I am standing in the corridors of power. Literally. I am in the House of Commons, the division bell has just rung and MPs now have eight minutes to reach the lobby to vote. I’m stranded at the top of a staircase as they rush to get there.
It’s a dark winter’s night in late 2016 and the writer Jeanette Winterson is with me. As well as being a novelist, she also owns a shop in Spitalfields and is concerned about the impact that ridiculous new business-rate rises will have on small retailers. We’ve just had a meeting with business secretary Greg Clark to talk about them.
Walking into the House of Commons reminded me of a childhood so Catholic my mother once genuflected by accident in the cinema: she went down on one knee, like Pavlov’s dog, the moment she stepped on the aisle.
Parliament, just like a church, is about much more than bricks and mortar: it encapsulates centuries of history and tradition.
As we stand on the stairs, pinned in place, looking at the politicians rushing below us, I have an idea. ‘Let’s count how many women we can see,’ I say to Jeanette.
Now, this is hardly a scientific experiment. Let’s instead call it a snapshot of a moment in time. Over the next few minutes, Jeanette and I count about 150 male MPs running to the division lobby. I lost track of the exact number – there were so many of them. But I still remember exactly how many women we totted up: nineteen.
Given that we are at the heart of British democracy, I think it says something about how it works.
Once again, women are under-represented: a record 208 female MPs were elected in 2017 but it’s still not even a third of the total 650. And that’s before we start drilling down into what type of woman is represented here and how broadly they reflect the make-up of the British population. Just 4 per cent of all MPs are women of colour, for instance.32
The problem goes even deeper, though, with far fewer women sitting on powerful select committees, and even the journalists reporting on politics being predominantly male.33 The management, communication and decision-making processes in politics are very definitely alpha.
Critics say the way Parliament works is a key reason why few women are attracted into it. The hours are long, unpredictable and hard to combine with family life, for instance. Some 45 per cent of female MPs are childless compared to 28 per cent of male.34
But while these factors contribute, I think the lack of women in the world of politics is about more than long hours or childcare. It’s about a culture that’s so combative and riven with personal attacks that the BBC’s political editor, Laura Kuenssberg, was widely reported to have had a bodyguard when she attended a Labour conference, to protect her from activists who were outraged by her supposed bias against leader Jeremy Corbyn.
You need an extremely tough skin to get involved in politics and compete. And, for me, this relates to the bigger issue of women and leadership, not merely the ability to step up (which we have in spades) but the desire to do so. It requires a belief that the work we do will be recognized, and the voice we bring to the table will be heard.
Progress is certainly being made. Thanks to things like government reviews and campaigning groups like the 30% Club, women’s representation at board level is markedly improving. We now hold 29 per cent of positions on the boards of FTSE 100 companies – compared to just 12 per cent in 2011.35
It’s certainly good progress but there are still many companies without women at the top in significant numbers – and in 2016 women of colour held a paltry thirty-seven of a total 1050 directorships in FTSE 100 companies.36
Just listen to some of the excuses CEOs gave to business minister Andrew Griffiths when he asked them why.
‘There aren’t that many women with the right credentials,’ said one.
‘Most women don’t want the hassle,’ said another.
Other corkers can be summed up as follows: ‘We’ve already got one of those’ and ‘All the good ones have gone’.37
Amanda Mackenzie, chief executive of Business in the Community, said it read like a script from a comedy parody. And she’s right.
So, yes, things are improving – but there’s still a lot of work to do.
It’s obvious that some of us want to be leaders but don’t get the chance because of outdated attitudes.
But I also believe many of us don’t want to be leaders because of a working culture that is hostile to our presence, and requires us to suppress who we really are and behave in ways that often don’t feel comfortable. So there may be some truth in women not wanting the hassle but there hasn’t been enough thought put into why that is, and far from enough work to change it.
That’s why Jeanette and I counted so few women running along that lobby in the House of Commons. The world of politics is a particularly male environment prone to hard-nosed competition and aggression that women must engage in to have a voice. Many are put off – or not accepted.
Bending into the shape required to be a leader in alpha culture wastes a lot of energy. And if all those men rising to the top had to do the same, I’m sure some would be put off climbing there too. Or wouldn’t get there at all.
I am sitting in the Harvey Nichols boardroom. It’s 1993 and I left Topshop four years ago to become head of visual merchandising here – the only woman in the position at any of London’s major department stores.
