Category Archives: Ambition

How to Survive a Lay-off

I ran into a friend of mine in the Old Navy parking lot a few weeks ago.  When I mentioned my recent lay-off, he replied, “well, it’s the season for it, isn’t it?”  Truly, I have several friends who are recently unemployed or about to be.

This is my first lay-off in about 12 years.  And where I ‘celebrated’ the last one with a tremendous amount of day-drinking, late-night hell-raising, bad daytime television, and unhealthy doses of self-loathing and self-pity, this one felt more like a gift.

Sure, I’m sad that I lost my job – I really liked many of the people I worked with, respected the company, and was proud of my success there.  But I wasn’t really going to get my name in lights.  And selfishly, secretly, I still really want that.

The best thing about being laid-off is that you don’t have to make a secret about your job hunt.

If you, like me, had a highly connected boss who is well-liked around your industry YOU ARE SCREWED if you look around while still employed.  It is just uber-awkward for all involved.  Lay-offs solve that problem.  Not only can you look openly but you can hit her up for a reference when the process gets real.

So what about the dirty details of life for the newly unemployed?

Well, there is always this.

And of course day-drinking.

But if your mortgage, dependents, or liver prevent you from getting pruny in a pity-pool, here are my suggestions for surviving a lay-off.

First, apply the 30-30-40 rule.

Spend 30% of your time looking for a job.  Not more and not less.  If you focus and act quickly, 30% is enough time.

I concentrated on 3 things and I started the same day I was laid-off:

  1. I rewrote my resume – a half-dozen times – with feedback from people who were not afraid to tell me the truth.
  2. I called/emailed/wrote everyone who loves me in my industry to tell them I’m looking and that I need their help.
    (People like to feel useful but usually only take action if you ask them directly.)
  3. I set up interviews with every job that was even remotely interesting.
    • You will freshen up your knowledge of what is hot and what is not.
    • You will sharpen your conversational skills/ interviewing skills.  e.g. I learned that it is probably not in your best hiring interest to casually mention that you didn’t see any female executives on the company’s website.
    • You will meet some cool people in positions of influence along the way.

I had 23 interviews in my first 3 weeks of unemployment.  That felt AWESOME.  Most of them were not going to go anywhere but I was active, and engaged and it didn’t leave much room for the whole “nobody wants me” narrative that likes to creep in when you are dismissed from a job.  Jobs and relationships only work when there is a mutual match.  If one of the parties changes his direction, the relationship is doomed.  No blood, no foul.  Part as friends and get back into the fray!

The second 30% of my time I focused on giving to others.  I am not the greatest at volunteering my time.  I do make pretty decent donations throughout the year to causes I care about but have idealized the notion of donating talent as even more valuable.  My talent seems to be creativity.  I’ve had a few random connections with people who’ve found my Linked In profile and asked for help with theirs.  I HATE resumes.  They are painful and sterile and austere.  Linked In summaries should ‘show some leg.’  While not actually sexy, the narrative of your career should also showcase a bit of your style and personality.  Make something that people will actually want to read and they will.  People interview for skills but they hire for personality.  (I sound like I really know my sh*t, right?  I am 83% certain I’m right.)

While unemployed, I rewrote some Linked In profiles, made some recommendations on Linked In, shopped for and crafted some decor and activities for a 5 year old’s birthday party, and did some small business marketing consulting for free.  Every single minute of it was fun.  It wasn’t the gratitude that made me feel so happy; it was that I did something that actually benefitted these friends.  I might not have had time to do these things while working full-time.  But I did while unemployed and I was able to show both new and old friends how much I value them by giving up my time to do something that came easily for me but caused them headaches.

Finally, I spent 40% of my time taking care of me and my family.  I have spent so much time with my daughters – playing, learning, adventuring, etc.  My 4 year old has said multiple times “Mommy, this is the best day of my life.”  My response?  ME TOO.  And it has been.  I will never get another chance to be unemployed when my girls are 4 and 1.  I soaked up every second of their filthy, silly, annoying, whining, giggling, wrestling, dancing, singing, mess-making, crafting, writing, reading, snuggling, cuddling, and general awesomeness.  I am so full and yet I have room for more everyday.  It is a gift that keeps on giving.

