Friend and Foe: When to Cooperate, When to Compete, and How to Succeed at Both (12 page)

So we've seen that a company's and a nation's commitment to institutionalizing gender equality can help both women and men compete more effectively. But sometimes official government and corporate interventions aren't enough. After all, many gender biases exist on a deep, often subconscious level. So how do we, both men and women, undo this double bind in our minds?

The first thing we can do is blind ourselves to gender altogether. This is exactly what symphony orchestras have done. Today, when musicians audition for orchestras in the United States, they do so from behind a screen. By having musicians perform behind a screen, the evaluation process is devoid of any gender cues. Claudia Goldin of Harvard found that this type of blind screening process increased the likelihood of selecting a woman musician by 300 percent! Before 1970, women made up less than 10 percent of symphony orchestras, but today, after the introduction of blind auditions, they now compose nearly 50 percent of orchestras. And to be sure that judges are truly blind, applicants are required to remove a piece of clothing before they audition…their shoes! Why? The click, click, click of high heels would be a telling clue. So to make the selection process truly blind, aspiring musicians now audition behind a screen, without shoes.

Another way to blind ourselves is to focus on the data—rather than subjective measures of performance, such as likability and other interpersonal factors. If Price Waterhouse had only looked at the numbers, they would have seen that Ann Hopkins billed more hours and generated more business (over $40 million) than any of the 87 other candidates up for partnership that year. Stereotypes and double standards are less likely to influence evaluations when they are based on hard facts. By using objective, quantifiable criteria, we can help level the playing field.

But even looking only at the numbers sometimes isn't enough. Remember the police chief study we mentioned earlier? When people knew the applicant's gender, they (whether consciously or not) shifted the criteria they used to favor the man. But when they committed to a specific criterion in advance, before knowing the gender of the candidates, the bias disappeared. So setting up procedures and criteria can tie us to the right decision even when we cannot blind ourselves to gender.

If we combine these ideas, we can generate insight into what a company, manager, or team leader can do to increase the number of competent women (and men) in the ranks. When you are making promotion decisions, the first thing you want to do is identify the selection criteria in advance, long before you know anything about the candidates. Second, whenever you can, remove identifying features and focus on the objective criteria for all of the candidates. When we are blind to gender cues, we can truly focus on the music.

Of course, we don't always have the opportunity to be blind. If someone's giving a presentation, for example, it is hard to alter their voice and put them behind a screen. And sometimes the criteria are truly subjective: What makes a good presentation can be hard to quantify. What can we do to ensure that we aren't holding women to a different standard?

One solution is to mentally give the person a sex change! Specifically, ask yourself the following question: Would I have had the same reaction to that behavior if the behavior was performed by a man? This might seem silly, but Charles Lord of Texas Christian University has found that engaging in this mental simulation can help free us of the double bind.

Clearly institutions and observers need to take steps to reduce the tendency to hold back and punish women who exhibit signs of confidence and competence. But until the day comes when gender bias is eliminated, what can women do to reduce the likelihood of being caught in that double bind?

It's clear that women are constrained by the prescriptive stereotype that demands they act cooperatively and communally. But this stereotype can actually be leveraged: Women can be assertive without getting pushed back when they ask for things
on behalf of others
. As we've seen, women are less likely to ask for things for themselves—like a raise—but they are more willing to be assertive and aggressive when asking for something for another person. The famous humanitarian Mother Teresa was lauded for her ability to assertively raise money; a likely secret to her success is that she was asking on behalf of others.

Work done by Hannah Riley Bowles of Harvard University and Emily Amanatullah of the University of Texas discovered the same remarkable insight—when women serve as advocates for others, two things happen. First, they negotiate just as aggressively and successfully as men. Second, they avoid the backlash of being seen as overly assertive.

In some professions, like law, advocating for others is the essence of the job. So it might not surprise you to learn that assertive female lawyers avoid backlash more than women in other professions. In a study in which lawyers rated one another after a negotiation interaction, Andrea Schneider of Marquette University Law School found no gender differences. Women and men were perceived to be identical in their negotiation abilities. Andrea proposed that the nature of the law profession contributed to this result. Because lawyers are
expected
to be assertive and confident, and to advocate on behalf of others, female lawyers do not face backlash because of it.

And there's another natural setting in which women can be highly assertive without fear of backlash: moms protecting the interests of their kids. We even have a phrase for it: “Mama Bear.” As a mother defending her cubs, a woman is given great latitude for assertive and even aggressive behavior.

