On one of my first assignments at a large corporation, no one could remember my name. It wasn't because they couldn't pronounce it. It wasn't because they had never met me. It wasn't because they had forgotten it. It was because everyone kept calling me by someone else's name.
They would call me by her name with such confidence, stating it loudly and firmly. They would greet me, ask questions, follow up with me, all while addressing me by someone else's name. They would refer to me by the other name even when I wasn't in the room. There was no doubt in their mind. My name was simply not Mita. Really.
No One Listened
That someone else—who was she? Well, she was the only other brown girl in the department. And they called me by her name. And, for the record, they called her by my name, too.
We were both brown girls. That is where the physical similarities ended.
She had short black hair. I had long black hair. She was tall. I was short. She sometimes wore glasses. I never wore glasses. She had a much better wardrobe than me. (I can't and don't want to remember what I was wearing in those days.) And our names, if you are wondering, didn't even sound alike.
No matter how many times I smiled and corrected them. No matter how many times I joked about how my friend and I looked nothing alike. No matter how many times I literally spelled out my name.
And that's when I developed a very firm handshake. I would look them in the eye and say, "It's Mita." If they needed a reminder on how to pronounce it, it rhymes with both Rita and pita (as in pita bread). Even when I stopped smiling, and I just growled underneath my breath, it didn't matter. It was too much work for them to call two brown girls by their God-given names.
It's Not Just Me
So when the story about Padma Lakshmi and Priyanka Chopra hit social media recently—about a mistaken case of brown identity. It struck me as yet another case of "Please Don't Mistake Me for the Other Brown Girl."
Padma Lakshmi was recently part of The New Yorker's celebrity cartoon takeover. When the magazine promoted her position, The New Yorker tagged Priyanka Chopra in the Instagram post instead. Padma Lakshmi didn't hesitate in clapping right back.
"Thank you to the illustrious "@nydailynews' for the shoutout," Lakshmi wrote, tagging the wrong publication on purpose. "I know to some we all look alike, but ... #desilife #justindianthings."
If The New Yorker can confuse Padma for Priyanka, well then, the rest of us don't stand a chance. And they unfortunately have a lot of company: Cuba Gooding Jr. & Terrence Howard, Lucy Liu & Lisa Ling, and even Octavia Spencer and Viola Davis. The list of celebrities of color being mistaken for one another goes on and on. We common people just don't stand a chance.
Then there's the recent case of Courtney Cox being mistaken for Caitlin Jenner. Apparently, this doesn't just happen to brown girls.
View this post on InstagramThank you to the illustrious “@nydailynews" for the shoutout 😉 I know to some we all look alike, but 🤷🏾♀️... #desilife #justindianthings
A post shared by Padma Lakshmi (@padmalakshmi) on Dec 28, 2019 at 4:28pm PST
One of my close girlfriends recounted a similar story from a conference she had attended. My friend was in line at the lunch buffet when one of the attendees came up to her, gushing about how great her talk was. My friend was confused as the other woman excitedly went on and on.
Finally, my friend responded, "I actually have no idea what you are talking about."
The conference participant thought my friend was the speaker on stage. The speaker and my friend: both white women with brown hair. The speaker was wearing a red dress. My friend was wearing a blouse and black pants. And they looked nothing alike. Please don't mistake me for the other white girl?
Time To Retrain Your Brain
It's clear to me that the human brain is so lazy that it can't even distinguish one face from another. In my case, one brown face from another brown face. And it's no wonder we are bombarded with headlines on AI and racial bias in facial recognition. Our brains are behind on that, too.
Maybe I shouldn't blame the human brain. It's simply a lack of early exposure to members of other communities, cultures, and racial groups. When you don't know many brown or black people or you didn't grow up around people who have had different experiences than you, then your brain just starts compartmentalizing. It's not your brain's fault; it's probably your parents' fault. It's how our brains are programmed. Then all brown and black people look pretty much the same to you.
I can't help but think if my name was Kelly, you would never call me Beth. And I am probably right.
It's time to reprogram your brain, and stop blaming your parents. Start to get to know more brown people, black people, people from different communities and backgrounds than your own. Start creating meaningful experiences with members of other communities and racial groups. Start to recognize that we don't all look like eachother.
