Lean In Part 2

For women, feeling like a fraud is a symptom of a greater problem. We consistently underestimate ourselves. Multiple studies in multiple industries show that women often judge their own performance as worse than it actually is, while men judge their own performance as better than it actually is. a.s.sessments of students in a surgery rotation found that when asked to evaluate themselves, the female students gave themselves lower scores than the male students despite faculty evaluations that showed the women outperformed the men.4 A survey of several thousand potential political candidates revealed that despite having comparable credentials, the men were about 60 percent more likely to think that they were "very qualified" to run for political office.5 A study of close to one thousand Harvard law students found that in almost every category of skills relevant to practicing law, women gave themselves lower scores than men.6 Even worse, when women evaluate themselves in front of other people or in stereotypically male domains, their underestimations can become even more p.r.o.nounced.7

Ask a man to explain his success and he will typically credit his own innate qualities and skills. Ask a woman the same question and she will attribute her success to external factors, insisting she did well because she "worked really hard," or "got lucky," or "had help from others." Men and women also differ when it comes to explaining failure. When a man fails, he points to factors like "didn't study enough" or "not interested in the subject matter." When a woman fails, she is more likely to believe it is due to an inherent lack of ability.8 And in situations where a man and a woman each receive negative feedback, the woman's self-confidence and self-esteem drop to a much greater degree.9 The internalization of failure and the insecurity it breeds hurt future performance, so this pattern has serious long-term consequences.10

And it's not just women who are tough on themselves. Colleagues and the media are also quick to credit external factors for a woman's achievements. When Facebook filed to go public, The New York Times ran an article that kindly reminded me-and everyone else-that I had "been lucky" and "had powerful mentors along the way."11 Journalists and bloggers rose up to highlight the double standard, pointing out that The New York Times rarely ascribed men's success to having been lucky. But the Times didn't say anything that I had not already told myself a thousand times. At every stage of my career, I have attributed my success to luck, hard work, and help from others.

My insecurity began, as most insecurities do, in high school. I attended a big public school in Miami-think Fast Times at Ridgemont High-that was far more concerned with preventing fights in the halls and keeping drugs out of the bathrooms than with academics. When I was accepted into Harvard, many of my high school cla.s.smates asked me why I would want to go to a school filled with geeks. Then they would stop short, remember who they were talking to, and sheepishly walk away without waiting for an answer, realizing they already had it.

Freshman year of college was a huge shock for me. First semester, I took a course called The Concept of the Hero in h.e.l.lenic Civilization, which was nicknamed Heroes for Zeroes. I didn't have a burning desire to study Greek mythology, but it was the easiest way to fulfill the literature requirement. The professor began the first lecture by asking which students had read these books before. I whispered to my friend next to me, "What books?" "The Iliad and The Odyssey, of course," she replied. Almost every single hand went up. Not mine. The professor then asked, "And who has read these books in the original?" "What original?" I asked my friend. "Homeric Greek," she replied. A good third of the cla.s.s kept their hands up. It seemed pretty clear that I was one of the zeroes.

A few weeks later, my professor of political philosophy a.s.signed a five-page paper. I was panicked. Five whole pages! I had only written one paper of that length in high school, and it was a year-long project. How could anyone write five pages in just one week? I stayed in every night, plugging away, and based on the time I put in, I should have gotten an A for effort. I got a C. It is virtually impossible to get a C at Harvard if the a.s.signment is turned in. I am not exaggerating-this was the equivalent of a failing grade. I went to see my dorm proctor, who worked at the admissions office. She told me that I had been admitted to Harvard for my personality, not my academic potential. Very comforting.

I buckled down, worked harder, and by the end of the semester, I learned how to write five-page papers. But no matter how well I did academically, I always felt like I was about to get caught for not really knowing anything. It wasn't until I heard the Phi Beta Kappa speech about self-doubt that it struck me: the real issue was not that I felt like a fraud, but that I could feel something deeply and profoundly and be completely wrong.

I should have understood that this kind of self-doubt was more common for females from growing up with my brother. David is two years younger than I am and one of the people in the world whom I respect and love the most. At home, he splits child care duties with his wife fifty-fifty; at work, he's a pediatric neurosurgeon whose days are filled with heart-wrenching life-and-death decisions. Although we had the same upbringing, David has always been more confident. Once, back in high school, we both had Sat.u.r.day night dates who canceled on us in the late afternoon. I spent the rest of the weekend moping around the house, wondering what was wrong with me. David laughed off the rejection, announcing, "That girl missed out on a great thing," and went off to play basketball with his friends. Luckily, I had my younger sister, wise and empathetic way beyond her years, to console me.