To a lesser extent, I also doted on my husband.  No, I didn’t suddenly become a sexpot runway model who fed him bonbons while shaking mine.  Although that would have been nice…  I did, however, chip in a great deal more on housework  – which usually falls on his shoulders as a SAHD.  I continued to cook even though I felt like ordering fatty, starchy badness.  Since the hub is on the Ironman training regiment, I also cooked mostly healthy, flavorful goodies to support the goal he is working toward.  We even managed to sneak in a couple of date nights where we cashed in some gift certificates to offset expenses we weren’t sure we could afford.

And for myself?  I did two things:  I worked out regularly and I tackled my “Icky List.”  The work-outs shouldn’t need explanation.  I feel good about myself when I’m fit.  I have made peace with not being a string bean.  I actually like being big and strong.  Dressing a big and strong body without looking like a hoochie?  Another post for another time.  But for my heart, my longevity, my waistline, and my confidence – there is no better money or time spent than in the gym, pool or yoga studio.  And I didn’t give that up over this break.

The “Icky List” is comprised of the things that I don’t want to do but that need to be done, at varying degrees of urgency, that tiptoe into my consciousness on nights when I really need to sleep.  They start off like stealthy reminders – using ballet feet to sweep across my otherwise calm, dark mind just before sleep comes.  But only one of them needs to be a code orange to jar me out of calm and into “Oh crap!” mode.  Once that happens, the Icky List becomes a heard of elephants trampling any remaining hope of rest while cackling witches swoop around my cranium mocking my incompetence.  It isn’t pretty.

I reorganized two rooms of my house to make better use of space and hide/remove clutter.  I donated 147 books from my introduction to hoarding stash to allow for toy bins, stationary boxes and less unsightly clutter.  I regrouted my kitchen counter.  I organized pictures.  I purchased a new external harddrive and back up external harddrive.  I saved my pictures and music on both.  I organized the basement storage and DVDs and closets.

The list is not completed.  It probably never will be.  But I look around this house in which I have spent so much more of my time lately and I am proud of what I’ve accomplished.  I enjoy the home we’ve made here.  I have no nagging anxiety about devolving into a messy, clutter-loving nightmare.  I am not tied to my things.  I am tied to my people.  And that’s a pretty good tie in my book.

The best part is?
I’ve been sleeping pretty well.

Finding my dream a job certainly helps.

Author note:  Not, in fact, a dream job after all.

The Devil Wears Pixels

(Originally a Facebook Note, posted August 2009 – but I have been thinking about it recently.)

I watched a deliciously girly movie tonight on FX – and amid the pomp and circumstance of the fashion and fuss, I was reminded of some amazing lessons I’ve learned in my career.

I’m not one of those people who is overly critical of movies. I consider films great if I laugh or cry and absolutely phenomenal if I get to do both. Beneath the gilded tapestry of lines in the Devil Wears Prada are some wholly un-materialistic value messages.

There’s a scene where Andy and Miranda are in a town car in Paris. Andy says “I could never do what you did” and Miranda retorts “You already did.”

If you’ve seen this scene you know exactly how cutting this exchange is. If not, it is like your mother holding a mirror up to your face the morning after an all-nighter.

You feel shame and disgust and guilt even if you didn’t do anything.

I am so fascinated by the way women treat each other in life and in business. One of my favorite sayings is that ‘only ugly girls are catty’. If one looks okay on the outside and is still obsessed with cutting and undermining, well… that ugliness lives somewhere.

I remember in my teens and early twenties, I proudly pitched myself as a guys’ girl. I simply didn’t have anything in common with other women. They were idiots or bimbos or superficial or prissy or backstabbing or bobbleheads. And then I realized I was simply hanging out with the wrong women.

In addition to a few, key teammates and some artistic types, I credit my friend Martina with helping me embrace my universal sisterhood. As a transplanted woman, she focused exclusively on cultivating friendships with strong, smart, fun women. Since we’re still friends, I’m going to assert that she was wildly successful in her venture.

It took me a long time to figure out how to navigate the treacherous and often treasonous world of female friendships. Admittedly, I sometimes still get it wrong. But for all of the mistakes I’ve made (too often when I felt my most awful and insecure), I have done some things right.

