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The WSJ has this to say about our generation: "A lot of today's young adults feel insecure if they're not regularly complimented."

Let's be honest, WSJ: this is hardly a social insight on the level of...well, actually, from the beer-goggled Lolitas of the hookup generation to the Ivy League virgins who just say no to Oxytocin, it seems like no one over the age of 30 knows jack about our generation. Certainly not the press. Any day now I expect Men's Health to win a Pulitzer for "Dorm Room Confidential" the last line of which reads (I am not making this up) "Remember, college is something you outgrow. College sex is not." Sounds like the sequel to "The Game."

And now the WSJ wants a piece.

So they say we need constant praise. And I'm gonna be honest: this may actually be the truth. The other day I went out with some friends to a bar, and one of my friends hit it off with this one guy, who apparently told her (I know this through hearsay) that she was "intimidatingly beautiful."

Instead of spotting this ass for the Mystery wannabe that he is, I was jealous of my friend's compliment. I wanted it. Seriously, is this what a college education does, turn you into a neurotic, praise-dependent hack?

Then I wondered how long it had been since anyone had said I looked good, and when I realized it was almost three years, I nearly had to seal myself in the ladies' for a self-indulgent sobfest. Ridiculous.

When I was in seventh grade, I went to nerd camp. I loved it. I learned how to pipe genetic code into blue gel and read it, which is, for a seventh grader, a little like conquering Everest. So there I was, one of seven girls in a class of 18. And one night after lights out, my roomie and I are lying on our bunks, and roomie starts complaining about how it annoys her that all the guys in our class are attracted to this one girl. Let's call her Joy, because that was her name. Well, Joy was cute. I did not need menthol blue to show me that.

But then, Roomie starts talking about how said boys had, in fact, made up a numbered list of the girls in our class. Can you imagine what the numbers corresponded to? At any rate, the tragedy of Roomie's hours was that she was ranked #6 on this list, whereas Joy was #1. The other girls, she said, were somewhere in between. She did not say (and did not need to) who was last. Can you guess who was last? I could.

And while this sounds really sad, I can honestly say I did not give a flying fuck at the time. I mean, I had just sequenced DNA! Pile on the haters, as far as I was concerned.

But at my three serious internships, I can recall every compliment I got for my work. They were not effusive, and they came towards the middle or end. I remember when my first boss told me I was a very good writer. I remember when the second told me I did excellent work. I remember when the third told me I had the makings of a great journalist. These compliments came towards the end of the term, and it's true, they resolved whatever performance anxiety I might have felt.

But the thing is: why do I need compliments from anyone? And this is what the WSJ article doesn't really touch on at all. What are compliments? Why was praise invented? I suspect that praise is a form of "social glue." We like people who say good things about us, even things that we know (on our better days) are untrue or grossly exaggerated. If someone said to me that I was "intimidatingly beautiful" or a "phenomenal editor" I would be simultaneously thrilled and weirded out. I know the first is simply not true, and I know the second absolutely is. But to hear it...somehow, it has reached the point where what is said about you is more important than who you are.

But even more importantly, praise is the social network of superficial people. Today I met a girl in the cafeteria. We used to be friends. I'll call her Joy, because although that wasn't her name, she's virtually the same girl I knew a decade ago. The first thing she said to me, after "hello," was "Oh, I like your shoes!"

Did she? Will I ever know? But at that moment I saw through her praise to a cold, hard truth. This girl and I would never like each other. She treated my feelings harshly back when we were friends, and what the hell were shoes when compared to that?

But nonetheless, meaningless praise has become a form of social coin for us, particularly women (I don't know about men). I often praise people I care about. I praise someone when I realize how hard they try to be a good person (a boss who always gives his employees the benefit of the doubt, a friend who bothers to understand your feelings, a professor who tries to keep lectures interesting). But here's one thing I realize, at the end of this article: praise is important. But the people who give it out for no good reason, and the people who rely on it to shore themselves up: well, we're the problem.