Remember The Boss with the candlestick in the hotel room from our last story? Did I mention that the Vegas trip was the first time he and I had met one another? I swing for the fucking fences on with first impressions baby. He left Vegas with the Corporate golden ticket to every opportunity within our organization and my career path was diverted to Whore-ville before it had even started. Who would have thought that a snapshot perception could set my entire career on the path to success or failure?
The Boss was smart and extremely calculating. He pulled off professional moves that most people only fantasize about and insulated himself from any blowback. He was able to read people and manipulate them nearly instantly. He made lofty promises with a stern but kind enough hand, making sure every step of the way that the members of The Boys Club knew they were mere investments and expected to have a high return, to him, the company, and each other. Under his watch sexism thrived; there was an unspoken rule amongst The Boys Club that they could say and do whatever the fuck they wanted without consequence since no one would challenge it or report it. He demanded everyone have a Stockholm syndrome-sense of loyalty, behave like compliant little sheep, and at least appear to be excellent at their jobs by surrounding themselves with talented people and taking the W; think Rosalind Franklin, James D. Watson, and Francis H. C. Crick and the whole who got the credit for the revelation of the double helix formation. It was understood that in return for their compliance, they would all receive preferential treatment both professionally and socially. The power of a tailored blazer, a tapered haircut, and the Corporate Amex is wild as fuck.
Once The Boss deemed you an investment you were in, with limitations, and then the grooming started… a legit fucking bro factory. Pumping out party boy professionals at a steady clip. This “frat boy” mentality was ever present, and while it may have seemed like harmless fun to some, it ultimately enabled a culture of discrimination. The Boss had his bro favorites who were granted certain privileges that weren’t afforded to women or any man who refused to bro it up. These men were promoted ahead of the pack, given higher salaries than their female counterparts, and allowed to get away with behavior at Corporate retreats, in meetings, and on projects that was gross, messy, and at times unethical as fuck.
The Boss also knew he had to select a few women to balance the diversity reports and spice up the Corporate newsletter, so he threw a rope out to a few and pulled them right over those broken ladder rungs. These women were selected for their “Cool Girl” behavior. Amy Dunne’s in Gone Girls description of The Cool Girl is perfect- “She’s a Cool girl. Cool is hot. Cool girl is game. Cool girl is fun. Cool girl never gets angry at her man. She only smiles in a chagrin-loving manner and then presents her mouth for fucking.” The Cool Girl Army liked hunting witches too, doing the dirtiest work and perpetuating more oppression than any efforts from The Boss or The Boy’s Club. And before you get all sassy and call me a hater, I too briefly held the Cool Girl crown and starred as the villain in many stories, but that fucker is made of thorns and the rope I was dangling from quickly turned into a noose of internalized misogyny.
Think I Could Fool You that I’m The Guru? Wait, How Do You Spell Epiphany?
By definition, grooming is when someone builds a relationship, trust, and emotional connection with someone so they can manipulate, exploit and/or abuse them. So it’s no surprise that grooming allowed The Boss to control every aspect of The Boys lives both personally and professionally. He had a knack for picking the small-town boys with big dreams of getting away from their hometowns and being someone important – Important being wildly subjective because we were not out there curing cancer. There was a sense of blind devotion and loyalty to him that made The Boys so eager to follow his orders that the cult-like behavior he inspired almost seemed natural. The Boss had a way of speaking and presenting himself that made it seem like no matter what he said, it was something they wanted to do. He gained their trust with platitudes, promises, and protein shakes, then decided where they would work and live, isolated them to far-flung accounts when he was disappointed in them, created levels of secrecy around his decisions, and may have even developed an elaborate bro handshake. I have no proof of the handshake but it feels like it fits… The biggest difference between him and an actual predator is he took control of the relationship without crossing physical boundaries – But make no mistake: He groomed these dudes just as surely as any creeper would have. This type of charismatic leadership has been used for centuries by cult leaders as a means of gaining followers who are unwilling or unable to think for themselves; it is truly one of the most effective tools for creating a devoted Boys Club.
The Boss’s system of power and control went unchecked and fostered a psychologically unsafe atmosphere for anyone unfortunate enough to be in the cross-hairs of The Boys Club. It was not about just trying to fit into his standards and guidelines, but also joining into their conversations in which topics of discussion were often related to their workouts and meal prep plans, so no need to be a deep thinker. You had to appear cool or you would not make the cut—it was a form of conditioning, making sure the new members stayed active and proved themselves before being able to take part in the secret society perks. If you were seen as an outsider you would miss out on potential career advances and opportunities. I’ve seen plenty of talented men sidelined when they refused to be branded or play the objectification of women game. These men may have not been Boys Club material but they were allies. They didn’t run around pretending to be The Nice Guy, trying to rescue women or make it about themselves; instead, they understood that it’s all about meeting women where they are in their journey and offering whatever kind of support they can to support and effect sustainable change.
Who Invited Her??
A year or so after Vegas I landed a management gig at a new account. I was extremely proud of myself because I got there on my own. No favors called in. No letters of recommendation. Just 4 decent enough interviews and a willingness to move without a signing bonus, a salary that reflected the cost of living, or my brand new husband. None of that mattered because it was my first management position, I was a boss! and so so so not ready. Turns out neither was ANYONE else at the account. It was the fucking wild west but with chicken patties and popcorn.