  • I believe in giving women compliments. I give them all the time. I give them to people I know and to total strangers. I don’t care if anyone knows or hears except for the recipient. Women don’t know enough good things about themselves. Women NEVER hear enough good things about themselves. There is nothing like a spontaneous compliment to plug the leak in the self-esteem drain.
  • I also believe in honesty. False support/friendship is a weakness and should be banished from our gender’s repertoire.
  • I promote the idea that two wrongs do not make a right. And a shallow, caustic comment should not inspire an equally biting retort.

This goes for work environments as well.

In advertising, I was privileged to work with a lot of women. I mean that. Privileged.

That doesn’t mean that I liked or respected all of them. And that doesn’t mean that my first impression was right all the time.

But here’s the thing…

It is a mistake to stab people in the back, or the front.

Anytime.

No matter what.

(SIDE NOTE: Have you seen the great speech Robyn Williams delivers to Phillip Seymour Hoffman in “Patch Adams” about being a dick?  He says that it is a mistake of youth to think that one has to be a dick to get ahead in life and naiveté to think that it is a new concept. It is a brilliant statement to me. Simply brilliant. Because for all of our striving and struggling and studying and suffering… what, in effect, will our legacy be?)

In the movie, Andy goes to Paris instead of Emily. She says she had no choice – it was to preserve her future.

pumpsMiranda scoffs at Andy’s repugnance with the comment “Everyone wants this. Everyone wants to be us.”

I

think

not.

For me, I am laying down once and for all any feelings of betrayal or indignation or rage. People make choices that we cannot understand or explain or accept. But that is really, in the end, only their problem. It becomes ours when we hold onto it.

As for me, I plan to love and be loved. I plan to teach and to learn. I plan to hope and to laugh.

And to wear fabulous shoes.

Go that way, really fast. If something gets in your way, turn.

That quote is from the cult classic, “Better Off Dead” and has long been stuck in my head as my life’s roadmap.

It’s been a long time since I last wrote.

If I were to be honest, I’d admit there’s no reason other than my lack of discipline but in the time I’ve been literarily mute, I have started a new job, a new year, and had a birthday.

My last birthday, I wrote about how little the numbers of your birthday matter – how so many of the professional women I admire were 20+ years my senior when they accomplished what it is that I admire them for.

On this year’s birthday, a friend gave me some great advice – that I should use a bit of time from my “work from home day” for writing.  She isn’t as close a friend as I would like but she honored me by knowing how important writing is to my spiritual wholeness and by asking me about it.

So here I sit, at 11:16pm on my WFH day, scratching out a few thoughts.

And it is this friend of mine – who took time out on HER rare night out to celebrate with me on mine – who reminded me of a post I’ve been dying to write.  It is a post about who and what we admire and how we guide and are guided.

In moments of self-loathing and melancholic nostalgia, I will bemoan my assertion that I’ve suffered from a lack of mentors.  I use this term like I know what it is.  Like someone who could easily answer “Who is your hero?” or “Who is your role model?”

Am I the only person who doesn’t feel like I had one?

Am I so critical that no one measured up for my aspirational admiration?  Am I so sheltered that I lacked esposure to stand-outs?  I have to assume that neither are true but I stall when trying to recall help/guidance/direction in my professional life.

Now I’m knocking on the door of 40.  I’ve had one marriage, two kids, and more jobs than I care to admit to.  As I evaluate my value – fiscally, empirically or otherwise, I revisit the concept of mentor with equal parts sense and wonder.

In my adult years, I’ve counted a number of incredible women as my friends.  And perhaps I should view them in some capacity as mentors.  They’ve weighed in and stood by as I explored and failed and rebounded.  But I think it is my insufferable ambition that makes me want to identify someone just beyond ‘peer’ status as an advisor, a confidant, a professional coach.

I have had a few female bosses in my career.  My Aussie boss who got me started in this crazy world of internet advertising went on to launch her own site and become a bit of a maven.  A couple of peers turned bosses have traded sales roles for management ones and made significant marks on their companies.  A former CEO remains a sentimental mystery whom I wished I had known better.

But then there are friends too – or phriends, perhaps – but let’s not let cynicism ruin this, eh?  I have perhaps, half a dozen friends who are wildly accomplished in their fields.  For example, one recent friend who is executive status, politically connected, and philanthropic; another is a self-made social correspondent and contributor, published author, and well-recognized speaker/blogger; A former colleague created her own network of bloggers, sold it successfully and remains a consistent presence in the social and digital publishing reviews.  These three in particular, I think would take my call and work with me on a project.

