Calling Someone "Bossy" is Anti-Feminist

Do I really have to spell this out?

Bossy. Intense. Loud. Too much. Demanding. Strong. Relentless.

The list goes on and on. And though it makes me sad (and slightly embarrassed) to say this, I’ve been called several of those things.

I battle with this, more than you know. It touches on how I handle criticism in general. I like to believe that I’m very open to looking within and being totally honest with myself about the areas where I need to grow, but when I am accused of things that don’t feel accurate to me or reflective of how I’m interpreting a situation, I have to admit, it really hurts.

Eventually, I do get past the hurt parts. And what I am left with at that point is a chance to figure out which aspects of these criticisms I want to focus on addressing or changing … which of them, if any, might have some truth.

Because, although I’m not called these things every day, it is a recurring thing for me—and I can’t help but realize that I’m the common denominator there. That can’t be a coincidence …

Can it?

I mean … can it?

The thing is, so many of the traits I bring to professional settings are the flip side of what people sometimes find objectionable about me. Here are words that have been used to describe my style and how I show up:

Confident. Efficient. Collaborative. A leader. Flexible. Self-starting. Creative. Takes chances.

These are the reasons I’m hired for things. They are also words that describe some of my favorite parts about myself. And they are character traits that, in some cases, I have worked very hard to possess.

So, since I am a sensitive soul who has worked to overcome adversity (being a bullied kid is the kind of thing that stays in your bones), when words like “bossy” or bossy-adjacent things are aimed at me, I am a flurry of emotion.

I am:

-embarrassed, since I genuinely try really hard to show up in a kind, inclusive, humble way.

-curious, mostly about what it is I am not seeing about my communication.

-downright pissed …

Here’s a secret, and it’s not something I thought I’d tell you today. But twice in my life, I have broken down crying in front of a supervisor. Though I cry probably more than I should, generally speaking, I don’t express that brand of vulnerability in a professional setting … almost ever.

But twice in my life, I did. And both times happened when a man was speaking to me about my perceived bossiness. And both of those times, I was full of shame because of the aforementioned tears.

I collected myself, called them back, and profoundly apologized for my unprofessional behavior. And even now, when I think back to those two instances, I wince a little. I kind of can’t believe that’s how I reacted. Clearly, I need to work on self-preservation … and on my game face.

But I’m torn. Can you tell I’m torn? Because even though I have looked at my role with scrutiny every single time I’ve rubbed someone (usually a man) the wrong way and been called out for it, these accusations of “bossiness” also infuriate me. Here’s why:

Calling a woman bossy is inherently anti-feminist (even when a woman is the name-caller).

You see, if the issue was that I wasn’t being gentle or accommodating enough—or that I didn’t properly sandwich my communication between two compliments—then what are other ways I could have been approached?

Perhaps I could have been sat down and told I’m micromanaging something. Or that I have too many high-stakes projects for my team, and it might be a good idea to reassess them. Maybe I could have been asked to listen more during meetings. Or a hundred other things.

Any of those statements would have clearly communicated specific actions that could be taken to improve and grow. But just being called “bossy” is not only rude and uncreative, but it’s also, by design, a statement intended to remove me from my power.

I will also venture to guess that at least sometimes, calling a lesbian bossy is a microaggression that’s rooted in deep-seated homophobia that’s worth examining.

I know that I make people uncomfortable sometimes just by being me. I’m a tattooed, child-free, over-forty, vegan, lesbian, atheist, cultural Jew; I have been making people uncomfortable for as long as I can remember.

Both my veganism and my sexual orientation have, at different (and sometimes the same) times been seen as aggressive, even when I am doing absolutely nothing but sitting there (most vegans know what it’s like to pass the turkey to the next guy without taking any, only to get a defensive, “OH, REALLY?!” from some deeply offended asshole third-cousin across the table).

When I do not assimilate to what other people want from me, I am shaking up their idea of “normal.” By just existing, sometimes I am a threat to the Status Quo.

Either that, or I am bossy.

The irony here is that I identify as an Alanon. I rigorously read the room and am an expert in taking silent cues as to how to act. Paging Dr. Freud, but for me, this goes back to having an every-other-weekend father who was as opposite from my main parent (my mother) as you could get. They spent many pockets of my childhood in small claims court fighting over who owed what, and they made it no secret that they loathed one another. So when I was with my biological father, I shifted my entire personality to be what he wanted me to be. Though that’s sad (maybe even pathological), it was also my main survival mechanism, and with it came many gifts—so I’m grateful to little Jazzy for being resourceful and clever. That said, I’ve spent much of my adulthood trying my darndest to reparent myself, to deeply understand my needs and how to healthily express them, and to not put myself in situations where the only way I can take up space at all is to self-abandon.

All of this is to say: Even though I am indeed strong, can be intense, and am explicit about my expectations, I am also kind, and a bit of a back-bender. Way too much, in fact. Like, I need to stop shape-shifting to whatever room I’m in.

Can you imagine how much emotional labor this is? If you’re a woman or gender-nonconforming, my guess is you can. Women and those who don’t conform to the gender binary are constantly expected to make the person in front of them feel better, especially if that person is a cis white man. We must make them feel worthy by faux-deferring to them. Or by acting like a wilting flower (like I did in front of my father for all those years, until I finally stopped talking to him 15 years ago).

Or by making sure that we are padding our needs, expectations, and communication style with fluff or apologies. All so that we don’t come across as “bossy,” even when we are just confident.

And when women do it to one another? They are enforcing an oppressive, male-dominated falsehood that women who take up space are a threat—including to other women.

Maybe another way of addressing this would be to celebrate women who stand for something, emulate their strength, and embolden ourselves to display confidence without inhibition.

(Needless to say, when men exhibit these same character traits, they get promotions, bonuses, and unwavering respect.)

It’s funny: Even now, as I write this, I have the urge to end this with an apology. Something to cut through the tension that perhaps one of my readers is feeling. Soothe their anxiety …

Soothe your anxiety.

Make you feel like I’m not a threat. Make you feel safe … safer than me. Make clear that you know that I’m here to be of service to you. Discount at least one or two statements I made above, just in case you disagree … because god forbid you disagree with me.

This is my instinct, with which I am—in real-time, now—intervening. Because that instinct, to erase myself, is not mine. It does not belong to me.

It belongs to every single person who has ever called me bossy. It belongs to the generations before them who kept women (and those who don’t assimilate to societal expectations of power) way down. It belongs to anyone who lacks the creativity to come up with other words that more properly and maturely convey what it was they were trying to say in the first place, when they foolishly landed on the word “bossy,” much like a toddler grabs his toy and says simply, “It’s mine!”

No, it’s mine. And I’m not giving it away.

So what’s the takeaway here? I’m reminding all of us to stand in our power unapologetically. It may be that I can never get men to stop calling me bossy, but if you’re reading this and you’re a woman-identified or gender-nonconforming person, please remember that a basic tenet of sisterhood is not throwing one another under the bus.

Because having each other’s backs (even when we don’t get credit for it) is a boss (not bossy) move. And having our own back is nothing short of a revolutionary act.

xo,

jazz

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P.S. Don’t miss the audiobook essays for the new book I edited, Antiracism in Animal Advocacy: Igniting Cultural Transformation, which you can find on the Our Hen House podcast.

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