By then, we’d left New York and were living a more affordable, child-centered life in a small town in Massachusetts. I was collecting Bitch royalties, writing my novel and occasional magazine pieces, raising the kids, and feeling happier and less overwhelmed than I’d felt in years. Dan, less happily, was underemployed as a consultant for his former full-time New York employer, so he was thrilled about the Times possibility. I—like Michelle when Barack first suggested he might get into politics, and then later when he wanted to run for president—was not. I liked working independently, and I couldn’t, at least for myself, fathom a hard weekly deadline. At that point, we didn’t have a regular babysitter and lived far from family. Our kids attended school at a small public co-op where the parents were required to help out. I put the meals in our fridge and on our table; I—like Michelle, I’m sure—managed the family calendar, the carpools, the sports teams, illnesses and doctors, houseguests and birthday parties. Dan, for his part, did the cars, lawn, bills, home repairs, and technology. He taught the kids Scrabble (and poker), took them to Friendly’s for dinner when I needed time. It worked, for me. I was making a living doing what I wanted, with, finally, the flexibility and headspace to also be the mother I needed to be. I didn’t want to mess with that.
But I also couldn’t exactly say no to the Times offer when Dan wanted it, could I?
So I agreed I would help him launch the column, and then we’d see if he could take it over. Maybe that was just the teensiest bit like Michelle agreeing to help Barack run for president, though in her case knowing that, if he won, it would change her career, her life, and the lives of their family irreparably. But eventually, and happily for us, she came around. “Politics might be a more noble pursuit than she originally believed,” wrote Myra G. Gutin in The Washington Post. Moreover, “running for president was something Barack needed to do or else forever wonder what might have been.”
* * *
It all worked. Barack became our president and Dan became Mr. Modern Love, each man successful at his task while his wife did her part—minor in my case, major in Michelle’s—and also held down the home front. I don’t need to list President Obama’s myriad accomplishments in his eight years on the job. As for Dan’s, now in his twelfth year of editing Modern Love, he’s turned it into one of the most popular features in the Sunday New York Times. The column has spawned a TV pilot, a full-length musical, a CD, fifty books, and a podcast that recently launched as Number One on iTunes. He’s no POTUS, I’m no FLOTUS, our kids are no KOPOTUSes (figure it out). But we are not displeased with—or untickled by—the success of that column, just as, I’m sure, Michelle is not displeased by her husband’s run in the White House, and maybe even, just a little, by the power and respect that his position has brought her.
Still, for her, that respect was neither easy nor immediate. I can’t imagine that, proud as she was of her husband and the work he was doing, there weren’t some moments of ambivalence about his sudden rise to Leader of the Free World while she, a formerly tough-ass lawyer, was now relegated to First Lady and mom-in-chief—even if she’s the one who coined the latter phrase; even if, by that point, she herself said she would, on top of everything else she was handling, only “work” two and a half days a week. Michelle now lived on a stage, and there’s no question she needed to get used to that. Anyone would.
Yet she did it. She amped up her marital and political commitment, learned to be herself without offending the press and the haters, and even seemed to suddenly be having fun in the role—whether swishing for the White House dunk cam, dancing on Ellen, or having Beyoncé play at her birthday bash. What’s more, whatever resentment she still had toward her husband (and let’s face it, we all have some now and then) seemed to morph into a combination of affection and even amusement at his degree of royalty. I picture her watching him, her eyebrows raised as he tries to explain or extricate from something and millions of people hang on his every word, and thinking, Dude, you know you just phoned that one in. To her, he was the same old Barack: sweet, smart, adorable, but leaving his socks by the bed and forgetting to put away the damn butter.