I have asked them about their path to success exactly… let me count…. ZERO times.

I have asked them for advice on my own zigzag, mishmosh career precisely the same number of times.

I’ve another friend who has finished a book and is in the process of publishing it who asked me to collaborate on her next one.  COLLABORATE ON A BOOK!?!?!?  The honor!  The thrill!  I rewarded her by doing and writing almost nothing.  And then I had a baby and she let me slither away in humiliation.

And then there are the stable, serious, no-frills sugarmamas who just get the job done day in and day out.  One of my oldest friends is a single mom who owns multiple properties and has worked at the same company for a dozen years.  Another has been married for eight? I think?  and manages a family life and a sales team with grace.  HOW DO THEY DO THIS?  I’ve no idea.  I am exactly the kind of self-absorbed, pity-party-of-one fool who never asked.

Seriously.

I’ve done this to myself.

The truth is – I suck at asking for help.  I always have.

I don’t know how or where to begin.  I wouldn’t know the first thing about opening up honestly to someone about my professional goals.  And I dare say that I’ve managed to land on my feet more than once despite that handicap.

But I do have goals.  And perhaps they’re to be fulfilled when I’m in my Ariana-Hilary-Nancy years.  But shouldn’t I be mapping a plan for them now?  And writing about it in the process?

These are the questions I would be asking anyone who would listen at Blissdom right now, were I there with wine in hand.  Since some of the aforementioned heroines are there, I’d best simmer a bit and ask them upon their return.

In the meantime, who do you turn to for the really big career advice?  Where did your best counseling come from and how did you ask for it?  What happened when you took or didn’t take it?

I’m asking…

Ghostwriter

Now you see her, now you don't.I’m a little disgusted with myself that it has been so long since my last post.  This little outlet, the Schugarmama blog, was to be my creative release, my foil to the often austere reality of a sales career. 

What kind of cream puff have I become that a little pregnancy nausea/exhaustion/irritability, financial frailty, and occupational preoccupation derail me from my pursuit of blogging excellence? 

A big gooey one, evidently.

Well, for those of you kind enough to care, I apologize for being slack.  I have been what some might call, all mouth and no trousers.  But no more! 

Anais Nin is quoted as saying, ‘The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say.”  This is why I read. 

Toni Morrison said, “If there’s a book you always want to read but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.”  This is why I write. 

I’m going to chillax on my self-imposed length and structure of posts.  I’m going to dash off ideas whether I’ve choreographed the participles properly or brushstroked the modifiers in just the right lighting. 

Better to explore unreservedly the scope of my craft than to wither in darkness and deafness, no?

While Schugarmama was gathering cobwebs, I did post a few random thoughts via my employer, Technorati.com. 
You can check them out here:

Julian Assange Challenges the Illusion of Control
http://technorati.com/politics/article/julian-assange-challenges-the-illusion-of/

When Dads Get Depressed
http://technorati.com/women/article/when-dads-get-depressed/

Here Comes The Sun… Run for Your Life
http://support.technorati.com/women/article/here-comes-the-sun-run-for/

More to come soon…
No, for real this time.

Numbers Game

In one week, I celebrate my 38th birthday.  Well, ‘celebrate’ might be too strong a term. 

Not to say that I’m fretting over this number or birthdays in general.  I’ve already lived longer than I expected to and known more joy than I ever allowed myself to hope for.  So why am I feeling ambivalent about this year’s marker of my birth? 

Ordinarily the entire month of February is a cacophony of self-congratulation.  I’m a firm believer in asking for what you want and I ALWAYS ask for people to celebrate with me.  Most people (in the North) think of February with dread and lethargy.  I think of Valentines Day and Mardi Gras and a three-day weekend I like to call “Christine’s Birthday Gift from the Government.”  (I was President once, you know.) 

Plus, it’s a mini-month.  It’s over before you know it. 

I’ve felt 38 since my hub’s birthday in September so there won’t be anything to remembering my new age.  I’ve been saying it for months by accident.  And this year is undoubtedly going to be my best since my 35th.  I know this truth in my soul and am manifesting it all over the place.

When I was 35, I became a mom.  The rollercoaster joy of motherhood is something I never expected to experience.  It is a largely unacclaimed role but undoubtedly the most substantial one I’ll ever earn, undiminished by the volume of peers in the field.  Whatever my professional aspirations, this windfall of importance and comedy and humility has made me richer than I ever thought possible.