A few years later, David joined me at college. When I was a senior and he was a soph.o.m.ore, we took a cla.s.s in European intellectual history together. My roommate, Carrie, also took the cla.s.s, which was a huge help since she was a comparative literature major. Carrie went to all of the lectures and read all ten of the a.s.signed books-in the original languages (and by then, I knew what those were). I went to almost all of the lectures and read all of the books-in English. David went to two lectures, read one book, and then marched himself up to our room to get tutored for the final exam. We all sat together for the test, scribbling furiously for three hours in our little blue books. When we walked out, we asked one another how it went. I was upset. I had forgotten to connect the Freudian id to Schopenhauer's conception of the will. Carrie, too, was concerned and confessed that she hadn't adequately explained Kant's distinction between the sublime and the beautiful. We turned to my brother. How did he feel about the test? "I got the flat one," he announced. "The flat one?" we asked. "Yeah," he said, "the flat A."

He was right. He did get the flat one. Actually, we all got flat A's on the exam. My brother was not overconfident. Carrie and I were overly insecure.

These experiences taught me that I needed to make both an intellectual and an emotional adjustment. I learned over time that while it was hard to shake feelings of self-doubt, I could understand that there was a distortion. I would never possess my brother's effortless confidence, but I could challenge the notion that I was constantly headed for failure. When I felt like I was not capable of doing something, I'd remind myself that I did not fail all of my exams in college. Or even one. I learned to undistort the distortion.

We all know supremely confident people who have no right to feel that way. We also all know people who could do so much more if only they believed in themselves. Like so many things, a lack of confidence can become a self-fulfilling prophecy. I don't know how to convince anyone to believe deep down that she is the best person for the job, not even myself. To this day, I joke that I wish I could spend a few hours feeling as self-confident as my brother. It must feel so, so good-like receiving a cosmic flat one every day.

When I don't feel confident, one tactic I've learned is that it sometimes helps to fake it. I discovered this when I was an aerobics instructor in the 1980s (which meant a silver leotard, leg warmers, and a shiny headband, all of which went perfectly with my big hair). Influenced by the gospel of Jane Fonda, aerobics also meant smiling solidly for a full hour. Some days, the smile came naturally. Other days, I was in a lousy mood and had to fake it. Yet after an hour of forced smiling, I often felt cheerful.

Many of us have experienced being angry with someone and then having to pretend everything's great in public. My husband, Dave, and I have our moments, and just when we are getting into it, it will be time to go to a friend's house for dinner. We put on our "everything's great" smiles, and amazingly, after a few hours, it often is.

Research backs up this "fake it till you feel it" strategy. One study found that when people a.s.sumed a high-power pose (for example, taking up s.p.a.ce by spreading their limbs) for just two minutes, their dominance hormone levels (testosterone) went up and their stress hormone levels (cortisol) went down. As a result, they felt more powerful and in charge and showed a greater tolerance for risk. A simple change in posture led to a significant change in att.i.tude.12

I would not suggest that anyone move beyond feeling confident into arrogance or boastfulness. No one likes that in men or women. But feeling confident-or pretending that you feel confident-is necessary to reach for opportunities. It's a cliche, but opportunities are rarely offered; they're seized. During the six and a half years I worked at Google, I hired a team of four thousand employees. I did not know all of them personally, but I knew the top hundred or so. What I noticed over the years was that for the most part, the men reached for opportunities much more quickly than the women. When we announced the opening of a new office or the launch of a new project, the men were banging down my door to explain why they should lead the charge. Men were also more likely to chase a growth opportunity even before a new opening was announced. They were impatient about their own development and believed that they were capable of doing more. And they were often right-just like my brother. The women, however, were more cautious about changing roles and seeking out new challenges. I often found myself trying to persuade them to work in new areas. I have had countless conversations where women responded to this encouragement by saying, "I'm just not sure I'd be good at that." Or "That sounds exciting, but I've never done anything like it before." Or "I still have a lot to learn in my current role." I rarely, if ever, heard these kinds of comments from men.

Given how fast the world moves today, grabbing opportunities is more important than ever. Few managers have the time to carefully consider all the applicants for a job, much less convince more reticent people to apply. And increasingly, opportunities are not well defined but, instead, come from someone jumping in to do something. That something then becomes his job.