The boardroom is huge, dominated by a rectangular table surrounded by beige walls hung with equally beige art. I immediately forget what I’ve just looked at after I’ve glanced at it.
I have learned the rules of this room since I arrived here. Where you sit in relation to the CEO says everything about where you are on the ladder of power, for instance, and I’ve done well at moving up it.
Business mogul Sir Dickson Poon bought the store a year after I arrived and appointed Joseph Wan to revitalize its fortunes. Soon I had taken over the marketing and PR departments in addition to visual merchandising, before being promoted to the board as overall creative director aged thirty-one.
It was a question of right time, right place. I had my fighting spirit and lots of ideas when Harvey Nichols needed new thinking. Then I used every trick I’d been taught about alpha culture to carry on climbing upwards. So, I networked not just for the store’s sake but also for my own reputation, made some tough decisions about bringing work in-house by severing ties with respected – but expensive – external consultants, and took on extra work to prove that I was ambitious.
Remember those men and their lunches at Topshop? Now I’m the one pulling senior colleagues aside after meetings to privately build support for decisions I want to get voted through at board level. If I don’t manage that, I take creatively radical decisions and see them through before anyone notices what I’m up to. I take calculated risks because I believe in what I’m doing and that has served me well.
Today the topic under discussion is the sacking of a senior member of staff. They’re talented but prioritize client loyalty over profit and this has got them into conflict. Our business is focused on the bottom line. Profit is the number-one priority.
My business brain agrees the sacking is the right decision. Every square foot counts. It’s what I’ve learned throughout my career in retail. As tough as it is, surely this is what must be done.
But, deep down, something bothers me.
It’s not that I believe people should be carried endlessly. I’m certainly prepared to sack staff who aren’t doing their jobs properly. (I still am today.) But this staff member has many years of valuable experience and is good at what they do. Surely there is a way to get them to focus more on the bottom line while still embracing their loyalty to their team.
I do not voice my doubts, though: fear is buried even deeper than uncertainty. For all that I can fight my own corner, strategize and survive in this highly competitive environment, I am also very aware of my place in it.
Just one board member is speaking up for the employee under threat: a man of about my age whose father is friends with the chairman. His voice is steady as he argues against the dismissal.
There are other men like him at this table but I am far more cautious. As a working-class woman, I have had to learn how to negotiate the codes in this room, how power is played and the external signals that I must give off simultaneously to respect the hierarchy and be tough enough to keep my position in it.
It’s like a suit of armour I now wear: lunches at San Lorenzo, a designer wardrobe, and my previously bleached-blonde hair has been restyled into a classic copper layered bob. I also keep a pair of flat shoes in my desk to put on during meetings with particularly short male colleagues. (That is not a joke. I actually did.)
I have copied the identity of this place, made it mine, and the changes to my appearance have been mirrored inside me. I’ve always been tough but today I’m more driven and competitive than ever.
There is still the scrappy kid inside me, the one who was always getting into trouble and loved her family so much she was ashamed of her embarrassment about bringing her grammar-school friends – the ones with big houses and ponies – home for tea to her three-bed semi. But the acting ability I honed at school has served me well in this environment. Gender and class collide here and I have had to learn how to disguise both.
The men I work with went to the right schools. They have that innate air of confidence, born of an education that taught them they would be listened to and become leaders.
And they have also been bred to decipher all the tiny social cues: when to stand up as someone enters a room to show deference, or stay seated to signal they’re equal. What watch to wear and which car to drive. What wine to order and whose son is on which cricket team with whom.
I have had to learn all this and more to maintain the illusion that I am one of them. I have to hide in plain sight.
So I do not speak of my misgivings about this sacking. In fact, I don’t even allow them to become fully formed thoughts in my own head. Because at this stage of my career, I believe this is what I must do: show that I am tough and uncompromising; respect the hierarchy; demonstrate my complete loyalty – even to a decision that sits uneasily with me.
I should have spoken up, of course. Today I would. But back then I was unable to admit, even to myself, that I was afraid of opening up the debate. I was a fighter. I was brave. I didn’t get scared. Did I?
In my experience, this is the multi-layered reality of being a woman at the top of business: containing many different selves, showing only one externally.
And this question of identity is, I believe, crucial to what slows women down on the way to the top. It’s why, in so many cases, we aspire to leadership but don’t actually want to become leaders because of who we have to become.