Yet, I thought, in my hubris youth, that I’d have more to show by this point, that I’d have accomplished something tangible and laudable.  I expected my achievements to be showy, enviable, and unmatched.  And like any self-respecting-perfectionist-first-born, NOT having ‘reached my potential’ makes me want to wad up the sketch of my life and toss it in the bin.

Just when I get to that point of self-loathing agony, mourning for my lost chances and unruddered choices, my wise old-soul of a husband discusses starting points.

I feel like I often write about life and love ‘not being a competition.’ And maybe I need the reminder as much as I need to share my belief.  Life, for sure, cannot be competitive because no one shares the same starting line.  We aren’t given the same legs to run on.  We aren’t given the same course to navigate.  Looking at friends (or foes) with more or less of anything we desire and feeling failure is tragically flawed logic.

A surprising source of perspective came from a former manager, who while we worked together almost drove me to homicide, but since has become less a tyrannical figure and more of a sympathetic one.  Indeed, she observed my impolitic professional life with dispassion saying that I still had time to make the ascent to real leadership and influence.  It was one of the most hopeful things I had ever heard and from such a pragmatist, I couldn’t justly dismiss it.

In fact, at 38, I am not quite middle-aged.  The lifetimes I packed into the last two decades were, in fact, only warm-up acts.  Nancy Pelosi won her first elected seat to the House at 47 and became the first female Speaker at 66.  Arianna Huffington launched her magnum opus, Huffington Post, at fifty-five.  The youngest female CEO in the Fortune 500 is 47.

I’ve still got time.

And right now, I’ve got a birthday to plan.

Don’t drink the poison

I’m one of those all or nothing people.

I suck at faking it.  Whatever ‘it’ may be.

People close to me love and hate this with equal intensity.  I’m incapable of bullshit because I just think it a waste of time.  The rubber-band sting of immediate disappointment/rejection/truth is far preferable to the severed-limb agony of being lied to and let down after an emotional investment.

Mostly I’m referring to private live, but something happened last week in my professional life that made me pause.

I’m no stranger to work drama.  A friend and former colleague rationalized this unhappy truth by saying that I make jobs too personal.  This always makes me think of that scene in You’ve Got Mail, where Joe Fox keeps repeating to Kathleen Kelly that “It’s not personal; it’s business.”  At times, I wish I could have such a Spartan view of my work life but then again, it would take all the color from my day.

Passion is probably the thing that has sustained – me through job losses, company bankruptcies, recessions, implosions, exhaustion, demotion, and descrimination.  Sure, I’ve learned a few lessons along the way (I hope).  Sure, I’ve made mistakes that cost me financially, personally, and professionally.  My preference remains, however, to go out in a blaze of glory.  Or at the very least, with my head high.

Ok, admittedly, that is a little dramatic.  And I haven’t actually pulled a Jerry Maguire exit at any of my employers.  Once, however, two HR professionals had flown in from out of town to admit the company’s fault and prescribe no repurcussions for the guilty executive.  I listened for three whole minutes before saying, “I think we’re done here”  and walked out of the meeting leaving them with nothing to do but wait for their flight home.

When it comes to my work, I, inevitably, end up “drinking the Kool-Aid”.  I can’t give my all to a cause I don’t believe in.  Maybe that’s a defect.  But on the upside, I have never suffered through a toxic work situation without actively participating in changing that situation.

So when I found out a former client went to work at a place that gut-punched me when I was most vulnerable, I got vertigo.  As politely as I could manage, I said, “I’m sorry.  I just can’t talk about that.” 

(Pause for dramatic effect.)

I know this probably sounds childish.  It certainly isn’t her fault what happened to me.  She likely has no idea that it did.  The job is likely a great step for her career path.  I feel sad that I am so changed by that experience and that I haven’t “gotten over it.”

Maybe I will someday.  Maybe I won’t.  Some things cannot be made right, but I hear they get less pointy with time.

While likely confusing to this client, my abrupt silence accomplished one thing:  I didn’t poison her with any of my own experience.

I may be guilty of drinking the Kool-Aid, but I refuse to drink the poison.

Hit Me Baby, One More Time

I’m starting this post, not knowing exactly what I want to say.