When I first joined Facebook, I was working with a team to answer the critical question of how best to grow our business. The conversations were getting heated, with many people arguing their own positions strongly. We ended the week without consensus. Dan Rose, leader of our deal team, spent the weekend gathering market data that allowed us to reframe the conversation in a.n.a.lytics. His effort broke the logjam. I then expanded Dan's responsibilities to include product marketing. Taking initiative pays off. It is hard to visualize someone as a leader if she is always waiting to be told what to do.

Padmasree Warrior, Cisco's chief technology officer, was asked by The Huffington Post, "What's the most important lesson you've learned from a mistake you've made in the past?" She responded, "I said no to a lot of opportunities when I was just starting out because I thought, 'That's not what my degree is in' or 'I don't know about that domain.' In retrospect, at a certain point it's your ability to learn quickly and contribute quickly that matters. One of the things I tell people these days is that there is no perfect fit when you're looking for the next big thing to do. You have to take opportunities and make an opportunity fit for you, rather than the other way around. The ability to learn is the most important quality a leader can have."13

Virginia Rometty, IBM's first female CEO, told the audience at the 2011 Fortune Most Powerful Women Summit that early in her career, she was offered a "big job." She worried that she lacked the proper experience and told the recruiter that she needed to think about it. That night, she discussed the offer with her husband, who pointed out, "Do you think a man would have ever answered that question that way?"

"What it taught me was you have to be very confident," Ginni said. "Even though you're so self-critical inside about what it is you may or may not know. And that, to me, leads to taking risks."14

I continue to be alarmed not just at how we as women fail to put ourselves forward, but also at how we fail to notice and correct for this gap. And that "we" includes me. A few years ago, I gave a talk on gender issues to a few hundred employees at Facebook. After my speech, I took questions for as long as time permitted. Later that afternoon, I came back to my desk, where a young woman was waiting to talk to me. "I learned something today," she said. "What?" I asked, feeling good, as I figured she was about to tell me how my words had touched her. Instead, she said, "I learned to keep my hand up." She explained that toward the end of my talk, I had said that I would take only two more questions. I did so, and then she put her hand down, along with all of the other women. But several men kept their hands up. And since hands were still waving in the air, I took more questions-only from the men. Instead of my words touching her, her words. .h.i.t me like a ton of bricks. Even though I was giving a speech on gender issues, I had been blind to one myself.

If we want a world with greater equality, we need to acknowledge that women are less likely to keep their hands up. We need inst.i.tutions and individuals to notice and correct for this behavior by encouraging, promoting, and championing more women. And women have to learn to keep their hands up, because when they lower them, even managers with the best intentions might not notice.

When I first started working for Larry Summers, then chief economist at the World Bank, he was married to a tax attorney, Vicki. He was very supportive of Vicki's career and used to urge her to "bill like a boy." His view was that the men considered any time they spent thinking about an issue-even time in the shower-as billable hours. His wife and her female colleagues, however, would decide that they were not at their best on a given day and discount hours they spent at their desks to be fair to the client. Which lawyers were more valuable to that firm? To make his point, Larry told them the story of a renowned Harvard Law School professor who was asked by a judge to itemize a bill. The professor responded that he could not because he was so often thinking about two things at once.

Even now, I'm a long way from mastering the art of feeling confident. In August 2011, Forbes put out its annual World's 100 Most Powerful Women list.15 I'm savvy enough to know that the list wasn't based on a scientific formula and that magazines love these features because they generate lots of page views as readers click through each name. Still, I was shocked-no, horrified-to learn that Forbes ranked me as the fifth most powerful woman in the world, right after German chancellor Angela Merkel, Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, Brazilian president Dilma Rousseff, and the CEO of PepsiCo, Indra Nooyi. This put me ahead of First Lady Mich.e.l.le Obama and Indian politician Sonia Gandhi. Absurd. My own mother called to say, "Well, dear, I do think you are very powerful, but I am not sure you are more powerful than Mich.e.l.le Obama." You think?

Far from feeling powerful, I felt embarra.s.sed and exposed. When colleagues at Facebook stopped me in the halls to say congratulations, I p.r.o.nounced the list "ridiculous." When friends posted the link on Facebook, I asked them to take it down. After a few days, my longtime executive a.s.sistant, Camille Hart, summoned me into a conference room and closed the door. This was serious. She told me that I was handling the Forbes thing poorly and that I needed to stop subjecting anyone who brought up the list to a diatribe on its absurdity. I was showing too many people how uncomfortable I felt and revealing my insecurity. Instead, I needed to simply say, "Thank you."