Because when you get to know me... That I still like to take notes in a pretty journal. That I prefer a lot of milk with my caffeine. That I am mom of two young kids. That I am obsessed with beauty products. That I like to read political memoirs...
If you can remember just one piece of me, chances are, you will never call me by the wrong name again.
So please don't mistake me for the other brown girl. And if you consistently, repeatedly, over and over again, mistake me for the other brown girl and ignore my pleas. I'll have no choice but to ignore you completely until you decide to call me by the correct name. I'll have no choice but to call you out in front of other people, even if you tagged me "by mistake" on LinkedIn or you thought I was the other brown girl posted in that pic. I'll have no choice but to ask you, if I was a man, if I was taller, if I was a different color, would you still call me by the wrong name?
Please don't mistake me for the other brown girl. Because if you do, eventually I'll just smile and call you Beth instead of Kelly.
Amid the mainstream conversation about inclusion and justice in the workplace, otherwise known as #MeToo, a Silicon Valley venture capital fund considered how they can be more inclusive of the women, minority, and LGBTQ entrepreneurial communities.
Their solution? Ask the CEOs they currently fund to promise to hire senior-level employees from diverse backgrounds.
Lightspeed Venture Partners, a venture capital fund that has investments with blockbuster startups such as The Honest Company, Affirm, and HQ Trivia, has asked its portfolio company CEOs to sign a “side letter" affirming their commitment to consider women and other underrepresented groups for senior jobs and new spots on their board of directors.
Can making pledges— or even hiring a C-Suite level employee to manage diversity efforts— really make an impact on the funding gap for multicultural women-led companies?
Many experts say it's going to take systemic change, not letters of intent.
It is well reported that the amount of investment going to multicultural women-led companies is incongruous to the entrepreneurial landscape and the performance of their businesses. Between 2007 and 2016, there was an increase of 2.8 million companies owned by women of color. Nearly eight out of every 10 new women-owned firms launched since 2007 has been started by a woman of color yet, these businesses receive an abysmal 0.2 percent of all funding. Amanda Johnson and KJ Miller, founders of Mented cosmetics, were just the 15th and 16th Black women in history to raise $1M in the fall of 2017.
The multicultural women who do defeat the odds to get funded receive significantly less than male founders. The average startup founded by a Black woman raises only $36,000 in venture funding, while the average failed startup founded by a White man raises $1.3M before going out of business.
The implicit and explicit bias not only impacts individual multicultural female founders, it could be stifling innovation. For example, companies with above-average diversity on their management teams reported innovation revenue as 45 percent of total revenue compared to just 26 percent of total revenue at companies with below-average management diversity. That means nearly half the revenue of companies with more diverse leadership comes from products and services launched in the past three years.
In our economy today, venture capital is responsible for funding the work of our most innovative companies. Venture capital-backed U.S. companies include some of the most innovative companies in the world. In 2013, VC-backed companies account for a 42 percent of the R&D spending by U.S. public companies.
With a wealth of multicultural women entrepreneurs and evidence to support the performance of diverse companies, why does this funding gap persist?
According to Kristin Hull, founder of Oakland-based Nia Impact Capital and Nia Community, many traditional investors consider women or minority-led businesses as a category in their portfolio, like gaming tech or consumer packaged good. Hull, who focuses on building portfolios where financial returns and social impact work hand-in-hand, argues gender and ethnicity are not a business category and investors who dedicate a specific percent of their portfolio to diverse companies are the ones missing out.
“We are doing this backwards," says Hull. “Adding diverse, women-run companies actually de-risks an investment portfolio."
Hull points to research that has found women are more likely to seek outside help when a company is headed for trouble and operate businesses with less debt on average. What's more, a study conducted by First Round Capital concluded that founding teams including a woman outperform their all-male peers by 63 percent.
Ximena Hardstock, a 43-year-old immigrant from Chile experienced this bias first hand before she raised $5.1M for her tech startup. “How do you get an investor to notice you and take you seriously?" says Hardstock. “White men from Harvard have a track record and investors are all looking for entrepreneurs that fit the Zuckerberg mold. But a woman from Chile with an accent who started a technology company? There is no track record for that and this is a problem so many women of color face."
Hardstock came to the U.S. from the suburbs of Santiago when she was just 20-years-old. Alone with no family or connections in the U.S., Hardstock worked as a cleaning lady, a bartender, and a nanny before she began teaching and working in education. “I had a lot of ideas and Chile is still a very conservative country," she says. “Most women become housewives but I wanted to do something different. So, I moved to the U.S."