As for me, happy as I was about the success of the Modern Love column, it took some getting used to the fact that, outside of our family, my husband was suddenly and definitely just plain more important than me; that I was now, partly by my own choosing, officially the primary parent and runner of the house. Certainly this was not what I’d anticipated when we’d met, married, and decided to start a family. Everything in my life—from my education to my early jobs to my post-feminist ideas—had led me to believe that my husband and I could work, earn, and parent equally. I simply hadn’t realized how complicated and exhausting and, for me, anger-inducing that would prove to be; that, when I found myself actually in that life—two jobs, two young kids, a bountiful but hamster-wheel life—I’d realize I wanted something a little less exhausting, and overwhelming, and unfair-seeming.
So becoming The Wife was in many ways a blessing and an opportunity for me—I was privileged to be able to cut back a little on my work, which most parents cannot afford to do—but it also, as with Michelle, took a little adjusting. I remember the moment, just a few years ago, when this … demotion? delegation? became most apparent to me. I had published two more books by then—Dan had too—and between books I was doing some editing and low-level writing. I still got the occasional fan letter or invitation to speak at a book club or class, though not compared to my Bitch days, and now, also, not compared to Dan. To be honest, I didn’t mind. I was happy to stay home in pajamas working when I wasn’t walking the dogs, taking a kid for new sneakers, overseeing a school schedule or college visit, grocery shopping, fighting for something important in my town, or even, one year, being the high school soccer booster club president (don’t ask). I had time, now and then, to get a good night’s sleep, read a novel, and enjoy my last few years with my children. I had started a fifth book: The Bitch Is Back, a sequel to the anthology that had spawned all this. But this time, the book was less about anger and more about making choices, in midlife, to find contentment.
Dan, in contrast, was traveling, teaching, speaking, appearing on radio and TV. Everywhere he went, he was swarmed with Modern Love lovers and people who wanted him to publish their essays. On tour for his fourth book, he filled performance spaces from L.A. to D.C. Women flirted and slipped him their manuscripts; men sidled up to make guy talk before mentioning a Modern Love idea they had.
Around that time, we attended a books festival at the University of Arizona—the same place, remember, where I’d once been a cool (if ridiculous) editor in Ray Bans. But now, Dan was the one not only invited to this event but asked to be a featured speaker. He was flown in and put up in a glitzy resort. And though I’d published the same number of books, I was merely “allowed” to come along, as Dan’s wife.
At the opening reception he was a keynote speaker for a room of some 400. His speech was the usual hit; Dan is funny, compassionate, and wry. After the party, as we all milled around, another speaker—a nationally syndicated advice columnist, female and around my age—approached us. She was someone I would have bonded with a decade before; after all, I too had written a national and syndicated advice column, for seven years. I smiled, anticipating maybe chatting a little about editors, about hard questions we’d answered. But she looked past me, walked by, and reached for Dan’s hand.
I felt my face go red, my blood pressure rise. But later, when I thought about it, I didn’t blame her. There’s a sad dichotomy in this country between working women and stay-at-home mothers and wives—something I was well aware of because I had written books about it! I knew this woman figured I’d have nothing of interest to say, in my presumed life of bake sales and mid-day Pilates classes. But I also knew that, in many ways, I had chosen this road I was on.
I suppose I’ve reached the point in the piece where I’m supposed to say, “And Michelle probably feels just like this too!” But now that I’m here, I
can only say: Who am I kidding? Michelle is, yes, the POTUS’s faithful wife, but her style and brilliance, her chutzpah and humor, her hard work and bright smile have made her a stellar presence in her own right. Michelle is Michelle. And I can’t wait to see what she does next. And what she does after that, when her children are grown and she can focus with far fewer distractions on her career. She has said she’ll never run for president herself. To that, I say: Never say never, Michelle. Let’s just see where we all are a decade from now.
On Being Flawlessly Imperfect
TIFFANY DUFU
It’s only in recent decades that first ladies have been allowed to be imperfect. Until women like Eleanor Roosevelt, who on more than one occasion publicly disagreed with her husband’s policies, and Betty Ford, who was transparent about her battle with alcoholism, the First Lady represented the embodiment of feminine perfection: Stepford Wife-in-Chief. Michelle Obama is only the third to have a professional or graduate degree, public evidence of intellectual prowess and independence, and to have balanced her own high-profile career with her private role as wife and mother. She, along with Hillary Clinton, charted a path that allows future first ladies to do it their way. Her polarity inspires all of us to break the mold.