We all need colleagues like Camille, who was honest enough to point out my less-than-gracious response. She was right. Whether the list was ridiculous or not, I didn't write it and I didn't have to react negatively to it. I doubt a man would have felt so overwhelmed by others' perception of his power.

I know that my success comes from hard work, help from others, and being at the right place at the right time. I feel a deep and enduring sense of grat.i.tude to those who have given me opportunities and support. I recognize the sheer luck of being born into my family in the United States rather than one of the many places in the world where women are denied basic rights. I believe that all of us-men and women alike-should acknowledge good fortune and thank the people who have helped us. No one accomplishes anything all alone.

But I also know that in order to continue to grow and challenge myself, I have to believe in my own abilities. I still face situations that I fear are beyond my capabilities. I still have days when I feel like a fraud. And I still sometimes find myself spoken over and discounted while men sitting next to me are not. But now I know how to take a deep breath and keep my hand up. I have learned to sit at the table.

3

Success and Likeability

OKAY, so all a woman has to do is ignore society's expectations, be ambitious, sit at the table, work hard, and then it's smooth sailing all the way. What could possibly go wrong?

In 2003, Columbia Business School professor Frank Flynn and New York University professor Cameron Anderson ran an experiment to test perceptions of men and women in the workplace.1 They started with a Harvard Business School case study about a real-life entrepreneur named Heidi Roizen. The case described how Roizen became a successful venture capitalist by using her "outgoing personality ... and vast personal and professional network [that] included many of the most powerful business leaders in the technology sector."2 Flynn and Anderson a.s.signed half of the students to read Heidi's story and gave the other half the same story with just one difference-they changed the name "Heidi" to "Howard."

Professors Flynn and Anderson then polled the students about their impressions of Heidi or Howard. The students rated Heidi and Howard as equally competent, which made sense since "their" accomplishments were completely identical. Yet while students respected both Heidi and Howard, Howard came across as a more appealing colleague. Heidi, on the other hand, was seen as selfish and not "the type of person you would want to hire or work for." The same data with a single difference-gender-created vastly different impressions.

This experiment supports what research has already clearly shown: success and likeability are positively correlated for men and negatively correlated for women.3 When a man is successful, he is liked by both men and women. When a woman is successful, people of both genders like her less. This truth is both shocking and unsurprising: shocking because no one would ever admit to stereotyping on the basis of gender and unsurprising because clearly we do.

Decades of social science studies have confirmed what the Heidi/Howard case study so blatantly demonstrates: we evaluate people based on stereotypes (gender, race, nationality, and age, among others).4 Our stereotype of men holds that they are providers, decisive, and driven. Our stereotype of women holds that they are caregivers, sensitive, and communal. Because we characterize men and women in opposition to each other, professional achievement and all the traits a.s.sociated with it get placed in the male column. By focusing on her career and taking a calculated approach to ama.s.sing power, Heidi violated our stereotypical expectations of women. Yet by behaving in the exact same manner, Howard lived up to our stereotypical expectations of men. The end result? Liked him, disliked her.

I believe this bias is at the very core of why women are held back. It is also at the very core of why women hold themselves back. For men, professional success comes with positive reinforcement at every step of the way. For women, even when they're recognized for their achievements, they're often regarded unfavorably. Journalist Shankar Vedantam once cataloged the derogatory descriptions of some of the first female world leaders. "England's Margaret Thatcher," he wrote, "was called 'Attila the Hen.' Golda Meir, Israel's first female Prime Minister, was 'the only man in the Cabinet.' President Richard Nixon called Indira Gandhi, India's first female Prime Minister, 'the old witch.' And Angela Merkel, the current chancellor of Germany, has been dubbed 'the iron frau.' "5

I have seen this dynamic play out over and over. When a woman excels at her job, both male and female coworkers will remark that she may be accomplishing a lot but is "not as well-liked by her peers." She is probably also "too aggressive," "not a team player," "a bit political," "can't be trusted," or "difficult." At least, those are all things that have been said about me and almost every senior woman I know. The world seems to be asking why we can't be less like Heidi and more like Howard.

Most women have never heard of the Heidi/Howard study. Most of us are never told about this downside of achievement. Still, we sense this punishment for success. We're aware that when a woman acts forcefully or compet.i.tively, she's deviating from expected behavior. If a woman pushes to get the job done, if she's highly competent, if she focuses on results rather than on pleasing others, she's acting like a man. And if she acts like a man, people dislike her. In response to this negative reaction, we temper our professional goals. Author Ken Auletta summarized this phenomenon in The New Yorker when he observed that for women, "self-doubt becomes a form of self-defense."6 In order to protect ourselves from being disliked, we question our abilities and downplay our achievements, especially in the presence of others. We put ourselves down before others can.

