Red Sox and Yankees anyway, so it’s not like I was wasting my time; I was simply making more efficient use of it.

My penchant for perfection extends beyond the classroom too. Here, within the walls of The Harvard Crimson, I oversee all things photography-related (that’s in my job description) as well as many things design-, layout-, and production-related (not in my job description). Once upon a time last spring, a designer had done a cutout of a person in a photograph—that is, he removed the background of the photo, leaving only the person’s figure. Or at least, he attempted to.

“That cutout edge is really unclean,” I said. “I can still see specks of the background.”

“So?” the designer said. “No one will notice, and no one cares.”

“Well, I will notice, and I will care.” And with that, I grabbed the mouse and redid the cutout, removing every last bit of the background until all that was left was a perfect silhouette of Steve Sandvoss, ready for the front page of the April 9, 2004 Arts section.

This was not some isolated example. I have many nicknames here at 14 Plympton. “Photo Credit Nazi.” “Pica Nazi.” (A pica is a measurement of length, equal to approximately one-sixth of an inch.) “Grammar Nazi.” “Cutout Nazi.” Even something as obscure as “Drop Shadow Nazi.” Confused? Ask anyone who’s worked with me—they could tell you all about it.

The other day I was observing a designer move text boxes around a document, playing with the sizes and the shapes to try to find the most aesthetically pleasing arrangement of text for the front page of the Monday sports section. Finally, she found it, let go of the mouse, and sat back, pleased.

“You know, Irene,” I said, “you spent way too much time doing that.”

She just glared back at me and said, “You should talk.”

I admit that being a perfectionist sometimes means that I have to sacrifice a lot in order to satisfy my own high standards—sleep, efficiency, maybe a little bit of sanity. But look what I can do! How many humanities concentrators (I’m in history) know how to use LaTeX, BibTeX, and PSTricks—professional software used in math and sciences—to typeset their term papers? (Microsoft Word is for amateurs.) How many people can just glance at a document and be able to tell that the text is Times Roman 11.5 point instead of 12? How many people can tell the difference between Times Roman and Times New Roman? I’m guessing not many, so I’m a member of a proud few.

Laugh if you want, my papers are beautiful. And perfect.

Lowell K. Chow ’06 is a history concentrator in Eliot House. He spent all of last night making sure that the picture frames hanging on his wall were exactly 14 inches apart.