which success do you choose?

I recently read a post from a woman who was interviewing for a graphic design job. She had a great conversation with the hiring committee, and they loved her work, but they ultimately went with another candidate. Why? Because that candidate had a bigger social media following.

A lot of us are very comfortable being behind the scenes. Especially strategists. We have the reputation of being the quiet, cerebral ones. We stereotypically aren't the ones bringing the "theatrics" into a pitch (creatives), or turning the clients into our friends (accounts), we are the ones doing the thinking, reinforcing, validating. I love being a strategist. I thrive in the realm of information and insight. I've never needed or wanted to be in the spotlight.

I still don't necessarily want to. But here I am writing a newsletter that pops into your inbox every so often, using hashtags to increase eyeballs, and asking people to subscribe. It's deeply uncomfortable and feels self-aggrandizing. Especially coming from a culture that teaches us to keep our heads down, keep our feet on the ground, work hard, and that being "vain" is the worst qualities one can have. We've been taught to pursue Quiet Success.

Quiet Success is built on the assumption that as long as you clock in and out feeling good about where you work and what you do, that's all you can ask for. It's the kind of success continent on contentedness, job stability, and money to sustain and support your life, whatever that life looks like. It's how success was defined for most generations before us, and what it looks like for the majority of our world today. It's a meaningful, individual, intimate version of success.

But in many industries, when social media becomes the gatekeeper for achievement, what are those of us that have been taught to pursue quiet success to do? Especially when we're a part of the populations that have been taught that whatever we're "given" (even if it wasn't given at all, but rather earned through the hardest kind of work) is a privilege.

I wish I could say I was happy with quiet success. It feels so much more comfortable to me. I wish I could get off social media and be happy with my day-job and my family life. But if I want people to know about what it's like to be a minority women in the predominantly white, male-centric business landscape, what it's like to be a mother and balance a c-suite job, what it's like to grapple with mental health while managing a team - I have to pursue Loud Success.

Loud Success is the kind of success that asks more of you. It requires that you not only put your professional self on the line, but your personal self, too. It asks for confidence, self-love, and seeing the worth of your perspective. Loud Success brings others along with it with KPIs like representation (when others see you, they can see a path for themselves), empathy (opening our eyes to each others perspectives), and policy change (when you tell your story loud enough, they can no longer stick with the status quo).

And it encourages you to ask things of others. I have to ask people to follow me, to read my words, to like my posts. Because without a social following, people will ask "who is she?" Who is she to deserve this opportunity? How do we know she's worth investing in? Why should I give a shit what she says? How do we know her ideas are advantageous for us to put our name behind?

And unfortunately, unless I take it upon myself to turn myself into somebody, I won't get the privilege of faith. People won't take a chance on me. I don't have the benefit of nepotism, or the "she's just like I was at her age," familiarity - I'm an Indian American woman whose family has only been here for one generation, and that's mine.

So despite the vulnerability hangovers, despite the "fear of sounding like a victim on the page" (to read more about this visit Amanda Montei's substack), despite the clawing fear that people will think I'm an egotistical crock, I'm pursuing loud success.

And if anything about my experience sounds familiar to you, I encourage you to pursue loud success, too. Because it's through ours words, our actions, people like us in leadership, that things will start to change. And let's face it - shit needs to change.

Love,

Ambika