Cathy Tinsley at Georgetown University has shown that women can use these techniques to advocate for themselves as well; the key is to advocate for others at the same time. Cathy calls this “us advocacy.” Us advocacy allows for a woman to advocate for her own self-interest by arguing for the collective good of her group—say, by fighting to reinstate a bonus for her entire department—without suffering from backlash.

So we've seen that when it comes to competing for resources, less powerful groups, such as women, face subtle discrimination and backlash. Sometimes, however, less powerful groups face overt, public displays of discrimination like slurs and hateful terms. We next explore the power of names and show that the terms and nicknames we use can help us make friends but also create foes.

It's difficult to give yourself a nickname. Why?

Because nicknames are inherently social. They signal membership in a relationship or group, and thus they are more likely to stick when they are bestowed on us by others.

Consider the nicknames Maverick, Iceman, and Goose, made famous by the movie
Top Gun
. (You can even go and get your own Top Gun call sign at
http://www.topgunday.com/​call-sign-generator
.) But the idea for these now iconic nicknames didn't come out of thin air; in the actual military, pilots are actually given an aviator call sign that replaces the pilot's name; it's even stitched onto their flight suit. All branches of the military use nicknames to solidify common bonds and connect individuals to their platoon. These nicknames forge a unique group identity that promotes cooperation and loyalty.

And the military is not alone. Recall the parallels we drew earlier between the strong hierarchy in the military and the hierarchy in the Catholic Church. For both institutions, a cohesive identity is critical. And both groups use names to build that collective connection. In the Catholic Church, people are given a new name upon their confirmation; and popes, once appointed, are given a new name. In Judaism there is a tradition of changing your name when embarking on a new life chapter; in Islam it is customary to change your name after converting from another religion. And it turns out that when it comes to nicknames, fraternities and sororities are an awful lot like the military; they assign nicknames to members in a way that promotes group identity.

All kinds of groups use nicknames to promote bonding. Wharton undergraduates, for example, are assigned to groups with given names; they use names of currencies like the Rupee, Yuan, and Dollar. And Columbia MBA students are assigned to groups that are only given a generic alphabet letter when they arrive. Then, during orientation, each group invents its own name using that letter: Group “A” might become the Aviators one semester, while the following class might create a different “A” name, like Animal House. Here again, names promote bonding and help make friends out of strangers.

Nicknames even play a role in helping love bloom. They aren't just a kind of shorthand that develops over the course of a relationship; they actually breed affection—they help romance flourish by making the couple feel special and unique.

What do these intimate nicknames look like? We analyzed the 250 most common nicknames that romantic partners give to each other. Most fall into one of two categories: food and animals. As you might have guessed, names like “honey,” “sugar,” and “pumpkin” are very popular (so too is “waffles”). From the animal kingdom, we find names like “kitten,” “bunny,” and “honey bear.” Why food and animal names? Because they connote sweetness on the one hand, and warmth and cuddliness on the other.

Whether among romantic couples, university students, or navy pilots, nicknames strengthen bonds by separating insiders from outsiders. But they aren't the only semantic tool groups use to separate themselves from others. Another is jargon, or some shared vocabulary that makes group members feel “in the know.” By using jargon, we distinguish “the inner circle” from those outside it. One time-honored approach to inventing new terms is the use of acronyms.

Jargon, in other words, helps groups develop their own unique identity and allows group members to cooperate and coordinate more effectively within their groups. But jargon can also make communication more difficult with people outside the group and can leave others feeling left out. That is why some professors have an NAZ in their classrooms. Oh wait, you don't know what an NAZ is? It is a No Acronym Zone!

And jargon can also seem pretentious to those not in the inner circle. Two law school classmates studying for an exam would naturally use legal jargon with each other; it would sound authentic and natural. But if one of those law students started spitting out fancy legal terms in casual conversation with the building janitor, they'd probably sound like a pretentious jerk.

It may not surprise you to learn that nicknames are deeply connected to status and power. In romantic couples, where status is (hopefully) equal, nicknames flow both ways; even George Bush and his wife had nicknames for each other. But at work, it is the powerful who get to bestow nicknames on the less powerful. To understand this important idea, try a simple mental exercise: Think about what it would feel like to give your boss a playful nickname. Pretty awkward, right?

Of course, less powerful employees conjure nicknames for their bosses all the time. But they do so secretly. And rightly so; assigning nicknames (especially unfavorable ones) to those more powerful can have real consequences. For example, three employees, ironically from the Iowa Civil Rights Commission, lost their jobs and were even denied unemployment benefits after their boss discovered e-mails referring to the commission's director as “Knight Rider” and to their direct supervisor as “Teen Wolf.”

So nicknames and jargon are often used as expressions of power and status. Yet some names can also be used to
acquire
power and status. We have a term for those names: We call them
titles
.

