The Longest Climb

Through referral from one to the next--what's technically known as a snowball sample--I found 55 respected, credible executive women who hold powerful positions in major U.S. corporations. Their mean age is 48 and their industries run the gamut: two-thirds are in banking, finance, or manufacturing, 15 percent in communications, television, or publishing, 4 percent in health or public service, and the remaining 12 percent in a variety of industries. I interviewed them at length, searching for common benchmarks in their careers and what they learned at each. I expected to hear of major feats of corporate politics, but, ironically, the vast majority saw themselves as apolitical. They told me that hard work and being in the right place at the right time had made the difference. Still, I beg to differ.

From their resounding denial of office politicking on, the same stories emerged again and again, no matter what the context. So I didn't have to work too terribly hard to trace the path they took to the top. Their careers sorted easily into four stages, taking a total of about 20 years, that I labeled according to key seasoning lessons the women learned in each: Political Naivete, Building Credibility, Refining a Style, and Shouldering Responsibility.

In stage one--their first or second jobs--these women came to realize that their level of candor and directness set them apart from the rest. Over 60 percent of them told me that, purely out of naivete, they took an unpopular stand early in their careers. One woman from the home-appliance industry characterized herself this way: "I would be the person who would come out of the crowd and say, 'Gee, Mr. Vice President, this is what is going on and guess what, you are screwing up. Do you know you are being laughed at?'" The comment typifies the mindset of these women. They didn't mince words or pull punches, they simply said, "The emperor has no clothes."

Their penchant for the truth and outspokenness dashes with the commonly held definition of politics--conforming to what upper management expects. Because they were women, they had escaped the traditional socialization process that men go through that might have "cured" them of their directness. No one took them aside to tell them the do's and don'ts: when to talk, when to shut up, who to ignore, and who to pay attention to.

But their early political blunders paid off. Their directness made them valuable in the eyes of senior management because no one else was willing to tell them what was going on. And senior management may have been more willing to take candor from a woman because they didn't know what to expect from them.

Looking back, the women believe that their political mishaps also helped them define the boundaries of corporate culture. By going slightly beyond the range of appropriate in their comments and personal style, the women became acutely aware of the norms driving their companies. That same woman in the home-appliance firm told me, "A big eye-opener for me was when these two guys sat me down and said, 'We don't always want to know what you think. You are usually right and you're too logical and we don't know how to argue with you.' This turned out to be the biggest piece of advice I ever got in my career. I learned to get people to come to me to ask for my opinion rather than telling them straight out." As another woman put it, "I learned how to say the right thing to the right person at the right time."

As the burgeoning executives moved into middle management, they had to make sure they were perceived as hard workers. For them, stage two was all about building credibility. They often were one of two or three women within a department and, given the times, expectations for them were low. They had to work against the stereotype of the woman who came to the office each day solely to snag a husband. The women said they worked inordinately hard, trading nights and weekends for meetings and pencil pushing to prove their mettle.