Page 22 of Everyone Is Lying to You
I have no idea what any of it means. It’s a word salad of self-help speak. But I swipe through my phone to her Instagram account, @B0ssBabe$$$, and see that she has more than three million followers and is the CEO of a “digital brand agency” that was recently named one ofForbes’fastest-growing companies in the United States.
“I am here to nerd out with each and every single one of you about what you are creating and how you can scale it,” she continues. “Just remember, as entrepreneurs—and all of you are entrepreneurs—youget to choose who you show up as every day!” The crowd screams in unison: “BOSS BABE.”
It’s slightly culty, but I find myself clapping along, because who doesn’t want to show up as what you choose every day? When was the last time I did?
The panel continues in rapid-fire chatter about growth strategies and optimization, about leveraging artificial intelligence for balance and success, about utilizing a variety of platforms to engage your following. Everyone around me is taking notes, and maybe I should be too. There hasn’t been this much energy in magazines for a decade. Part of me, a larger part than I would care to admit, envies all of them, these women who seem to be on the cutting edge of media while I’m riding a dinosaur into the asteroid.
When the panel ends, I head to the bathroom to text my family and apply more mascara. This is a very lash-forward crowd. I attempt to reach Bex again and the radio silence is too eerily familiar.
My prairie-chic dress, with its many tiers of fabric, is impossible to pee in. I scrunch it up around my waist as I do a quad-burning squat, careful not to let the back of the gown fall into thetoilet. I haven’t used this particular maneuver with a garment since my wedding day.
When I return the stage is set for a single speaker. At first I worry that maybe I’ve gotten everything wrong…maybe Bex has her big talk now and not at noon. Maybe she wasn’t blowing me off at all but preparing for her keynote.
I find a table with a couple of empty chairs.
“Hi,” says a woman about my age wearing bright green overalls. “I’m Haisley.”
“Lizzie,” I say.
“You’re with the press?”
“I write forModern Woman.”
“Are you interested in chickens?”
“Excuse me?”
“Do you ever cover the chicken vertical?”
“Modern Woman,” I say again. “NotModern Farmer.”
“Right. But, chickens?”
“I’m sorry. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I glance down at her badge and see that her Instagram handle is @HenfluenceGirl.
Is there truly an influencer for everything?
“I don’t cover chickens.” Words I never thought would come out of my mouth.
“Well, if you ever change your mind, I have stories.”
“I bet.” I turn and look the other way. “Who’s talking now?” I ask the petite brunette next to me. She’s furiously pecking away at her laptop with one hand while hoovering down a chocolate croissant with the other.
“Ughhhhh,” she groans. “Marsden Greer.”
“Who is that?”
“Right? Who even is he?” Sarcasm drips from her tone. “Of course they would give a prime speaking spot to a guy like him and not a woman…even at a conference like this because they just want attention from a celebrity…Maybe they could give it to a woman who has been sweating away on a platform that truly improves the lives of working women, working moms. Nope. They’re going to give it to some dude who plays for a professional baseball team and just, like, announced that he created an app and wanted to talk to some moms about it.”
“I’m Lizzie.” I introduce myself in response to her tirade.
“Katie.”
Her hair is pulled up into a sloppy ponytail and she’s wearing simple jeans and a black tank top. I glance down at her feet in dusty Converse sneakers and suddenly feel incredibly overdressed even though she’s the one who is out of place in this room. “I assume you have a platform that improves the lives of working moms?” I say, gulping down the coffee that is set in front of me by a harried server.
“I do.” Her serious expression lights up. “It’s like Airtable and Slack combined, but for the family business unit. It’s a way to make sure dads are involved in the project management of the family. I was inspired to do it because I see so many women, my sisters included, losing their minds over constantly giving their husbands the same simple instructions for the most basic things, like how to log into the pediatrician platform or what kind of Popsicles their kid likes.”
“How many kids do you have?”
