Introducing ONESELF
It was in the early days of my post-college advertising career in New York City (1979) that I first became sensitive to what an introduction can do. Days before starting at Dancer Fitzgerald Sample, my mom gave me advice: First impressions form in an instant. You need to start strong—from the first moment. Come off as relatable.
She wanted so much for me; she hadn’t gone to college, had worked as a bank teller for a few years after high school, married my dad, and raised a family. She loved the superhero comic Wonder Woman and believed that when I introduced myself at my new job, I could be strong and independent, unafraid of the mostly male business world. And she wanted me to be relatable.
It was an interesting time in 1979. The Soviet Union had invaded Afghanistan, and Iranian students crowded the U.S. Embassy in Tehran during the Iran Hostage Crisis. Sony released the Walkman. Phnom Penh fell. MS Magazine published its Decade of Women issue, and Saturday Night Live was just a few years old. There were many meaningful consciousness-raising ideas to be concerned about, many processes about disrupting the personal and political that activated me. But my silly accent stayed at the top of my mind, too. When I first started introducing myself to new people back then all I could focus on was whether I was relatable.
Are you from the South? Is that a German accent? Where are you from? I can’t place you. No wait….I got it….it’s Norwegian, right? You’re Norwegian. Rarely could anyone place my home state as Minnesota (pronounced Minn-eh-sooo-ta.) I always told them, somewhat timidly, where I was born and raised, but then the conversation would pretty much fade. It’s really cold there, right? Lots of snow? And mosquitoes, right? I understand the questions asked decades ago that arose in response to my nasal, flat, stretched-out vowel voice were meant as ways to learn about my identity and find a place to begin a conversation. But nevertheless, I felt self-conscious, uncertain, and sometimes angry.
I have been very fortunate to have an education, job, and multiple resources throughout my life; my accent then and when it comes up now has not, and does not, in any way, hold me back professionally or create bias. It’s a silly concern, really. Probably not even an accent, officially. But I’m writing about this because as a parent, partner, co-worker, teacher, friend, member of this world, and co-founder of Little Big Fund, I need to think about first impressions and what it takes to shape meaning at the start of a conversation. To ask: am I doing what I can in the first moments of meeting someone to create a shared relatability?
At LBF and fundSHIFT, we try to foster an unusual, open-ended process of introductions, a process rich with ideas and surprises. We use open-ended prompts at the start of our Boot Camps (e.g. what superpower would you want to have, and why?) In fundSHIFT sessions, we create a wee bit of anonymity by asking participants to set aside their bio, resumé, and professional responsibilities. We read poetry at first. We hold off from “what I hope to achieve” narratives and trust that intentions will unfold. We bring ideas, values, preferences, and commonalities into the room first and foster building a relatability that brings wonder, superhero powers, and welcoming pronunciations.
Gayle (originally October 2024)
