The dark paneled walls, the long mahogany conference table lined with sturdy leather chairs screamed testosterone. And as the partners of the prominent New York venture capital firm slowly streamed into the room, it was obvious that this office was a testament to their masculine power and toxicity.
They were white, straightlaced, Ivy-leaguers, proud of their gender, heritage and background; confident of their ability to control millions of dollars and make or break companies who entered their kingdom seeking their blessing and financial support.
That was our purpose for this meeting. We, three principles in a tech start up, were there to present our pitch in hopes they would graciously open the coffers and gift us with the capital to put our vision to work.
One by one, they entered the room.
We had already set up our projector and carefully placed our printed material by each chair. We were ready. We had practiced this dog and pony show for a few weeks to other firms and were eager to receive their feedback and hopefully interest.
They didn’t smile or automatically engage with us. No small talk. This was all business.
Focused on getting this presentation done, it wasn’t immediately obvious to me that I was the only woman present.
It wasn’t obvious until one of the VC partners approached me with what I naively thought would be an outstretched hand and introduction.
Instead, no handshake. No smile.
He had as request:
Would I go and get coffee for everyone?
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