The Whitest Legs Contest
On the surgical use of public shaming
You'd think a 32 year old woman would know better. But I didn’t.
Tasked with the management of a “day of creativity” for my work team, I brainstormed all kinds of ideas: longest stubble, craziest pants, games, an outside speaker; all designed to help my colleagues break out of the mental straitjackets we were all in.
(In hindsight the entire exercise was a bad idea. The culture at eBay was so restrictive, so passively-aggressively matrixed, and so savagely cut throat, that I was naive to think anyone would ever let their hair down in such ways without controlled substances. But I digress.)
As a freshly minted MBA with a BFA in theatre, I was eager to prove the value of a fresh perspective. (Those young folks in the audience can probably relate. You're just itching to do it differently, to show those older folks what new ideas can do).
And that’s when I conceived one of the worst ideas of my professional life.
The Whitest Legs Contest
I can scarcely type these words. The shame of this choice burns incredibly bright for me still. But I’m sharing it for a reason. This is the truth: I proposed we have a “whitest legs contest.”
Not long after we announced this, one of my most cherished senior co workers and mentors, Laurence (“Lo”) Toney pulled me aside. Lo is African American.
Lo spoke quietly and ever so gently talked to me, in his own way asking, “Dude, what the fuck?”
And then he talked about what it was like to be African American in Silicon Valley. There were a number of stories, but the one that is most illustrative to me was about our security/reception area. There were only a handful of African American people who worked at eBay at the time. We all had security badges. Some days, it was easy to just forget your badge at home, and most of the time the security teams would just wave us in. But Lo forgot his badge one day, and even though he’d had many, many conversations with the guard in the past, he would not let Lo in without a formal pass. This story was eye opening to me. I had never considered what it might be like for Lo as an African American in Silicon Valley. I didn’t think of myself as a racist, and in fact thought of myself as someone who didn’t see color. How wrong I was.
I listened, with an open mind, an apologetic heart, and a sincere promise to do better; and exited the room graciously forgiven though still feeling incredibly ashamed at my own lack of sensitivity.
I knew what it was like to be a woman in this environment of white Harvard Business School alpha males, how could I do that to someone else? Why hadn’t I thought about it first?
Lo remains a good friend to me, and a mentor. I’m lucky that he didn’t report me to HR (which could have ended my career). I’m lucky that Twitter and Facebook didn’t exist at the time. I doubt Lo would have done this, but another person would have been well within their rights and anger to shame me publicly. Who knows what the results would have been?
Fast forward a decade. A young male coworker of mine sent around a picture of a scantily clad young woman as a joke. I felt my irritation rise, and I felt righteous indignation bubbling up within me. Social media now existed. But I remembered Lo. So I talked with this young man, and I shared my stories with him. I didn’t shame him, report him, or post his words all over social media. But he too apologized, went forth forgiven, and promising to “sin no more.” I was invited to his wedding and we are still friends.
Hopefully you can see what these two stories have in common. Public shaming is a tool that is legitimate and useful—for certain purposes. Like sarcasm and satire, it is best used when pointed up, vs. pointed down. When bad actors refuse to listen, refuse to think and hear, to consider the experience of those with less privilege; they deserve to be called out, especially if they are in positions of power.
But for those I know personally? I’ll stick with the private conversation. I see no reason to shame someone, to potentially end their career for a stupid, thoughtless, careless choice.
There are so many young people now in Silicon Valley who aren’t working for Lo Toneys who will teach them how to be more considerate and thoughtful. But I’m not convinced that means we should be shaming them publicly as a result.
Each conversation is a chance to change the world, to create an ally instead of an enemy. I’m forever grateful to Lo for teaching me that.
If you're a young person with any kind of privilege: race, class, gender, etc; please do yourself a favor and get thoughtful about what you say in public. Find a mentor of a different kind—someone who has less privilege than you. This goes double if you are in any kind of leadership role. Not only will you avoid making stupid, career ending mistakes; you’ll make more friends as a result, and I daresay you’ll be a better human, too.
Thank you to Lo Toney for reading a draft of this piece and allowing me to give him the credit he so richly deserves.
