Chanel had worked tirelessly to climb the ranks in the world of tech startups. She knew her stuff—coding, strategy, problem-solving—but somehow, every time she walked into a meeting or event, someone assumed she was anything but an engineer.
One Thursday, her company sent her to a major industry conference to represent their latest AI innovation. Dressed sharply and armed with a pitch deck that could sell ice to an Eskimo, she stepped into the bustling convention center, ready to network and impress.
That is, until she reached the registration table.
“Hi, I’m here to check in,” Chanel said, offering her name with a smile.
The man behind the desk barely looked up. “Oh, uh… the marketing panel is in Ballroom B.”
Chanel raised an eyebrow. “Great. But I’m actually a speaker on the AI Ethics panel.”
The man blinked, clearly computing at a slower rate than her AI software. “Oh… oh! My mistake.”
She took her badge and walked off, shaking her head. It’s fine. Just keep it moving.
But the day was full of little moments like that.
At the networking lunch, a fellow attendee asked her if she was someone’s assistant. When she sat on the panel, the moderator glanced over her intro and said, “Wow, impressive background. How did you get into this field?” As if her presence in tech needed an origin story.
By the end of the day, Chanel was over it.
So when one last guy at the post-event mixer asked, “So, are you here with one of the startups?” she smiled sweetly and said, “Actually, I run one.”
His eyes widened. “Oh! Wow. I, uh, didn’t expect that.”
“Yeah,” she said, sipping her drink. “You and half the room.”
Moral of the story? Chanel didn’t let their assumptions dim her shine. She let her work, her voice, and her presence speak louder than their doubts.
And the next time she walked into a room, she didn’t just introduce herself—she owned the space. Because she belonged there. Period.