The gender question, part 1

Early on in my career I was asked the gender question a lot. I mean, A LOT. It seemed to be the focus of most of my interviews in the early aughts – what’s it like to be a female conductor in a male-dominated field?

Given the increasing numbers of women on the podium, lately that questions has become less prevalent, and I suppose in a way that’s a huge positive. Women conductors are becoming more normalized and pointing out our unique experiences might act as a disservice to that process.

Which is not to say that the challenges of being a woman in what is still a man’s world have not remained at play. And that much more happens behind the scenes than one might imagine.

Earlier in my career I was careful to neutralize my answers to the gender question. Part of it was due to the fact that I wasn’t entirely comfortable discussing the ways in which I felt marginalized, because admitting to that feeling seemed akin to confessing a weakness. Part of it was the very fact that the marginalization was far more subtle than it would have been a generation or two earlier, and that by itself posed challenges. Let me explain.

By the late 90’s when I was finishing conservatory, there were no overt barriers for a woman entering the conducting field. My college years coincided with the rise of third-wave feminism. Title IX had been around for decades. No one was going to tell me that women couldn’t become professional conductors, even though at that point in time precedent was minimal.

But in some ways it would have been easier to contend with overt discrimination – at least there would there have been some clear delineation, something one could point to as obviously unjust. Rarely did I encounter an entirely conspicuous rejection based on my gender. Instead there were underhanded remarks, dubious glances, casual dismissals, subtle indications of an underlying bias that are far more difficult to call out.

And for the very reason that they were small indignities, I found it immensely difficult to point out the discrimination – there’s always the danger of appearing delicate or deficient or simply whiny (which might be the worst of all). Much easier to push those experiences aside and keep moving forward.

Now well into my career I wonder if I did myself a disservice by not being more vocal or upfront about what I encountered. Then again I’m looking at my past experiences through the prism of the present, and it isn’t entirely fair to make comparisons. Times have changed. But the mind does ponder.

At the Curtis Institute my conducting teacher told me that women are weak and Asians are not expressive, so I’d have a difficult time with this career (I often wonder what the response to this would be in 2020. Swift repercussions from the Institute, I imagine.) Granted he was old and German and half-joking, but given the convention of the times I simply took that as a challenge to develop a thick skin, and as a warning of what I could confront moving forward.

And confront I did. Some things skirted the line of propriety, and some were outright illegal. I can’t tell you how many audition processes I’ve gone through for a conducting position during which my interviewers were fishing around to see if I was married, or if I had children (illegal).

There was one memorable job interview in which I was asked what my husband would do if I were to win the position and move to the city in which the orchestra was based. I was baffled. For me this was a non-issue (of course we would both move – a better-paying job always held precedent); my interviewers couldn’t imagine that my husband would give up his position to support mine (we were both in the music business at the time). It was clear that there was an assumption that I needed to ask permission of my husband to function professionally, because what I did with my career was secondary to his needs.

The most startling questions, job interview-wise, was when a board member on the search committee (auditions/interviews for conducting positions are a complicated and drawn out process I’ll write about some other time) asked me it I was comfortable telling the older gentlemen in the orchestra what to do. This came from someone clearly of a different generation, but that doesn’t excuse the question, which should have been withdrawn immediately by other members of the committee.

Unfortunately I still get a version of the same gender-biased kind of blowback, although now from a different angle, because my schedule takes me away from home for over half the year. That must be so hard for your husband, I’ve heard frequently. How does he manage? Isn’t that a lot to ask of your spouse to be away so much? If our positions were switched, I don’t think he’d be asked the same questions.

Then there’s the obviously disgusting stuff – like a reviewer very early on who mentioned my “shapely calves” (pro tip; never wear a skirt on the podium). Then again my non-skirt-wearing didn’t discourage the concertmaster of an Eastern European opera company from trying to peer up my pant leg as I was perched on a very high podium in a very deep opera pit. Fortunately that sort of sexual harassment was minimal. As the Harvey Weinsteins and Placido Domingos of the world have shown us, objectification and victimization can have devastating effects both personally and professionally, so I count myself lucky to have had limited experiences in that avenue.

The most difficult situations, the most nefarious, are the small comments and actions taken that are not immediately dismissive, but bely an fundamental bias. When I made my debut at a major venue 8 years ago I overheard a string player commenting on how much easier it must be to get a conducting gig when you look cute in jeans. And I can’t count the number of times, as recently as last year, that people have assumed that I’m a singer when I say that I’m a guest artist, because a “girl” singer still makes much more sense than a “girl” conductor. Both are forms of condescension based on gender.

There are double standards about which I hear after the fact; in a fairly recent job search, I put forth some ideas about the future of orchestras that my interviewing committee found radical. Later I learned from a male colleague, who was up for the same job, that he had discussed a similar idea to much head-nodding and supportive interest. I could only posit that coming from a woman, a progressive idea was doubly challenging to the status quo, and therefore threatening.

Then there are the snide comments I’ve overheard about my clothes (“we’ve never had a conductor have bare arms before”) my shoes (“ridiculous to wear such high heels”) or hair (“I can’t believe she wears it down all the time”). Those norms are changing as we see disparate fashion choices of women on the podium, and many people have praised me for my individual take, but the fact that those comments exist at all is an indication that old attitudes die hard. I can’t imagine that those people who are critiquing my appearance would direct their critical gaze in the same way towards a male conductor.

I’d like to be clear that these aren’t everyday occurrences, and that in a majority of instances I feel welcome and respected. For the most part, musicians aren’t fussy about the person wielding the baton as long as they are easy to follow and have sound musical ideas and are pleasant to work with (a trifecta that is less common than you might think). If you’re good at what you do, you’ll earn the respect of an orchestra, even though for a few it may be begrudgingly. Things are getting better, and have improved throughout my 20-some-odd year career.

But intrinsic biases still exist, and I experience them all the time. I’ve watched male colleagues who have thrown tantrums onstage met with minor annoyance or simple disinterest. Oh, he’s just one of those blustery conductors. If I exhibited the same behavior I’d be labeled hysterical.

It continues to be somewhat of a minefield, but I’ve figured out, for the most part, how I can navigate my way through. And I want to be clear that I don’t assume that my experiences are universal, or that they necessarily mirror what other female conductors have faced. We are still individuals, after all, and clumping all of us into a single category is discrimination in itself.

In our current era of post-PC wokeness, I imagine that some of the situations I encountered are unimaginable, or would be met with an explosion of outrage. But as much as we’d like to think that progress has been made, there are subtleties in attitudes and actions that remain discriminatory. We don’t live in an ideal world, and equality is still a weighted word.

I’m not quite sure how to sum this all up, which is why I’m dividing this post into parts. I have so much more to say, particularly about double standards that still exist, and about the complicated image-related issues that I’ve run up against.

But for now, suffice it to say I know that women starting their careers in conducting are entering a more inclusive and moderated environment, and for that I’m glad. Just as the women before me began to lay down a path, I hope that I have widened it. And I can only imagine that it will broaden with each succeeding generation.