Michelle Obama is a wife, mother, sister, daughter and friend. She is a career woman, civic volunteer, gardener, rapper, dancer, pet owner and fitness ambassador. She is funny, honest, and down to earth. She has managed to pull off a nearly impossible feminine feat: she is both liked and respected. And she accomplishes all of this on a global stage. Managing the details of her life must be exhausting, but she makes it look so easy.
How does she have it all?
The irony is that Michelle Obama makes it look easy precisely because she is complicated. Simultaneously flawless and imperfect, she brilliantly navigates opposing forces. And in the tension we can all see ourselves.
In my work, I address the daunting pressure women face to do it all. A woman’s failure to do so is such a ubiquitous trope it has made for blockbuster comedy in films such as I Don’t Know How She Does It. I’ve navigated this pressure myself and have learned that behind every great woman who isn’t driving herself crazy to be perfect, there’s a village of people who applaud and support her beautiful imperfections.
In Amy Cuddy’s book, Presence, she defines presence as a “state of being attuned to and able to comfortably express our true thoughts, feelings, values and potential.”1 Michelle Obama has presence with a capital P in large part because she is comfortable with herself. The seeds of Mrs. Obama’s self-assuredness were planted on the South Side of Chicago where her parents, Fraser and Marian Robinson, instilled in her enormous confidence. Her brother, Craig, remembers their father saying: “You don’t want to do things because you’re worried about people thinking they’re right; you want to do the right things.” According to Craig, being raised in this kind of environment: “You grow up not worrying about what people think about you.”2 The affirmation Michelle absorbed in her youth became the core of her current conviction about her identity. “I have never felt more confident in myself, more clear on who I am as a woman,” she said a few months before she turned 50.3
I know from listening to hundreds of women’s stories that powerful presence is only attained through recognizing our unique value. Yet even for me, understanding my value has been a tough journey. I remember sitting in a graduate school literary theory class, questioning my own credibility and feeling “lucky” that I was admitted into the program because deep down I didn’t feel deserving. Twenty years later, in any room I’m in, whether I’m on a stage, in a parent-teacher conference, or sitting at a board table, I try to be cognizant of the lens that would be missing if my voice was absent. I’ve even taught myself how to recognize my value in a dressing room. I used to try on a dress, look in the mirror, and ask, “Can I wear this dress?” Now I pose confidently in the mirror and ask myself, “Can this dress wear me?” It’s this feeling, that you are no longer a planet orbiting someone else’s sun, but are now your own center of gravity, that Michelle emits so powerfully.
Michelle Obama isn’t worried about what people think about her because she knows what she stands for. She puts herself out there to achieve her goal in ways the public has never seen a First Lady do. To build intimacy and goodwill she hugs everyone—including the Queen of England, who apparently hadn’t been hugged in 57 years. To promote healthy eating she personally planted a garden on the White House lawn, which resulted in numerous press photos of her literally getting her hands dirty. For the first time in our nation’s history we saw a sweaty First Lady. We’ve also seen one that raps and dances. In an effort to raise awareness about the importance of getting a college education, Michelle Obama teamed up with comedian Jay Pharoah to drop rhymes in a music video. To advocate healthy living and combat obesity, she challenged Ellen DeGeneres to an on-air dance-off. In her antics we see her vulnerability and her courage. Michelle Obama has beautifully established trust with millions of people, especially the nation’s youth. “Although I’m the first lady of the United States, I’m no different from you,” she told a group of high school students.4 And we all believe her.
