Customer Service Encounter:
Maybe I just needed to find the right context, to situate my Amazon warrior queen in a more promising matrix of social give-and-take. To the dry cleaners!
“We’ll have this ready for you in three days,” chirped the youngish lady behind the counter, running her finger over a smudge on my shirt’s sleeve.
“Would it be possible to pick up the cleaning any sooner?” I asked.
“I’m sorry,” the woman replied politely, “but we’re very busy this week, with the holidays approaching. A lot of people are dropping off their nice clothes.”
“Ah,” I said. And then: “Could you hold on one moment? I need to make a phone call.”
Of course, I did not need to make a phone call. I needed to go outside, assume the Wonder Woman pose for 90 seconds, and then bend this uncooperative dry cleaning operative to my will.
A minute and a half later, I strode back into the store, where I had left my shirt on the counter, feeling legitimately empowered. “I hate to be a pain,” I announced, “but this blouse needs to be clean tonight. Is there any way it can be ready in time?”
She looked at me quizzically. Riding a high of obnoxiousness, I kept talking. “I know you don’t typically offer same-day service, but it’s an emergency.”
And then, the miraculous transpired. The dry cleaning lady shot me a conspiratorial smile. “If it’s an emergency,” she said, “I can have it ready for you this afternoon.”
Success! (If success is getting what you want via manipulation. Which obviously it is!)
The previous two scenarios only served as warm-ups for the main event: the interpersonal joust with the highest stakes and the most relevance to Cuddy’s experiment. Just thinking about it made my palms sweat. I was going to ask my boss for a raise.
In her book, The End of Men, Hanna Rosin discusses the delicate predicament of women who want to kick butt in the workplace. Unlike their male counterparts, professional ladies don’t get credit for acting tough or aggressive around their colleagues. Instead, they tend to be punished for advocating for themselves: Rosin calls our reflexive aversion to real-life Wonder Women “the twitch.” Yet female employees who hang back too much only reinforce a secretarial stereotype and fail to snag the opportunities and breaks that come naturally to the guys. Could a power pose help?
I sent the Big Kahuna an email asking to meet with him about my salary for the new year. I figured he would reply to the message suggesting a time and I would prepare with my Wonder Woman stance beforehand. But instead he stopped at my desk on his way back to his office. “How about now?” he said, perhaps because he’s a casual boss or perhaps because he knows it’s best not to give us employees any time to prepare via vogueing in the bathroom.
“Sure!” I enthused, panicking. I followed him down the long hall with my hands resting on my hips and my shoulders not-so-subtly open, praying he wouldn’t turn around and see me locomoting like a fool. The leisurely walk took about half a minute. Were neural terminals emptying their packets of testosterone into my synapses, enzymes vacuuming up most of the cortisol? Hard to tell: This was my first salary negotiation, so I’m not sure how I would have felt without the pose. But when I sat down in his office, I squared my chest slightly. For an extra boost, I was assuming one of the less obvious high power positions—legs slightly apart, chin up, torso forward. The key was projecting poise without arrogance; if I could do that, I would be, as they say, in business.
Anyway, he named a number. I nodded enthusiastically, which I would have done regardless of whether he had sneezed, offered me a yacht, or demoted me. Then, after confirming that we’d reached the negotiation phase of the meeting (Me: “Is this the part where I negotiate?” Him: “This is where you try.”), I named a higher number. And then we talked a bit more and settled on a figure in between. No one familiar with the dark arts of workplace diplomacy should be surprised to hear any of this, but the conversation represented a departure for me—one that I can’t help suspecting was abetted, if just slightly, by the Wonder Woman posture.
Of course, any additional confidence I detected in myself that afternoon could have simply reflected the placebo effect. Maybe the secret, inward efficacies of body language per se are absolute applesauce. And yet, there I was, having assumed the high power pose briefly before the encounter, asking the bossman for a more generous salary than he had originally proffered. Something had happened to tamp down my nervousness, to refashion me as bolder, breezier, more decisive. It felt weird. It felt—dare I say it—kind of wonderful.