Midlife MavericksWhen a man writes about his career, we read a career story. When a woman writes the same thing, we read a confession and wait for the apology.
I’m reading two books at the same time and I can’t put either of them down.
On one side, Streetwise by Lloyd Blankfein. Brooklyn working class, climbed Goldman Sachs to CEO, stayed there twelve years, lived through the 2008 financial crisis with the entire world pointing at him. The book is a defence of the Goldman culture. Bloomberg called it “a love letter to the firm.” On the other, Start With Yourself by Emma Grede. Co-founder of Good American, entrepreneur, mother, a woman who says without dressing it up that she organises her life around her own priorities and not around other people’s approval.
I didn’t plan to read them at the same time. It just happened. But few coincidences have taught me as much as this one. Reading them in parallel, there’s something that jumps out with almost obscene clarity. The conversation around each of them has nothing to do with the other.
The criticism of Blankfein is sharp. Some say he doesn’t reflect enough on the social cost of what Goldman built. That the book is more institutional defence than introspection. That he should have gone deeper. But notice what nobody asks him. Nobody wants to know if he was a good father. How many dinners he missed. Whether he was “present.” Whether his wife held everything down at home alone while he saved Goldman, or while Goldman saved him. That doesn’t enter the conversation, and it doesn’t even cross anyone’s mind that it should.
The debate is about the institution and the legacy. About whether the culture he defends is defensible. Full stop.
Emma said publicly that she’s a “three-hour mum.” That she hires help, and that she’s not going to pretend the perfect work-family balance exists. She basically told the truth. And the internet set itself on fire.
They called her cold, arrogant, anti-motherhood. Which is funny when you remember she has four children. The real issue isn’t her business advice. It’s that Emma talks about ambition without putting motherhood at the centre of the narrative. And when a woman does that, people get offended.
I know this dynamic. I’ve lived it. I spent twenty-five years in finance in London, almost always one of the very few women in the room. When a male colleague stayed in the office until eleven at night, he was being dedicated. When I did the same, there was always someone asking “and what about your kids?” I never once saw anyone ask that of any man. Not once. For them, work was the justification. For me, work was, and unfortunately still is, something I had to justify.
And that’s exactly what I see reflected in these two books. The world looks at Lloyd and sees a professional. What he built, what he decided, whether he got the decisions right or wrong. Sure. But always at a professional level. The world looks at Emma and wants to know what kind of person she is. Whether she’s a good mother. Whether her tone is acceptable. Whether honesty is permitted to her, or whether she’s overstepped what a woman is allowed to say out loud about her own life.
Lloyd wrote a book defending one of the most controversial institutions in finance, and the response was an intellectual shrug. Emma wrote a book saying she refuses to apologise for wanting what she wants, and the response was a moral verdict.
I don’t think every criticism of Emma is sexist. There are people who genuinely disagree with what she defends and they have that right. I also don’t think Lloyd should have been attacked more than he was. Each to their own.
But there’s a pattern here I can’t ignore. When a man writes about his career, we read a career story. When a woman writes about her career, we read a confession, and we wait for the apology to come with it.
Read both books. Seriously. Both are excellent and both say things that need to be said. But pay attention to what you feel reading one and what you feel reading the other. And then ask yourself if the yardstick you’re using is the same one.
It probably isn’t.
Comment below. When was the last time someone asked you “and what about your kids?” and would they have asked your husband the same thing? I read every response.
This article was first published in Portuguese in my weekly column Oh pá, não me lixem! for Executiva.