Usually when that happens I end up writing forever and never ‘landing the plane,’ so to speak.  Somehow, if I don’t map out my train of thought, and organize in my head the bullets I need to cover, I can meander down an interminable road of language without ever stumbling over a point.

But then, maybe this topic doesn’t need a point.

No, I’m not writing about Britney Spears.  I’m actually writing about babies.  And more specifically OTHER people’s babies.  It seems like a whole crop of 2nd babies have hit my industry in a hurry.  Most of those having them had their first less than 2 years ago. 

While I was “ooooohing” and “aaawwwwwwwing” over their announcements, something struck me.

Every one of my friends who has announced their second child have been men. 

Having a baby won’t even be a hiccup in their progress up the corporate ladder or toward the sweet life where money grows on trees and retirement is an eventuality.

The story for most women (emphasize MOST) isn’t as sunny.

How many women do you know who’ve left their company immediately after their leave ends?  I’m not talking about the lucky few who can afford to stay home with their children.  That luxury just isn’t a reality for most people.

No, I’m talking about the volume of women leaving one job for another and the timing of their departure aligning too closely to their maternity leave end to be coincidence..  Happy employees don’t leave jobs.  There is nothing more distasteful than a corporation mistreating or even antagonizing a pregnant employee.  (I could write a book about this topic alone but that’s for another time.)

And then, yesterday, I realized how I would finish this post.  My twitter stream blew up with commentary on the newly released Forbes Top 100 Powerful Women list.

The controversy?  Included on each woman’s profile are her marital status and number of children.

Perhaps it is a testament to the kind of thought-leaders I follow (progressive) and the women I find inspiring (feminists), but without exception the comments were negative, ranging from Rachel Simmon’s (twitter.com/@RachelJSimmons) *Heavy SIGH* to outright outrage. 

Mary Elizabeth Williams wrote in her Salon.com article, “if you’re female, you’ll still be ranked, assessed and quantified by your ability to mate and reproduce.”  Amy Jussel (a.k.a. twitter.com/@ShapingYouth) replied to me with ” seems off-topic=best & sexist=worst. How many kids does Steve Jobs have? How would they list Jack Welch?”

On this topic, I break the line of solidarity.

It reminds me of the Oscar Wilde quote I have hanging in my hallway, “The Irish have an abiding sense of tragedy, which sustains them through temporary periods of joy.”

Some people just need something to fight against.

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely see the disparity between the report on People and the report on Women.  But instead of insulting me, it inspires me.  I have no more respect for a powerful woman with 5 kids than for a powerful woman with no kids.  I do, however, feel totally empowered to know that my ambition to raise genius, charismatic, world leader children AND be a rain-maker for my family’s finances is not an anomoly.  Oh and I won’t be alone in doing so.

Have you read Kahlil Gibran?  Yeah, yeah – I’m a wannabe hippie sometimes.  I discovered The Prophet when I first read this quote: 

“And when one of you falls down,
He falls for those behind him — a caution against the stumbling stone.
Aye, and he falls for those ahead of him — who though faster and surer of foot,
Removed not the stumbling stone…”

I think the brouhaha over the inclusion of marital status and children is missing the forest for the trees. 

Why don’t they include marital status and number of children for men?  Maybe because it is assumed that any successful man has a family behind him.  Maybe because men who don’t marry are viewed as high-risk to companies and untrustworthy as politicians.  How do you think gay men feel about the dues to the inner circle of the boy’s club?  Is it fair?  No.

But at the risk of stating the obvious – life isn’t fair.

In a country where 50% of marriages end in divorce, machismo bullsh#t runs counter to successful women outearning their mates, and motherhood starts sometimes decades later than it did 50 years ago, I think having a marriage and a family is significant ESPECIALLY if you’re also curing, saving, leading, or entertaining the WORLD. 

The list’s anecdotes are not about the haves and the have-nots; they are simply what is.  Listing “single” or “0” by marital status and children, doesn’t detract from their accomplishments.  These powerful women aren’t listed in order of how many marriages or children they have.  (Isn’t the suggestion that they could be ranked by their ability to mate and reproduce counter to the feminist cause?)

Rather, I see the diversity on the list in nationality, age, industry, skin color, marital and parenthood status as a win for us regular-folk women.  Can’t we all find something to relate to? Be inspired by?

What do you think?  Did I miss the point or did they?