Read the book: «A Good Time to be a Girl: Don’t Lean In, Change the System»

Chapter 1

A tale of two career women

Keep away from people who try to belittle your ambitions. Small people always do that, but the really great make you feel that you, too, can become great.

MARK TWAIN

Consider two real-life career stories. The first involves a 26-year-old British woman who has just returned to her role as a fund manager at a prestigious City firm after five months’ maternity leave. She has worked for the company for five years, having joined its graduate training scheme straight after university. Over 1,500 applications were received for just twenty graduate places. A few days into the training programme, she was selected for a two-year apprenticeship in New York, working for one of the firm’s top global bond fund managers. A promising start to her career.

She found New York both daunting (it was the first time she had ever travelled beyond Europe) and exciting. The work was intensive and the hours long but she enjoyed learning new skills and was soon given more responsibility. As she thought about her future, she found it encouraging that two impressive American women in their forties were leading the firm’s rapid local growth.

When the young woman returned to London, she found the office environment markedly different. The pace was much slower – the daily morning meeting started at 11.45 a.m. – and she was the only woman in a team of 16. Still, the work was interesting and there was plenty of it. She was always first to arrive in the office each day, to deal with queries from Japanese clients in their time zone.

The firm made its annual promotions each April. The goal for high-flying graduates was to be promoted to manager level after five years – coinciding almost exactly with the woman’s return from her first maternity leave. Her two male contemporaries received the promotion. She did not. Disappointed, she asked where she needed to improve but the answer came back, ‘Your work is great, there’s just some doubt over your commitment with a baby.’ Shocked, she struggled to accept that her promising career had fizzled out so quickly.

Our second story concerns a woman nearly a decade older, the mother of five children. The youngest three have just celebrated their first, second and third birthdays. She also works as a fund manager in the City, for a less well known, much smaller firm. She joined seven years ago, as number two (out of two) on the bond desk, a junior role in a relatively backwater area for the company. On the face of it, a less promising situation than the younger woman’s original circumstances.

This story has a happier outcome, though, because the 35-year-old with five young children and just seven years’ service is suddenly – and quite unexpectedly – appointed chief executive officer following a takeover of the company. Over the next 15 years, the new CEO and her colleagues will grow assets under management from £20 billion to over £50 billion, develop a number of market-leading strategies and a strong reputation. She will also go on to have four more children – yes, nine in total.

One a tale of unexpected disappointment, the other of perhaps equally surprising success. Yet both stories are actually about the same woman – me.

So how did I fail to reach even the first rung on the corporate ladder at one firm, yet become chief executive in just seven years at another? Three factors created a formula for success.

The initial setback certainly taught me to do things quite differently the second time around. When I started working in 1987 I genuinely believed that hard work and aptitude determined how far anyone could progress. It simply did not occur to me then that the masculine dress code adopted by many career women at the time (big shoulder-padded suits) suggested that it was still very much a man’s world.

And of course my early experiences of working life had been unusually exciting for a graduate trainee, glamorous even, and that had made me quickly feel confident. The first Wall Street movie was released just after I moved to New York, as was Working Girl. The environment was energising. The two women I saw at the top, seemingly in control of their own destiny, distracted me from the reality that they were anomalous and had made either hard choices or sacrifices to get to the top. They travelled extensively and had limited time for their personal lives. Both married late: one was childless, the other underwent (well-publicised) fertility treatment to finally conceive her only child. While these women looked like wonderful role models in terms of career achievements, their lives certainly did not appeal to everyone.

The London office was very different to New York, yet I had no inkling of how my maternity would be perceived. I hadn’t given any indication that I was less ambitious or committed either during my pregnancy or after my return. When the list of promotions came around and my name wasn’t on it, I genuinely thought there was something I hadn’t been doing well, that I could improve for next time. When my boss made it so clear, in a way that wouldn’t happen today, I was disappointed and surprised but at least I knew where I stood. My first reaction was confusion – I simply hadn’t made the connection between being a new mother and failing to get that promotion. There was then a moment of clarity: I could not change my existing environment, so I had to find a new one.