Who is a
real
doctor?

If you ask people to describe a doctor, they will invariably depict someone who can harness the wonders of modern medicine to cure people of physical ailments. In short, they will describe a medical doctor.

But this wasn't always how we defined a doctor. The Latin verb
docere
means to teach, and the first people referred to as doctors were the Apostles who taught others about the Bible. The use of the term soon spread to refer to scholars who had accumulated knowledge and were qualified to teach others.

At the same time that teachers and scholars were rising in status, there was another profession that had made surprisingly little progress since the time of Aristotle—the profession of medicine. For example, in 1348, England was ravaged by the Black Death. Nearly one in three people died. The real problem was sanitation, but medieval medical practitioners were still prescribing leeches and herbs.

Because physicians were not held in high regard during this period, they sought markers of status. So they began to call themselves doctors.

It would take centuries, but eventually medical practitioners abandoned the use of leeches and began to prescribe lifesaving antibiotics. And by the 21st century the medical profession had leveraged science to fundamentally transform the quality of health care. Because of the modern miracles that today's medical doctors perform, the term doctor became supercharged with status.

But if you have wandered around a college campus, you might have noticed that physicians aren't the only ones today who use the name “doctor.” Colleges typically require their instructors to have a doctorate of philosophy, i.e., a PhD. Although most instructors are called professors, there are academics who insist on being called “doctor.” Interestingly, this phenomenon is more common in some regions of the United States than in others. In the northeast part of the United States, where education is highly valued, the name “professor” is associated with high status and commands respect; Professor Galinsky or Professor Schweitzer works just fine. But in the South, “professor” doesn't carry the same gravitas. And so, professors prefer to be called doctor; only Dr. Galinsky or Dr. Schweitzer will do.

So why the difference? Research has shown that when people lack power and status, they are more prone to publicly display their titles. This phenomenon can be seen on the web pages of academic departments: Cindy Harmon-Jones of the University of New South Wales found that lower-status colleges list more professional titles on their departmental web pages than higher-ranked colleges do. Similarly, professors whose research is less frequently cited by their peers tend to display more professional titles in their e-mail signatures compared to professors with higher citation rates.

You can even see a difference in the use of status markers between male and female professors (remember that gender differences are often power differences in disguise). Carlotta Berry, an African American female engineering professor, explained this perspective in a
New York Times
op-ed: “When I introduce myself in the classroom, I'm Dr. Berry. And I insist on being Dr. Berry…I have colleagues who would prefer to be called by their first name…But they are mostly men, and almost all white, and they have that luxury. As an African American woman in a mostly Caucasian- and male-dominated field, I don't.” Or consider the case of a four-person teaching team at a business school one of us once taught at that included two men and two women. The two male professors signed all their e-mails to students with their first names. The two female professors, however, signed their e-mails with “Professor (Last name).” In schools where female professors (sadly and unfairly) don't receive the respect their male counterparts do, the use of a title is one way to demand the respect that they deserve.

So we see how the word doctor started as a descriptive word for a profession and accrued status over time. Other times, this process flows in reverse; titles can take on negative meaning. Take the term Nazi. Originally Nazi was just a term, like “Democrat” or “Republican,” which simply described membership in a political party in Germany, the National Socialist party. But as that party's supremacist teachings and dictatorial policies became more widely known, the term Nazi became synonymous with authoritarian intolerance. And a short time later, it became associated with the atrocities of the Holocaust. Today the term has become one of the greatest forms of condemnation. There are few insults worse than calling someone a Nazi.

From these examples, we can see how the meaning of names can change over time and even across regions. We have seen how certain names—like doctor—may help us express status and feel more powerful, and in doing so they help us compete more effectively. We turn next to how names—slurs and epithets—can be used as harmful and searing weapons.

Slut. Bitch. N-word. Kike. Queer.

These are hateful words. One is so hurtful that we didn't even spell it out.

They are so hateful that some people will do anything to escape their curse and the associated discrimination. In a large-scale study of ethnic immigrants to the United States during the 1950s, Brian Mullen of Syracuse University found that when slurs were especially derogatory toward a group, suicide rates were higher among its members. Mullen also analyzed data spanning a 150-year period of American history and found that groups who were the targets of hurtful epithets were more likely to be socially excluded from fraternal associations, face housing segregation, and suffer employment discrimination.

But as we've seen, the meaning of words is fluid over place and time. In fact, a seemingly innocuous term can become a slur overnight. This is what happened in a third-grade classroom in Iowa over 40 years ago. In this now-famous experiment, the teacher, Jane Elliott, separated her students into two groups based on the color of their eyes. She then privileged the blue-eyed students, giving them more recess time, greater access to the water fountain, and second helpings of food—all signs, to an eight-year-old at least, of high status. In contrast, the brown-eyed students were treated like second-class citizens.

