Bra-less Leaders

I view myself as a whole self who just happens to be the gender that, culturally, legally, religiously, and physically, is a less-than.

I was once hired to enter data into a company’s computer inventory system, but as soon as it became obvious I was capable of more, I was invited into the Vice President’s office.

His goal was to teach me Lotus. And place his hand on my knee. Whenever I struggled with something, he would scooch over closer next to me, chair to chair, shoulder to shoulder, lean in and point to the monitor. It was gross.

I needed the job.

He was a Christian man, with a family. I discovered that all the women in the company knew I was his pet female. My reward for tolerating his flirting and eyeballing me whenever it was time to train me was to rise up quickly in my position with the company and be given opportunities to learn more about computers. I was his trusted advisor, who handled the installation of new software and after six years, somehow managed to train him to respect me.

“Our results showed interesting trends as low-cut dresses significantly influenced the choice of the recruiters, even for accounting positions,” said Dr Kertechian. — Women who wear low-cut tops on job applications 5 times more likely to get interview

I Have Big Breasts

It’s the first thing men notice when they see me, although their habits have noticeably changed as I’ve grown older. In my 30’s, my man-friends told me, “I noticed you right away,” and when I asked for clarification they would say, “I was impressed with your rack.”

At which point I would ask them to imagine jogging mile after mile with a jiggly shelf on their chest. “Close your eyes, damn it,” I would say, “And try to stay balanced with a 10-pound rack on your chest.” This, I tell them, is why I don’t run. It not only hurts like hell, but I refuse to be anyone’s entertainment.

Big and Tall Men Shirts

I have always hidden myself from view. Even in the 70’s when I had a killer body, I wore my Dad’s work shirts that he no longer wanted. I don’t remember what started that. When I was 16 or 17 years old, my date came to pick me up for the movies and seeing me wearing one of his mammoth crisply ironed office shirts, my Dad inquired as to why. I mumbled some excuse about being comfortable, but in reality, the very last thing I had any clue about was how to be sexy. I wanted to see the movie.

I still wear oversized shirts.

Why? Because we live in a society that believes what a woman wears invites rape or gets her a job.

Horny Politicians

For five years I worked for Republican lobbyists and state government departments. In every single position, I was sexually harassed by men. My value was more about my appearance than being skilled at whatever I was hired to do.

In those days I wore dresses and heels to work because I needed to look professional. For the record, I can’t walk in heels and the only reason there is one dress in my closet today is because I needed it for a fancy dinner at my last job. I don’t have a dress body. But I used to.

For one lobbying firm my boss was usually traveling and I was alone, which suited me fine because he made me extremely uncomfortable whenever he was in the office. It’s something you sense. He would stare at me when he thought I didn’t notice. Every time he saw me, his eyes traveled up and down, head to toe, as if I was being screened at an airport. Before I was fired for “Not dressing properly,” (for a job in which nobody but politicians came to the office, and I was most often alone), I had the pleasure of being invited to help one man, who was running for a local county office position, put up voting signs.

The thing was this. He wanted me to come with him to hammer his signs in country fields at night and would I mind if we had a little roll in the dirt while doing so? He was married. With kids. I refused. And was fired soon afterwards.

In the United States, sexual harassment in employment, housing (harassment by a landlord or building manager), or academia is illegal. — http://www.feminist.org/911/harasswhatdo.html

Since my job interview for that position took place over lunch in a bar, with drinks, I should have known been wiser. I was referred to that lobbyist by other lobbyists I worked for. This is how they roll.

There is a reason why women are standing up more and more to sexual harassment on the job. It’s not something females make up, like an imaginary friend with benefits. It doesn’t impress smart women when men associate with men who sexually harass women. One such man is running for President of the USA.

Conferences and Boobs

I remember how awful I felt at a search engine marketing conference I attended. I was reporting on the event and talks and decided to wear a low cut shirt, which I don’t normally do. My cleavage was an easy mark by every man who came into the press room. Surrounded with laptops, cell phones, printed programs, schedules and cables, I nevertheless apparently was conducting “show and tell” class, or at least show. Someone took a picture of me and fellow reporters. It’s the one where I held my backpack up over my breasts.

Years later, as a conference speaker, I tortured myself to near insanity over what to wear. Jeans and barefoot are my natural state. During a brief stint when I wasn’t self-employed, I traveled with the company I worked for. As the oldest person in the group, I was keenly aware of my position as that older woman, surrounded by my female team mates who packed every possible assortment of sexy, slinky gorgeous piece of material large enough to cover their middle section and leaving the top and bottom open for a tantalizing view. I couldn’t decide if I envied them or feared them.

In the end, I wore my black leggings and a shirt large enough to let a hurricane blow through with no obstructions, and carried my camera around to look busy.

IT Dudes Don’t Give a Shit

The only men I get along with are IT guys. For reasons I don’t truly understand, most of my male friends are geeks who love code, the sciences, computers and women who can carry on a conversation with them about code, the sciences and computers.

I have so many of these man-friends that they are like brothers to me. Many of them are my mentors, who at no time ever spoke down to me. None of them cared what I wore. I could have been naked in the room and if they bothered to lift their head from their keyboard, they’d say, “Hey, Kim. Whassup?” and return to whatever they were doing.