The question of identity is critical to women and leadership but it’s the one we talk about least because it’s so hard to define. Identity is personal. How can we measure the emotional twists and turns that those who don’t fit into our dominant working culture must make? The permutations of gender, class, ethnicity, physical mobility, sexuality and personality are endless.
A white middle-class woman is one step removed from the alpha ideal of a white middle-class man so she’s got to breach the distance of gender to fit in. A black middle-class woman is two steps removed as she’s got ethnicity and gender to cover. An Asian working-class gay woman is really swimming against the tide.
‘Making up’ for all these differences from what’s the accepted norm takes a lot of energy. We must be ‘feminine’ enough to be likeable – not too ‘bossy’ or threatening – at the same time as pumping up more ‘masculine’ emotions to be seen as competent leaders.
It’s exhausting. I should know. I fell into the classic trap on this one at Harvey Nichols, where I drew far more on being competitive and tough than empathetic and collaborative.
The work culture we should be building is one that will allow us to be ourselves – not have to adhere to the expectations of another tribe to make real progress up the career ladder.
And yet in a survey of 2000 working women, three-quarters admitted changing how they looked or behaved to succeed. A quarter said they dressed in a masculine way, and half felt compelled to hide their true emotions. More than a third felt it was impossible to ‘be nice’ and reach the top, while a fifth felt that women had to act ruthlessly to be respected at work.38
Stop for a minute and think about it. Who are the people you see most of the time being interviewed on the TV, in papers and on the radio? Who are the women in the public eye who really inspire you to think that you, too, can lead in an authentic way?
I bet that was a short brainstorm.
Of course, with fewer women leaders, pure numbers are working against us when it comes to being visible.
But, uncomfortable as it is to admit, unless you’re glued to the broadsheet business pages, the women we do see or hear are often those who are attractive and young enough to make the pages of a magazine. Like it or not, if you’re a woman in any area of the world of work – from a corporation to a cooking show – you are far more likely to be publicly profiled if you look good on a page or screen.
If you’re in any doubt about that, just take a look at the journalists who get onto our screens: the women are all glamazons while many of the men aren’t exactly lookers. Women’s physical currency is still valuable in a way that men’s is not.
If I could do anything to change young women’s notion of leadership, I would ban those ‘I-get-up-at-4.30-a.m.-do-aerial-yoga-before-working-on-my-peace-initiatives-feeding-my-five-children-and-perfecting-my-Mandarin-Chinese-in-the-car-on-the-way-to-a-7-a.m.-meeting-at-my-global-business’ interviews that we so often see. Usually topped off with a photograph of a woman looking so perfect she’d probably crack if she got a spot of rain on her.
I think it’s supposed to be inspiring but I just feel exhausted when I read about what they’ve done by 7 a.m. And I think the identities our women leaders sometimes adopt can alienate other women. One in four women says the senior women in her organization conform to a dominant and controlling ‘alpha’ type.39 So tightly controlled and ‘professional’, she can’t relate to them.
Let’s not knock the sisterhood, but I can kind of see their point. There are women who ape men’s behaviour at work. There are also those who use their femininity like a stiletto knife wrapped in a Furby. If work is a battleground, then some women at the top are undercover agents using any disguise necessary to infiltrate the top ranks.
And all this leaves younger women in particular feeling confused. Who can they be and what identity can they aspire to if they don’t relate to the most visible identities, if they can’t be who they really are?
Role models are crucial to breaking this cycle. By informing, and indeed changing, our understanding of what it is to be a female leader, inspiring women at the top will help younger women believe they, too, can access the identity of leadership, and that identity doesn’t take only one form.
We need to see more strong, vital, powerful and intelligent women.
Women like Cressida Dick, the straight-talking and cool-headed commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, who oozes no-nonsense wisdom whenever I hear her speak. Or Jayne-Anne Gadhia, chief executive of Virgin Money, who is not afraid to speak up on anything from her mental-health problems to the ‘dinosaurs’ she’s encountered in business.
These are the women who should be on our TV screens and in the pages of newspapers and magazines. They should be heard on radio and be seen all over talk shows, wheeled out to turn on the Christmas lights – whatever it takes to make them, their humanity and wisdom more visible.
All the research papers and action plans in the world won’t change women’s access to leadership until we tackle the central question of identity: who we are, how we want to lead and what we aspire to.
And we’re only going to do that when we stop acting like so many of the men around us and start being honest about who we really are.