The whole episode was a valuable career lesson. It taught me the need to be resilient, which has been so important in many situations – but not to be immutable, not to bounce back from the disappointment only to take another blow. When I started at the next firm, Newton Investment Management, I knew that I needed to take responsibility for my career. I needed to strategise more, not just wait for my contribution to be recognised.

During the recruitment process I had been interviewed by the firm’s founder, Stewart Newton. It was an encouraging sign, that someone so senior was involved in hiring someone so junior. Stewart was fascinating to talk to, he loved the bond and currency markets, was animated and probing and always on the lookout for investment talent. Towards the end of my first year, my (female) boss resigned and Stewart told me that he would hire a ‘bond guru’ to lead the area. I took a deep breath and asked if I might look after the portfolios in the meantime. Stewart agreed, with a few reasonable conditions. I would have to sit next to him and each afternoon we would meet in his office towards the end of the day to go over my trades and ideas. Effectively, and unofficially, he became my mentor, and the arrangement helped me to learn from him while he grew more confident in my abilities.

Stewart liked to move around the office, changing his seat every six weeks or so to oversee different areas of the investment team. I therefore had to move too, which seemed slightly embarrassing at the time but helped me to get to know my colleagues. The experience of speaking up and then being given the portfolios to manage encouraged me to seek other opportunities. I quickly realised that if I asked, the answer was usually ‘yes’, as long as I was making a reasonable request, had something to offer and was performing well. When interesting committees were formed and I wasn’t included, I asked for a seat at the table. I always phrased my requests constructively: ‘Oh, I wonder if I might join the economics group? Perhaps I could contribute the bond analysis and it would be useful for me to hear what else is being considered.’ There was no confrontation, no argument, and the door usually opened. Inevitably, there were setbacks, but I tried to learn and to see past them, with my recovery from that earlier disappointment encouraging me to persevere. (For the record, I have always struggled with negative feedback, finding it hard not to take criticism personally, and I’ve noticed this in other women too – although it may be that men are just better at disguising their feelings. We shall return to the subject later.) And while I sought opportunities to be heard, I stayed focused on performing well since that was the best advert for my capabilities.

I also looked to build my reputation in the marketplace. When I had been looking for that second job, it was harder than it needed to have been because I hadn’t built a network. I found that it was actually quite easy to be noticed as a young woman running bond funds. One year I was shortlisted for a ‘Fund manager of the year’ award and the other nominees were not just all men, but all called Paul. I did win, and I’d like to think it wasn’t just because I was the only one who could be easily identified, but I’ll never be quite sure. When the three Pauls and I were panellists together at investment conferences, the moderators would usually give me more airtime. There were advantages, but it was obvious that the few women who were making it through in my own industry were part of a very male-dominated club.

Two other critical factors helped me to progress so far and so quickly at Newton. I was working for a company where results were what mattered, and my husband Richard and I had developed a real partnership to care and provide for our family. Together with my newfound career awareness, this was a powerful combination, but by no means complex or mysterious.

The first company I had worked for was very traditional at the time, like most long-established City of London institutions. Founded in 1804 it was built on literally centuries-old practices that revolved around how men habitually liked to work. The atmosphere was ‘clubby’. There was a daily reminder of the hierarchy: each afternoon, a uniformed butler wheeled a trolley round the floor and served tea and biscuits to those of associate director or higher rank. Members of the asset allocation committee, the most senior group of investors, had typically served twenty years or more at the company. We would be asked to submit papers from time to time but weren’t invited to participate in their meetings. The structure was rigid and junior staff needed to fit in if they were to progress. While the New York office had its own more energetic and youthful culture, the London headquarters was the epicentre of power.