I strolled in with a new energy, a new wardrobe, and a new last name. The first day was a blur of meet and greets. As I was meeting with my new GM, he kept making mention of the DM and how he hated this account. He did not agree with the company’s decision to take it on and rather than come up with a plan to succeed, he was focusing on a plan to survive. Survive what? The apocalypse? The end of my career? I just signed a lease so… what the actual fuck? As my life choices began to replay in my mind’s movie theater, I heard his voice. The Boss. And then another voice… The Chef. I came out of the office and there they were. It was not a joyful reunion… more like a “How the fuck are you standing in front of me right now and not working the street corner where we left you?” moment.
Realizing that the townsfolk were watching, The Boss switched on his personality and went from silent cyborg to excited party boy. We exchanged awkward hugs and he turned on the charm show. He had to show everyone that the company took care of its people and figure out how to take credit for getting me the job even though he had zero fucking clue what was happening. He couldn’t believe it was me! I had a different last name though! What a crazy time to be alive! Now the account is saved! He put on a decent show, his voice getting a bit more desperate with each fake compliment, but The Boss didn’t give a single fuck about me, the account or anyone standing in it. Unbeknownst to any of us, the dude was plotting and planning a Napoleon Bonaparte-style coup that would greatly impact several companies and be whispered about for years in our incestuous little slice of Corporate America. It sounds dramatic but it was a legit game of Risk.
RISK: Corporate America Edition
The Boss had been promoted on a Tuesday and quit via division-wide email by Friday. There were rumors that he printed his 95 theses on a copy of his non-compete agreement and nailed it to the door of the division president. He was leaving to go somewhere he would be appreciated, respected, and able to oust current ownership in less than 3 years. I hate to admit it, but that was some BDE (big dick energy) right there. He had been vocal about not agreeing with the direction of the current leadership for a while, but NO ONE was this coming. Except for every member of The Boys Club, all of which quit to join The Boss as his new company within a year.
As the walls were closing in, you didn’t know who your real friends were, you couldn’t trust any of the deals being made in secret, and nothing felt safe. Psychologically, Physically, or Emotionally. The stakes were so high that no one could afford to be on the wrong side of The Boss’s power plays and remain gainfully employed in our industry. And if you did get stuck with the short end of the stick, then it was all about getting revenge and spending your days shaking your fist at the sky and trying to find some way to hurt those who had done you wrong. It was a wild fucking time. People got fired, people quit, and people got promoted. Clients lied, cashed checks, and accounts changed hands. And no one was talking about Psychological Safety because everyone was too busy trying to survive.
“When you are not fed love on a silver spoon, you learn to lick it off knives.” – Lauren Eden
Speaking of survival, that brand new account I was so pumped about? With everyone on the front lines fighting The Boss and his new company, we were out of a contract and out on our asses within a year. So who does a struggling Cool Girl call when she’s staring down the barrel of unemployment? The Boss. She calls The fucking Boss. And he came through, with a bigger title and a bigger check so I signed over the pink slip to my soul and skipped my way into a new company with the same old bullshit. I stayed on with The Boss for 5 years and we both tried to make it work. I tried like hell to make myself small and likable, printing money and winning awards while working 7 days a week, and he sprinkled in a few upper management titles and dangled promises of sustainable career growth like carrots. The truth is, The Boss was never going to take me out the Whore box he put me in all those years ago and found my existence and success annoying, even when it directly benefited him. He didn’t put any energy into developing me or offering constructive feedback or encouragement. He made sure I knew my place in his world. But I stayed because it offered the promise of something bigger, and I didn’t know any fucking better.
I learned that sometimes you stick around with someone who doesn’t respect you, just until you can find the courage to break away on your terms and make a move without looking back. The Boss and I had one actual conversation in those 5 years about my career path and next steps, it lasted 3 minutes and ended with me job shopping that night. The job shopping paid off and I did the unthinkable… I left the pyramid scheme. The ultimate betrayal in The Boss’s eyes. Who the fuck did I think I was to think I didn’t need him or his influence? I had zero fucking clue how much hate that direct my way until a year or so later at an industry event when I ran into The Boss and his boss. The Boss hadn’t even bothered to share that I had left the company over 3 months ago and instead of speaking to me about what happened or why I left, Big Boss proceeded to corner my new VP and chastise him for “stealing one of his girls.” Like I was fucking cattle being traded and had no voice of my own. You know how often do women find themselves in situations where their worth is determined by someone else’s opinion? Every. Fucking. Day.
And the fuckery didn’t end there… Nope, after the dust settled and the game of Risk seemingly came to an end, The Boss was able to get his long-awaited revenge. His company won the contract of the account I had left him for, and he refused to even interview me to keep my current position. He had Chapstick deliver the news that I wasn’t getting an interview, from the window of a passing vehicle, with their Boy’s Club candidate in the passenger seat. I was officially branded a social pariah that couldn’t even get a phone screening. The Boss went on to build a small empire, churning out an army of loyal party boys who would sooner die than leave his orbit and he will hundred percent think this song is about him.
Everything Worked Out for Patty Hearst Right?
If you’re still with me, dear reader— thanks for sticking around. There’s no earth-shattering moral of this story other than sometimes we make decisions based on what feels right or necessary to survive without understanding the long-term implications. The world I lived in while working in and around The Boss’s orbit was a fuckshow of emotional manipulation, and it took me years to unravel the psychological damage he caused. I mean, who the fuck wants to admit that they stayed in an on-again/off-again abusive professional relationship with a narcissistic asshat for 10 years?
But I stayed because it’s all I knew how to do, and although I am still working to overcome the effects of that relationship, I wouldn’t change it. The amount of life experience I was able to pack into those years taught me valuable lessons about who I don’t want to be as a leader, a woman, and as a human, and that my worth is mine to decide, no one else’s.