Daughters, Mistakes, Manbassadors: Spending A Day With The 3%
I cried when we found out we were having a girl. The whole idea of having a third child was predicated on the chance that it’d be a girl. We had two boys — so if we *failed* and ended up with another boy, we already knew the drill. We had the clothes. We had the blankets and nursery decor. Another boy would be easier, cheaper, more comfortable. I had talked myself into it.
That afternoon, however, I didn’t dare look at the ultrasound screen. Maybe I was terrified to see a blurry, black-and-white penis, but my head was down when I heard the technician say it. You’re going to have a girl. I didn’t expect the tears. And not because I don’t cry. I cry. All the time. But the way I remember it now, I’m not sure it was crying. The tears just happened. I looked at my wife. A girl.
All this is to say that I love my daughter. She’ll be five years old in a few weeks and my life is infinitely better because of her. She welcomes me home with skips, jumps and squeals. She always wants to ride in my car. She makes up ridiculous nicknames for me. (For the last month, I’ve been “Cabby.”) She’s smart. She’s funny. She’s a wild animal. She’s beautiful. I have no doubt she can do anything, everything.
Attending the 3% Conference (at least the mini-conference version held here in Portland, Oregon last week) is a lot of things. It’s uplifting and somehow also discouraging. It’s packed with insights but also light on prescriptive solutions. (Even the great Dan Wieden said, “I don’t have any answers.”) Being one of only a few dozen men in attendance made the cognitive and emotional rollercoaster even more dramatic. I was heralded as part of the solution (a Manbassador!) while also being painfully aware that I was the source of the problem (a man!).
Does that sound terrible? I hope not. Because the type of discomfort I experienced at the 3% Mini-Conference is exactly what I needed. Without taking a real count, I’d estimate that less than 10% of the attendees were men. So I felt uncomfortable. I didn’t say things that I wanted to say. I didn’t ask questions that I wanted to ask. I stumbled over small talk and spilled a glass of lemonade. That’s exactly the point of the 3% movement, isn’t it? When you are in the minority, it’s harder to contribute as much as you feel you can.
I hope I’m not digging myself an unintentionally thick-headed, sexist hole here, but I can’t stop thinking about what it’s like to be the only female creative director in an agency. Or the only female art director/designer/copywriter/developer/etc on a pitch team or client team or project team. The cause for diversity isn’t just about numbers or about the make-up of our clients’ audiences (although the research and statistics are clear on both of those points). It’s about clearing the pathway for everyone on our teams to deliver the best work possible. And that only happens when the ratios change — when we create environments where everyone feels recognized, supported and understood. It can’t happen soon enough.
This is the part of the story where I’m supposed to call back to the opening paragraphs and say that I’m committed to changing the ratio because I love my daughter. Except that I’m not going to do that. I’ve heard too many men use that line of logic: I care because I have a daughter. It’s flawed rhetoric, for two reasons —
- There’s a sneaky insinuation that having a daughter (or more specifically, being the father of a daughter) makes your contribution more valuable. Or even worse, that having a daughter somehow automatically bestows you with empathy and a desire to effect change. It doesn’t. Having a daughter just means you have a daughter. It’s wonderful, but that’s all.
- If we’re doing this for our daughters, then we’re all in trouble. We have to change the ratio now, not in 18 years when my daughter is looking for her first job. I get the children-are-the-future sentiment, but I worry that it creates a lack of urgency. We can’t let another wave of talented and capable women walk away from our industry out of frustration and dissatisfaction. We can’t wait.
So what do we do about it? We talk about it. We stop sitting on our hands and we write about it. Why did it take me so long to write this? I don’t know. I’m scared? I feel like a fraud? I’m busy looking at spreadsheets? All excuses, none of them reasonable. We push our recruiters to find people in unusual places. We fight with creative directors and hiring managers when they say that the only thing that matters when we hire is “the work.” Of course, the work matters. It always matters. But that’s an incomplete equation. Perspective matters. Approach matters. Experience matters.
No matter how we feel about the term “Manbassador,” we embrace it. Then we shut up and listen. We take notes. We recognize our faults and our mistakes — that we’ve been wrong and maybe we’ve been a part of the problem. But, here’s the thing… Every woman at the 3% Conference was ready to move forward, together. That doesn’t mean that discrimination and sexism go unnoticed, undiscussed or unpunished. It just means that we’re ready to do something about it. We’re ready to change.
I’ll leave it at this: We need to hire more women. And not just one or two. Someone at the conference said we need to hire them in bulk, Costco-style. Then we give them room to succeed — the same opportunities we’ve given any of our people. Our daughters will thank us, but they won’t be the reason we’ve done it.
