There’s one from Nora Lindberg, theForbesjournalist who keeps trying to get in touch about the 30 Under 30 list. She’s been after me for years, reaching out once every six months to ask for an interview. But unlike the editor who wrote the profile on me that Will read twice,thiswoman gives me bad vibes. I’ve read some of her other stuff; she makes a lot of inferences. And via email, she’s pushy and manipulative, telling me she’s going to write about me eventually, so I might as well control the narrative. Which is alarming and problematic.
I huff at her latest message. Will glances over just as I’m deleting the email. His shoulder brushing mine makes our little row of seats feel more intimate than it should. “Wait a minute. Iknowher.”
“Nora Lindberg?”
“Yeah. I know her from New York. She works forForbes,right?”
“Yeah…”
Will glances over at me. “She wants you for the Thirty Under Thirty list.”
“See?” I hold out my hand. “It’s just soobvious.”
“A lot of people would kill for a shot at that list, Josie.”
“Not me.”
“It’s good press.”
“There’s no such thing.”
Will scoffs. “That’s what people say aboutbadpress.”
I snort in retaliation to his scoff. “There isdefinitelysuch a thing as bad press.”
“Are you really planning to leaveNora Lindbergon read?”
“Why did you say her name like that?” I ask.
“Because she’sNora Lindberg.When she wants a story, she chases it until she’s got it in her grasp. Her profiles are kind of legendary.”
“Have you hooked up with her?” The red that creeps into his neck tells me all I need to know. Will glances sideways. Unsuccessfully, I try to push down the jealous knot welling in my stomach. “How manytimeshave you hooked up with her?”
“Once,” Will rumbles. “And it was three years ago. Last I heard, she was engaged to some music producer.”
“Oh, to be a stereotypical New York City power couple.”
Will bites the inside of his cheek. “Do you care to elaborate onwhyyou hate press, evenbusiness press,so much?”
“Not really.”
“Josephine.” Will closes his book and leans an elbow on his armrest, twisting his upper body to face me. “We’ve got two more plane rides of this, and that’s all before we reach Europe.”
“Should we order some wine?”
“Your avoidance tactics are extraordinary.”
I lean forward. “You know what nobody ever asked Mark Zuckerberg? A single question about his skin-care routine.”
“Nora Lindberg isn’t that kind of journalist.”
“Maybe so, but it doesn’t change the fact that most female founders are infantilized and branded the second they hit the spotlight. Or the fact that society turns on us more often and with more ferocity than seems toeverbe aimed at our male counterparts. I don’t want people to think of me when they think of Revenant. It’s the surest way I could gut my own company.”
Will shakes his head, looking sideways. “Your opinion of yourself is abysmal.”
“Better that than an inflated one. Trust me. I’ve seen how it goes when you step into the spotlight. I’ve watched other female CEOs get dragged for the same things men get excused for. And anyway, I know myself well enough to be sure I will transform an innocent piece of press into something toxic about my self-worth. How many shares will the article get? How many clicks? How many online sales dollars will it drive?” My voice is almost desperate as I try to explain. I gulp, pushing back the emotion in my throat. “How many hate comments? How many rolled eyes? How many people thinking bad thoughts about me when they could instead not be thinking of me at all? If you don’t put yourself on display, nobody wants to hate you. I learned that after I got anonymously slut-shamed on my fucking Formspring account for making out with you in public.”
Now Will leans forward, a frown etched into his face. I can easily make out the grain of his blue irises. “I didn’t know that happened to you.” My face goes red, and his voice breaks. “Right after your oma died. I’m so sorry, Josie.”