During the summer between my first and second year in business school, I received a letter in the mail congratulating me on becoming a Henry Ford Scholar for having the highest first-year academic record. The check was for $714.28, an odd number that immediately signaled that several students had split the prize. When we returned to school for our second year, six men let it be known that they had won this award. I multiplied my check by seven and it revealed a nearly round number. Mystery solved. There were seven of us-six men and me.

Unlike the other six winners, I didn't let my award status become general knowledge. I told only my closest friend, Stephen Paul, and knew he would keep my secret. On the surface, this decision might have worked against me, since grades at Harvard Business School are based 50 percent on cla.s.s partic.i.p.ation. Professors teach ninety-minute cla.s.ses and are not allowed to write anything down, so they have to rely on their memory of cla.s.s discussion. When a student makes a comment that others refer to-"If I can build on what Tom said ..."-that helps the professor remember the critical points and who made them. Just as in real life, performance is highly dependent upon the reaction people have to one another. The other six Ford Scholars quickly became the most-quoted speakers as their academic standing gave them instant credibility. They also received early job offers from prestigious employers before the official recruiting period even began. One day in cla.s.s, one of the exalted six made a comment that, to my mind, demonstrated that he had not even read the case being discussed. Everyone fawned all over him. I wondered if I was making a huge mistake not letting people know that I was the seventh student. It would have been nice to float through my second year of business school without even reading the material.

But I never really considered going public. I instinctively knew that letting my academic performance become known was a bad idea. Years later, when I learned about the Heidi/Howard case study, I understood the reason why. Being at the top of the cla.s.s may have made life easier for my male peers, but it would have made my life harder.

I did not reach this conclusion in a vacuum. All through my life, culturally reinforced signals cautioned me against being branded as too smart or too successful. It starts young. As a girl, you know that being smart is good in lots of ways, but it doesn't make you particularly popular or attractive to boys. In school, I was called the "smartest girl in the cla.s.s." I hated that description. Who wants to go to the prom with the smartest girl in the cla.s.s? Senior year, my cla.s.s voted me "most likely to succeed," along with a boy. I wasn't going to take any chances with the prom, so I convinced my friend, who worked on the yearbook, to remove my name. I got a prom date who was fun and loved sports. In fact, he loved sports so much that two days before the prom, he canceled on me to go to a basketball game, saying, "I know you'll understand since going to the playoffs is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity." I did not point out that as a high school girl, I thought going to the prom was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Luckily, I found a new date who was less of a sports fan.

I never really thought about why I went to such efforts to mute my achievements from such a young age. Then, about ten years after I graduated from business school, I was seated at dinner next to Deborah Gruenfeld, a professor of leadership and organizational behavior at Stanford, and our friendly small talk quickly turned into an intense discussion. Having studied this issue, Professor Gruenfeld was able to explain the price women pay for success. "Our entrenched cultural ideas a.s.sociate men with leadership qualities and women with nurturing qualities and put women in a double bind," she said. "We believe not only that women are nurturing, but that they should be nurturing above all else. When a woman does anything that signals she might not be nice first and foremost, it creates a negative impression and makes us uncomfortable."7

If a woman is competent, she does not seem nice enough. If a woman seems really nice, she is considered more nice than competent. Since people want to hire and promote those who are both competent and nice, this creates a huge stumbling block for women. Acting in stereotypically feminine ways makes it difficult to reach for the same opportunities as men, but defying expectations and reaching for those opportunities leads to being judged as undeserving and selfish. Nothing has changed since high school; intelligence and success are not clear paths to popularity at any age. This complicates everything, because at the same time that women need to sit at the table and own their success, doing so causes them to be liked less.8

Most people, myself included, really want to be liked-and not just because it feels good. Being liked is also a key factor in both professional and personal success. A willingness to make an introduction or advocate for or promote someone depends upon having positive feelings about that person. We need to believe in her ability to do the job and get along with everyone while doing it. That's why, instinctively, many of us feel pressure to mute our accomplishments.

In October 2011, Jocelyn Goldfein, one of the engineering directors at Facebook, held a meeting with our female engineers where she encouraged them to share the progress they had made on the products they were building. Silence. No one wanted to toot her own horn. Who would want to speak up when self-promoting women are disliked? Jocelyn switched her approach. Instead of asking the women to talk about themselves, she asked them to tell one another's stories. The exercise became communal, which put everyone at ease.