A Little Hairspray

Long ago, preparing for a finalist interview for a headship at a school I loved, I met with my mentor, Millie Berendsen, who served as the Head at The Chapin School for many decades and, in her retirement, kept an apartment in the building where I also lived.

Millie had encouraged me to consider headship and was a source of inspiration and wisdom. That afternoon, we talked about the school I would visit later in the week, and she reminded me of some of my strengths that I might weave into my answers. “Don’t pretend you know what you don’t know,” she counseled, “but tell them what a quick study you are.” 

I thanked her for being so generous with her time, and she walked me to her door.

“And Ann, one more thing,” she smiled.

“Yes, Millie?”

“Until they love you, a little hairspray would not go amiss.”  

My hair is never well-behaved. It slips out of its bun almost as soon as I twist it up.  

I laughed and thanked her. I knew her advice came from a place of love–and when we know people care for us, it is easier to accept their feedback.

Ironically, when I arrived at that interview–offsite, not at the school–the weather was terrible. Rain poured down and the wind was ferocious. In the five feet between the car and opening the heavy front door, I got drenched. 

The receptionist raised her eyebrows at my bedraggled state.

“There’s a Ladies' Room on your right if you’d like to dry off,” she smiled.

Grateful, I scurried through the door she had shown me. On a marble counter in front of a long mirror sat a cut glass bowl filled with hair pins and a huge bottle of Aqua Net. I tidied my hair, offered a silent prayer of thanks both to Millie and to the receptionist, and sailed into the interview, well-coiffed if slightly damp. I got the job.

One of my great joys in headship has been teaching for the Women’s Leadership Seminar sponsored by The Heads Network. Twice a year over a weekend, a group of heads of school come together to encourage women working in independent schools to consider headship, or, if headship feels too far away, to think about their next role in a school and how to plan such a move. We offer sessions on all sorts of topics, and the women, hungry for validation and encouragement, love their time with us. We’ve recently debuted The Accelerator, designed for women who are actively searching for headships, who may have done a few interviews but want feedback to help them interview well, avoid pitfalls, manage questions about finance and fundraising–often the questions that worry candidates the most–and, ultimately, negotiate a contract. Typically, I lead the session on interviewing. In a mini-public speaking and presentation boot camp–typically about 75 minutes–I fire questions at the participants and offer feedback as we go–hoping my humor and empathy will soften my occasionally brusque comments.

“You are interviewing from the moment you get out of the car,” I explain, “and until you arrive back at the airport or the hotel.  Know that people are judging you on your appearance, the way you talk and the way you listen; they judge what you say and what you don’t say.  You are under the microscope. Be ready.”

In role as a member of the search’; committee for Best School Ever, I ask a participant what her vision is for our school. She begins to answer.

“Stop. The vision question is a trap,” I interrupt. “You can't articulate a vision alone; you need the trustees and the faculty and the staff and alums.”

“Hold it” I shriek after one of the women has answered the question and circled round to answer it again. “You’ve answered the question. When you reach the end of your answer, stop. Breathe. Avoid the Department of Redundancy Department.”

The woman looks stunned. “I wanted to be sure I answered the question,” she offers.

“You did. Trust that being succinct is better than being verbose.”

“Do not tell that story,” I correct another participant. “Never throw any school where you’ve worked under the bus. Someone always knows someone.”

Generally, we laugh a lot, and many times women follow up to do more prep before a high stakes interview. As a drama teacher, I know that rehearsal helps us get better. 

This February, at The Accelerator, over lunch, a participant shared she had been a finalist in a number of searches, but had not yet gotten an offer.

“You need a better haircut,” I blurted. The words were out and I could not call them back, but, oh, how I tried to soften my tactlessness. “I mean, investing in a great suit, a really elegant haircut, comfortable shoes…all those things can help,” I babbled.  

And that is true. But the fact is that I had just uttered a judgment that I suspect search committee members had been making about this lovely candidate without considering the impact my words would have have. I could have kicked myself. And I was a comparative stranger to this woman; I was no Millie. I apologized; she swatted away my mortification, but I still feel guilty.  I know better. ‘’Several months later, I am still furious–at myself, of course, for being unkind in that moment–and also at the system. I do not like the double standard–the ways in which women are perceived in interviews and men aren’t. Gender stereotypes persist.  Interviewing as a head of school, a woman must look polished without looking too “done”; glamour may make search committee members suspicious. And she must be confident without being off-putting. She needs the skills of a CEO, but must also be warm, positive, funny, well-spoken. Often extroverts appeal more than introverts–at least in interviews. The woman candidate must be articulate and quick with her anecdotes. She has to show that she is prepared, but her delivery must feel spontaneous, not canned. Her answers need to be crisp but specific. She needs to watch the pitch of her voice–too breathy or high-pitched and she sounds like a child–too clipped or without enough vocal variety and she sounds dull. 

If she has children, some search committees may worry about her commitment to the job. As someone who came to headship with a young family–my son was born on the twelfth day of my headship, I keep hoping this one is behind us, but reports from the front lines suggest that the bias about working mother heads of school is still alive in the minds of many search committees, even in the minds of some search consultants.  Is she single? Why? Gay? Divorced? A person of color? Too old? Too young? Is our school ready for someone like her? Has she raised millions already? Why has she stayed so long at one school? Why has she jumped from one school to another?  

Heads laugh quietly among ourselves at the preposterousness of it all.  Search committees are looking for “God on a good day,” and most candidates are mere mortals. There is no way to please everyone. “Be yourself,” we advise our mentees, “it’s too hard to be anyone else,” but the fact is that all aspects of a candidate’s identity and experience are up for scrutiny during the search process.  We may not like it, but we need to be prepared for it. 

I tell the women in my Interview workshops to control what they can control–their background on Zoom, or barking dogs, for example. Check the lighting; get feedback from a friend; anticipate the questions you may be asked; select stories that show you in action. I advise packing high energy snacks for an in-person interview that one can scarf down in the Ladies Room–often in-person interviews feel like a marathon, with the candidate needing to be “on” from early in the morning until late at night and without anyone thinking about whether or not her energy is flagging. “If she’s our head,” the search committee members think, “she needs to be as good at 9:00 p.m. as she is at 7:00 a.m.”  . 

I continue my fusillade of instructions, trying to cram everything I know into the minutes we have left:  “Bring your voice down to end a sentence. Watch your verbal fillers. You can say, “Thank you for that question” once during the interview–if you say it more, you sound too ingratiating–same with, “Did that answer your question?” You better know if you answered the question. Fundraising is about telling stories. Managing a school budget is what most of us do in our daily lives with our own finances; the school budget just has more numbers.”  

Our time always runs out before I am ready. I want so much for each of them to phone me in triumph to say, “I got the job! I got the job!” and many will, but we are not yet on a level playing field in terms of gender in our country. According to NAIS data, many women lead historically all-girls’ schools and lots of women lead K-8 schools; women make up the majority of administrative roles in most schools, but the percentage of women who lead large coed K-12 schools continues steady at about 22%. We know incredible women are ready to lead. It can’t all be about hairspray.