Though we might readily recognize that a class distinction based upon eye color is wildly arbitrary, Jane's experiment produced incredibly powerful effects. What had been an insignificant and neutral physical marker only the day before became a justification for exclusion and bullying. When the teacher asked a student after recess why he hit another student, the boy replied “Because he called me brown eyes.” Upon being asked what he thought the student meant by calling him “brown eyes,” he explained: “That I'm stupid.” The descriptor “brown eyes” had become a slur.

So, what should we do when we're connected to a derogatory term? One possibility is to simply ignore it. But this is unlikely to work. In spite of what our parents may have told us, ignoring the schoolyard bully is often
not
the best way to get them to leave us alone.

Another strategy is to eliminate the offensive word from our conversations altogether. Sheryl Sandberg, the COO of Facebook and author of
Lean In
, argued for this tactic in 2014 when she proposed banning the term “bossy” after she studied a 2008 survey conducted by the Girl Scouts. The study found that “girls between the ages of 8 and 17 avoid leadership roles for fear that they will be labeled ‘bossy' and be disliked by their peers.” It turns out that the term bossy is not applied equally across genders: In books, females are four times more likely to be called bossy than males. Our view is that Sheryl Sandberg is right to be concerned with the term “bossy.” This term can hold women back from achieving their ambitions. So, we can sympathize with the call to stop using the word altogether. But is simply refusing to use a term enough to eliminate it from the vernacular?

Sometimes it is. Consider the name of Washington's National Football League team: the Washington Redskins. This term is offensive to Native Americans, and after a long and public debate about the name,
Slate
declared on August 8, 2013, that “this is the last
Slate
article that will refer to the Washington NFL team as the Redskins.” Other news organizations have followed suit, including such eminent writers as Bill Simmons. Even though the owner of the team has proclaimed that “we will never change the name of the team,” the tide is turning. The name Redskin may soon be headed for the history books.

But banning a word is difficult. It requires a broad consensus. So another option is simply to rename one's group. If we go back in time, we can see that African Americans were called “Colored,” then “Negro,” then “Black,” until the present day's “African American.” By rejecting prior names and creating new ones in their stead, African Americans distanced themselves from the negative associations of slavery and disadvantage.

Even businesses employ the tactic of changing their name to combat stigma. Take how, after a series of high-profile crashes, the airline Valujet became AirTran. Or, as smoking and cigarettes began to acquire a negative stigma, note how Philip Morris changed its name to Altria.

And of course, businesses have used the renaming strategy to better market their products for decades. In 1977, a young fish merchant named Lee Lantz discovered that Chilean fishermen had been catching a delicious fish with a somewhat unappetizing name, the Patagonian toothfish. He realized that this fish would be more appetizing if he simply renamed it. So, the Patagonian toothfish became “Chilean seabass.” The U.S. Food and Drug Administration eventually accepted this name change and consumption of the fish took off.

This “rebranding” tactic can work for individuals as well as companies. That's why Jeff Gillooly, the husband of Tonya Harding, the skater who orchestrated the attack against her competitor Nancy Kerrigan, legally changed his name to Jeff Stone. And why Matt Sandusky and his family changed their last name following the shocking revelation that his adoptive father, former Penn State football coach Jerry Sandusky, had sexually assaulted numerous boys.

Some people change their names proactively to appeal to mass audiences. Allen Konigsberg became Woody Allen. Carlos Estevez became Charlie Sheen. And Natalie Hershlag became Natalie Portman. We hope the stigma of ethnic names recedes and in the future Bruno Mars can remain Peter Hernandez.

Even lawmakers employ this tactic. For years, the American government levied a tax on the estates of individuals after they passed away. But, as it turns out, what we call this tax matters. Political consultant Frank Luntz realized that by changing the name of the “estate tax” to the “death tax,” he could change how people viewed the tax. And so, he launched an aggressive rebranding campaign. As he explained, “Look, for years, political people and lawyers…used the phrase ‘estate tax.' And for years they couldn't eliminate it. The public wouldn't support [its repeal] because the word ‘estate' sounds wealthy. Someone like me comes around and realizes that it's not an estate tax, it's a death tax, because you're taxed at death. And suddenly something that isn't viable achieves the support of 75 percent of the American people.” The name made all the difference.

So as we see, renaming can be a powerful tool that can help us compete more effectively. But when slurs are hurled against us, renaming is not always an option and censorship may not work. So what else can we do?