Michelle Obama has convinced us that she’s “real” even though she lives in an alternate reality from the rest of us. Though it’s likely been a long time since she stayed up all night making lemon bars for the school bake sale or had to feed her kids fast food from the drive-through at the end of a long working mommy day, when asked whether she’s ever had a mom crisis she unequivocally responds, yes. “There’s not a minute that goes by that I’m not hoping and praying that I’m doing right by these girls … All we can do is do our best … You don’t know until it’s over.”
As a parent myself, on most days I doubt whether my job will ever be “over.” It seems that with each developmental phase, what my kids require from me changes. Yet I remain consistent in my overall parenting strategy: focus eighty percent of your effort on being the kind of person you’d want your children to be. They are watching us carefully and they are sophisticated sponges. What I most want them to soak up is that they, too, can keep it real, that they can be the most authentic versions of themselves.
Michelle Obama is also both disciplined and flexible. For someone who makes it all look so natural, Michelle Obama is very well rehearsed. She likes control and puts herself in positions where the risk of a mistake or a surprise is minimal.5 On the campaign trail she often spent hours researching and preparing for a speech. Just like her confidence, Michelle’s work ethic was instilled early. Her father was the epitome of grit. His multiple sclerosis entitled him to disability benefits, yet he worked managing high-pressure water boilers at a water filtration plant his entire adult life, never retiring. Having a parent with a disability meant that Michelle learned the value of structure and the power of daily habits. As a student she would often stay up very late or get up early to study. Now that she’s raising her own daughters, she is instilling in them a similar discipline. Though the Obamas are privileged with a staff to manage every household detail, Michelle insists that her daughters make their own beds each morning. She also picks one of their sports herself—to ensure the girls get regular practice doing something they don’t necessarily like. Michelle Obama’s number one rule? No whining.
In Rory Vaden’s book, Take the Stairs, he explores the role that self-discipline plays in our success. In a world that values one-stop shopping and quick and easy recipes, it turns out that achieving what we want requires instituting mundane daily practice that we might not necessarily enjoy. For me, one of those practices is running. One mile can be grueling, especially on a cold, dark winter morning. Yet my physical fitness promotes endurance in other areas of my life, and I’ve never had so many aha moments or innovative ideas as when my body is in motion. I’ve met women whose self-discipline manifests in other ways. One of my colleagues sets her intention each morning at 5 a.m. through meditation. I recently met a young writer. S
he drafts ten pages per day with or without muse.
For the First Lady discipline is the key to excellence and exercising your highest potential. It’s also the key to championship. When initially exploring a presidential bid with political consultants, including David Axelrod, it was Michelle who insisted they develop a strategy that would be the safest path to the White House. She wasn’t interested in pursuing Barack’s candidacy unless that was the number one goal. Michelle’s mother, Marian, competed in the Illinois Senior Olympics right before turning sixty. “You don’t just run to be running,” she famously said, “you run to win.”6
Michelle’s commitment to discipline surprisingly gives way to flexibility. For her, achieving excellence requires adaptation. Michelle was furious on the campaign trail when campaign staffers were slow to give her feedback about her communication style, which was perceived in the media as too edgy. She wanted to be an asset to the campaign and insisted that she could adapt, which she did.7 Fast forward eight years; her speech at the 2016 Democratic convention turned the tide of party divisiveness, inspired the nation, and was heralded as one of the best speeches in political convention history. Talk about taking the edge off.
One of the beautiful ways in which her flexibility manifests is in her willingness to meet people where they are, especially when they have opposing views. In 2001, Michelle had only been on her new job as director of community outreach for the University of Chicago medical center for a few weeks when an activist, Omar Shareef, disrupted the groundbreaking ceremony of a new children’s hospital. He was leading protesters who accused the university of not giving enough business to African American construction workers. Michelle immediately invited Shareef to discuss the matter. She was savvy enough to know that the most effective way to represent the interest of the university was to meaningfully engage the local community and listen to their concerns. Within four weeks, she had brokered an agreement.8
The Meaning of Michelle Page 7