When I worked in software testing, the entire IT floor contained 95% men and the rest were me and a few females the guys ignored. I was a single mom then and willing to work the exact same crazy hours my team and related departments did. When my son broke his collar bone, I didn’t take the day off. I brought him with me to work, where the IT guys played ball and did “man to boy things” with him until I took him for his Doctor’s appointment. I didn’t need to worry about being a mom, or single woman with breasts.

In IT, I was simply one of them.

Booth Babes and Job Interviews

There is a guideline somewhere for trade shows that says, “If you want to attract people to your booth, hire half naked women.” Just once I wish they would hire half naked men. It would work for me. I could walk up to one of them and pretend he actually cares that I’m there and wants to do all kinds of sexy with me. Isn’t that what the appeal is? The chance to leave one’s body and fantasize?

It’s so sad and desperate of a tradition and for some of us, a huge signal about the company’s brand and attitudes towards women.

Out of 200 sales job queries, the woman wearing a low-cut top attracted 62 more interview offers than their more conservatively dressed counterpart. — Here’s What Happens When You Wear a Low-Cut Top in Your Job Application Photo

Sex Sells (And The Woman Who Taught Me That)

Back in the 80’s, I worked for a small advertising agency associated with one of the lobbying firms I also worked for. My boss was a woman who had her act down pat. Once, when a police officer arrived at her house (I forget why), she got him to forget why he came simply by her voice, eyes and low cut blouse. Her goal was to teach me how to do that.

She taught me how to speak in several different ways, depending on what I wanted to get. I had to re-learn my phone voice. For sales meetings, my skirt was a certain style, color and length and blouse low cut and white, for innocence and purity (aka, virginity). I needed to learn how to shrink my 5 foot 8 inches, 140 pounds down to a softly spoken, graceful, fluid, masterful blob of male manipulation. It included, when I got to that point in my lessons, having sex with clients, which she did and I would not.

She just couldn’t understand why I quit with no notice one day and became a groupie for a local rock band.

Being Sexy, Breasts and a Scale

I can do sexy on purpose if I need to. But for me, sexy on purpose is this kind of built-in setting that will help me or interfere unless I control it. Once, a guy friend said to me, “Kim, you’re leaking sex,” which was why I ended up in a screaming match with a male co-worker who thought I was coming on to him, when I wasn’t.

I view myself as a whole self who just happens to be the gender that, culturally, legally, religiously, and physically, is a less-than. I learned that to become a more-than, rather than a less-than, I would need to look, act and be a specific way. I was born rebellious, so big and tall shirts and mucking horse stalls in bare feet it was.

I once weighed my boobs.

I figured that if they are the first thing about me that makes an impression, I wanted to be able to describe my unique woman gear to anyone interested in understanding their purpose.

Mine breastfed two babies. During that time, they went from Mars to Jupiter in size. So in my boundless curiosity, I removed my nursing bra, grabbed the bathroom scale and placed it on the counter by the sink and plopped those monster milk glands down for their weigh-in.

This is how I know that I was wearing a 10-pound rack on my chest. I didn’t just make that shit up.

Many women lose their breasts to cancer. They lose their hair too. They stop being that object they were their entire lives. They no longer are that less-than, because they have to find a source of power that makes them not only a more-than, but a kick your ass, on purpose being who is missing that one damned visual that made them the less-than female. Without breasts, they are still women.

And women still have to fight for the right to choose what happens with their bodies in a society that casually ignores rape, and where sexual harassment is expected to be endured by all females.

Airbags Crush Breasts

When a woman breaks the glass ceiling, you know it by her Ted talk and new book, not by her work. For the rest of us, there are women’s lunches, women’s groups, women’s conferences and articles featuring just women. Locally, for businesses there are groups created just for women. I can’t tell you how many times I’m invited to a gathering for “ladies” only. I don’t want my breasts and less-than status to be specific criteria.

After my last two forays into working for others, each time ending in disaster, my wounded self-dug in my heels and sulked. I wasn’t sure if I should remain a consultant or find a company that might appreciate a hard worker with 21 years’ experience, or quit. And then I totaled my beloved, under 23,000 miles, blue Hyundai Elantra in a car accident with a telephone pole, crushed my boobs and had a chance to observe and reflect.

The majority of the people who cared that I survived were not in leadership roles in my field, despite my supporting them in their careers or companies. The most offers of support came from women. What surprised me was who I didn’t hear from. That had me analyzing myself, the contributions I thought I made to my field, and my understanding of what a friend is. Was my time really up? Every black, blue, purple and yellow bruise covering my chest and body felt like a literal slap in my face.

My self worth, self confidence and ability to trust, which are my self assault weapons, took aim at me.

And while I healed and thought, work projects began to pile in from new people and companies who have only seen a head shot of me taken from above the chest, a referral or someone who knew of my work and wanted to hire the best person for the job.

I imagine I’ll write a book too someday, and deliver a Ted Talk wearing a big and tall men’s shirt.

I will be bra-less.