One, I am unemployed and trying be a journalist.
Two, I am a feminist and persistent.
I have been in a pretty bubble of amazing women. Open minded, strong, aware, and vocal.
And as a woman, at such events, I’m going to speak to women. Drawn to kick-ass women who so often will give advice and support. Well, every time, in my case.
At this event, a very cool male journalist was there. I was determined to speak to him.
I had spent the first two hours of this event with two particularly amazing and supportive women. Talking about the industry, life and struggles.
I finally say I am going to speak to so and so. “Good luck” they wish me.
I’d also like to note at this time people were pretty sloshed. I wasn’t. I don’t really drink. I have finished 75% of my free apple cider and I had had enough.
I say excuse me and tap this person on the arm, I am confident. I am assured.
And I face a brick wall of nothing.
Now, I know journalists in the industry do not owe me anything. Being at an event, having a few drinks does not mean a person is ready to delve out the secret to employment in a highly competitive industry.
But, to be asked if I can do anything else? Was there another job I wanted?
How old I was?
One person. One person says move on.
Not spewing advice and support. Besides “get published.”
I am not one of those people who gain strength by people saying ‘no’ or ‘you can’t’.
I am paper thin skinned. Heart on my sleeve.
Are these women giving me false hope?
Or are men so oblivious to others that they think it’s their way or no way?
Maybe this man simply not aware of the confidence gap. Or failure. Or new media.
This was my first real foray into the boys club. A group of white, drunk men. Considered top of the industry, in the most difficult form of journalism.
At least I can be proud of the fact I walked into that.
As I said to one of them, “we need more vaginas at the top.”
Mmm, maybe I was a bit drunk.