Hardstock went on to earn a Ph.D. in policy studies, served as vice president of Advocacy for National StudentsFirst and worked as a member of Washington DC mayor Adrian Fenty's cabinet. Her experience working in both education and government exposed her to a need to simplify the process of connecting lawmakers with their constituents. As a result, Hardstock founded Phone2Action, a digital advocacy company that enables organizations and individual citizens to connect with policymakers via email, Twitter, Alexa and Facebook using their mobile phones.
Because venture capital and private equity are not necessarily meritocracies, Hardstock initially struggled to get in an audience with the right investors despite her company's growth potential, her experience, and her education. In fact, it wasn't until she won a competition at SXSW in 2015 that she could get an audience with a serious venture capitalist.
While it may seem like symptoms of a bygone era, both Hardstock and Hull say the path to investor relationships is forged in places where many women of diverse backgrounds are not – ivy league organizations, golf courses and late night post-board meeting cocktails attended mostly by White men of means.
The history of venture capital has never been very balanced, according to Aubrey Blanche, global head of diversity at Atlassian software development company and co-founder of Sycamore, an organization aiming to fix the VC funding gap for underrepresented founders. “White and Asian men have built the venture system and for generations have been seeking out people like themselves to invest in."
Personal and professional networks are critical for founders to connect with investors, but many multicultural women don't have access to the networks their White peers have. According to a study conducted by PRRI, the average White person has one friend who is Black, Latino, Asian, mixed race, and other races. This common situation makes getting that all important warm introduction to established VCs very challenging for multicultural women founders.
“Is the ecosystem of your network equivalent to your net worth? Absolutely," says Hardstock. “For us, we have to build our own ecosystem and recreate what happens on the golf courses and at the Harvard reunions."
To Hardstock's point, most multicultural women with entrepreneurial aspirations lack that Ivy League network. According to reporting published in The New York Times, Black students make up just nine percent of the freshmen at Ivy League schools but 15 percent of college-age Americans. This gap has been largely unchanged since 1980.
While notable female investors such as Arlan Hamilton, Joanne Wilson, and Kathryn Finney are actively working to close the funding gap for women of color, only seven percent of current senior investing partners at the top 100 venture firms are women. Less than three percent of VC funds have Black and Latinx investment partners. Without an influential network, Hardstock and entrepreneurs like her are left screaming for a seat at the table.
When Black, Latina, and Asian women founders do get in the room with the right investors, they have to work harder to get the investors to relate to their products and services. “Entrepreneurs solve problems they understand," says Blanche. “When multicultural women entrepreneurs present their businesses to a homogenous group of male investors who may not be equipped to understand the idea, they may pass on an amazing business."
Take, for example, the founders of Haute Hijab or LOLA. Founders of both successful startups would have to explain the market for their services to a table occupied mostly by men who may never have considered that Muslim women want more convenient access to fashion and have never considered women might prefer to purchase organic tampons.
This lack of familiarity typically means reduced funding for women and a host of other consequences.
As one recent study pointed out, even the way investors frame questions to women can impact funding. According to the Harvard Business Review, female founders are often asked “prevention-oriented" questions focused on safety, responsibility, security, and vigilance. Male founders, on the other hand, are often asked questions focused on hopes, achievement, advancement, and ideals.
When all of these factors are considered, a side letter may not be enough to begin to close the funding gap.
Both Blanche and Hull say real change can be made by democratizing information and education on impact investing. Both women say educating investors and MBA candidates about impact investing is the best way to overcome current bias.
Blanche's organization, Sycamore, produces a newsletter for new angel investors who want to help close the funding gap while making money in the process. Hull's firm has an internship program for multicultural girls from Oakland to expose them to the worlds of investing, entrepreneurship, business leadership, and financial literacy.
“I'm excited about the changes I see," says Blanche. “I see more firm employing the Rooney Law on an institutional level, an increase in smaller firms looking at underserved communities, and the democratization of institutional funding."
Hull adds that as long as multi-cultural women-led firms continue to show returns and outperform or perform on par with companies founded by White men, the investor community will rethink their portfolio strategies.
This piece was originally published in 2018.