In contrast, there was a friendly, collegiate atmosphere at Newton. The very first week I joined, people asked for my opinion. If anyone had anything worthwhile to contribute, they would have the opportunity. The company didn’t really have a formal structure, more a fluid process built around the goal of delivering strong investment performance, with no one really paying much attention to status or tenure. My job interview with Stewart was not unusual; he took a great interest in hiring anyone who was going to be part of the investment team, however lowly. He made a point of frequently emphasising that the firm was a meritocracy and encouraged me to be my own character, which helped me to grow in confidence. I became increasingly bold in my investment views, but also more comfortable in being fully myself. I dressed more distinctively, and colleagues began to ask me to represent the firm to clients or at conferences. As expectations increased, even though I had inevitable moments of self-doubt, I rose to meet the next level of challenge. Partly, this was due to necessity: in this early phase of my time at Newton, Richard was made redundant and although he found another job in due course, I was spurred on by the responsibility of providing for our family. Yet persevering didn’t feel like an uphill struggle.

The qualities of the firm that enabled me to thrive weren’t the result of any diversity initiative but intrinsic to its everyday culture.

When I eventually left Newton after more than twenty years, my very first consideration when weighing up future opportunities was corporate culture. Did a potential employer welcome diverse opinions and encourage staff to express views that might differ from the consensus (or the boss); was there evidence of a meritocracy? I quickly turned down even interesting-sounding roles if it was also clear that the firm was rigidly command-and-control. By now I knew that a truly inclusive culture was essential if I was going to be able to really contribute, to be successful and happy. My new firm, Legal and General, didn’t just tick theoretical boxes; I had worked with enough people there (both senior and less so) on a variety of industry-wide projects to know we were a good fit.

Corporate culture has been in the spotlight since the 2008 financial crisis, with a number of scandals showing how poor behaviours can have disastrous consequences, destroying reputations and share prices. Culture, the social and psychological character of a firm, can seem a nebulous concept and it can be difficult to judge from the outside, especially since most mid-sized and large companies now make all the right statements about diversity and inclusion. The question is whether these statements are embedded in day-to-day behaviours.

A short while ago a woman approached me in the gym, seeking my advice. She was struggling to live up to what she felt was expected at the investment firm where she worked. I know the chief executive quite well and believe that he really wants women to thrive at the company. A few years ago he called me to ask how to attract more female graduates (at the time only10% of their applicants were women). He has been genuinely supportive of broader efforts to improve diversity in the currently very white, very middle-class and male-dominated fund management industry. Yet the woman’s experience was discouraging; the mother of two young children, she had been assured at the interviews that her role did not involve much travel. In fact, soon after joining she had been sent on four long-haul trips in quick succession. Another trip was looming the following week. The travel was taking its toll on both her family and her day-to-day work: worried that she was falling behind, she had gone into the office at the weekend to catch up, only to find many colleagues there. The family-friendly talk had proved just that.

I advised her to talk to her manager, to calmly explain that she was keen to work hard but the current situation was unsustainable – and to give specific examples. My suspicion was that no one had intentionally misled her, that they simply hadn’t joined the dots between what had been said and what was transpiring in practice (not an excuse, but often the reality). She may well have said yes to the first trip thinking it was a one-off, made a success of it and then been an obvious choice for further travel, with the interview fading from everyone’s consciousness except her own. The likelihood was that her manager would much rather adapt than see her resign.

A lack of consistency between what is said and what is done is a common but significant problem. It breeds disillusionment and distrust. Leadership teams are often very keen, almost desperate to see a better gender mix and frustrated by a lack of progress but completely oblivious to situations like my gym companion’s. If we don’t speak up – not belligerently or militantly, but to point out the inconsistencies – the gap in their understanding will persist. Of course, some jobs necessitate travel and episodes of working round-the-clock, but constant pressure should not be a role requirement: it certainly does not bring out the best in anyone, man or woman, and is unsustainable.

This example highlights a widespread problem: diversity and inclusion are usually treated as enhancements, not as core to business success. There are still many challenges to the idea that diversity does enhance results, and we will examine the evidence later, but for now let’s explore why there is such a prevalent gap between what is said by CEOs and what happens in practice.