Never Enough Makeup 

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The cost of self-doubt in an industry that needs your talent 

Very early in my career, I walked into a large industry meeting in San Francisco. The room was filled with contractors, agency leaders, elected officials, and… association representatives. In a room of 50 people, I was the youngest person there. And I was also the only woman. 

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Before the meeting started, one of the other association reps approached me and told me I was wearing too much makeup. We'll call him Kevin. (Because his name was Kevin.) I looked at him and said, “I don't think you're wearing enough." The conversation ended there. And so did his attempts to comment on my appearance. 

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Now, I could spend the rest of this article talking about what an as*hole that guy was. (And he was.) Or sharing two dozen more stories like that. But here's the thing: Kevin isn't the point. The point is what happens next. 

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Over the last sixteen years in construction, I've heard plenty of comments. I’ve seen some (really) bad behavior. Cringy “jokes,” sexist insults, and dismissive remarks. People aiming to make women feel like they don’t belong.

And somewhere along the way, I realized something important. For years, I thought the biggest challenge facing women in construction was the industry's perception of us. I was wrong.  

The bigger challenge is often our perception of ourselves. Too many talented women in construction are carrying around the weight of what everyone else thinks.

Should I ask the question? Should I share the idea? Should I apply for the promotion? Should I speak up in the meeting? What if I'm wrong? What if I sound inexperienced? What if people don't like me? 

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And that's where the real loss occurs – in the hesitation. 

Every time a talented person decides to stay quiet rather than risk being judged, our industry loses. We lose ideas. We lose innovation. We lose future leaders. We lose talent (that we desperately need.) One of the biggest traps for women—and frankly for leaders in general—is believing they need to be liked before they can lead. But real leadership doesn't work that way. 

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Every meaningful decision disappoints someone. Every difficult but needed conversation makes someone uncomfortable. Every change creates resistance. Every leader gets criticized. 

If your primary goal is to be liked, leadership becomes (almost) impossible. The goal isn't to be liked. The goal is to be trusted and respected. And those two qualities are built through unwavering consistency in how you show up, sheer competence, and relentless accountability. And they’re worth something REAL. 

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Likeability is fugacious (thank you, Google Dictionary!)  You can spend your whole life chasing it and gain no ground. Earning trust and respect comes from standing firm in your own values. Trusting yourself. Not shrinking away. And leading yourself well, first. When you lead yourself well,  you inspire others around you to do the same.  

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We can’t fix every sexist jerk in the industry. And we can’t force changes overnight. But you can control how you show up in every place and space you enter. 

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Here’s another truth I've learned. Giving a person grace is a lot more powerful than belittling them when they get it wrong. 

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Not every awkward comment, bad interaction, or frustrating conversation is evidence of a bad person. People are imperfect. They say the wrong thing. They stumble. They get it wrong. (Sometimes they get it spectacularly wrong.) I am no exception.  

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If our goal is to change the industry, we have to leave room for people to learn. That doesn't mean accepting bad behavior or tolerating disrespect.  It means understanding the difference in someone’s intentions. Knowing when to put up a hard boundary, and when there’s room for a better conversation. One of the most powerful things I've ever done is forgive people for mistakes and move on.  

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Real change rarely happens through humiliation. It happens through relationships. Through trust. And it happens because someone cared enough to keep the conversation going. 

And a final truth I never forget: Throughout my career in and for this industry, most of the opportunities I've had in my career came from men. 

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Men who opened doors. Men who challenged me. Leveled with me. Showed patience for me. Men who advocated for me when I wasn't in the room, and who cared more about talent than tradition. 

This industry's future won't be shaped by women alone. It will be shaped by leaders who recognize talent when they see it and create opportunities for it to grow. 

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That's how industries change. 

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Not through slogans or mandates or words on a website, but through thousands of individual decisions to support, mentor, promote, and believe in people. Sometimes – often times -- before they believe in themselves.  

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The good news is that construction is changing. I’m watching women move from the margins of important conversations to the center of them. I'm watching women lead companies, jobsites, unions, agencies, and associations. I’m watching cultures evolve across construction companies large and small. And I’m watching leaders change. 

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In real time, I’m watching an industry become stronger because it is opening itself to more talent. 

So, if you're a woman building a career in construction, here's what I hope you'll remember: 

Speak up. Ask the question. Share the idea. Take the meeting. Apply for the role. Raise your hand, and, for the love of God, stop waiting for someone else to tell you that you belong.  

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You're already here. You belong. 

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And if you're spending a significant amount of time worrying about what everyone thinks of you, you're focused on the wrong thing. Earn the trust and respect of your peers by showing up authentically and with ideas and solutions. Your authenticity, matched with a laser-focus on solutions, is your superpower. 

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The industry doesn't need more women who are universally liked. It needs more women who are willing to lead. 

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Sixteen years later, I can't remember what makeup I was wearing that day. 

But I can remember this: 

Most careers are not limited by other people's opinions. 

They're limited by the power we give them.

You belong here.