Subtitle: A Colossal Waste of Time or Why being a female founder sucks (part 1 of many)

Last fall, I was contacted by a “talent scout” on behalf of a high-profile media executive. According to the scout, said executive, who had an illustrious career in the entertainment and media industries, was brewing new ideas which could provide for some interesting collaborations with ZAOZAO. Rather than resting on his laurels and retiring comfortably, this former CEO was leading new ventures particularly in the US/Asia cross-border realm, and had identified me as an influencer who could potentially add value with my experience. I googled him to confirm he actually existed - a New York Times article from the 90’s, check.

Wow! I thought, what are the odds? I had just met the scout at a fashion week party weeks before and told him about ZAOZAO. Crazy things happen all the time, and given my track record, I didn’t rule out the possibility of a serendipitous game-changing event like this. My appetite for risk is generally not low, as I often go headfirst into things with an open mind. This attitude has rewarded me in the past, but with good judgment coupled alongside measured risk taking obviously.

“Are you free for lunch with the billionaire at 1pm? Bring your collaboration ideas,” I accepted without hesitation. “You should look professional,” he further instructed. “Dress in business casual…I suggest a skirt, stockings and heels”. OK…not my first time dealing with an important client or a billionaire, but maybe you don’t know that I used to work at Goldman Sachs, or what Goldman Sachs is, so I accept your guidance. Also, I run a fashion startup - I may handle the “business” side of things, but I damn well know how to dress myself. Out of an abundance of caution, I chose a caramel colored turtleneck sweaterdress with hose and flat black boots, topped with a black cardigan.

Upon checking in downstairs at this “33 million dollar mansion”, I was greeted by an assistant, an Asian woman in her 20’s with a clipboard. “You’re the first,” she advised. Upstairs I went, eager to squeeze in some quality networking time before the other guests arrived. After chatting for an hour about our travels around Asia, my recent move back to New York, and some other topics worthy of small talk, we remained the only two standing in his kitchen.

“Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?” the Executive asked. Silly me, I had erroneously assumed that lunch would be a catered affair, or at least Seamless’d. He proceeded to re-heat a pot of carrot-ginger soup over the stove. Well, this is quite intimate, I mused to myself. That was just the beginning.

As I ladled canned soup into my bowl, he continued to regale me with stories of wheeling and dealing with Carlos Slim and the wild adventures on Richard Li’s private yacht. At one point, the talent scout showed up with a sandwich and laptop in hand and plugged his devices in to charge. He soon disappeared without saying goodbye, and I was again left with the Executive, alone. He pulled out his iPhone to share a video of two dogs he had recently looked after. “Look at these dogs, they’re so fucking stupid! They’re both male, but they are fucking each other!” he cackled gleefully.

Then: “wanna come upstairs and jam with me?” his eyes set ablaze with excitement. He meant his music studio, where he had pre-recorded the parts to an arrangement he had made with a young Chinese singer. He mentioned something about liking her voice because it was vulnerable and docile, and wanting me to partake as well…somehow, he knew I was a musician even though I hadn’t told him. At this point, I still hadn’t had a chance to get more than two words in edgewise about ZAOZAO or our “potential collaboration opportunities”. I’ll wait for the right time, I rationalized…don’t want to be too pushy and ruin it. He sat at his desktop with all his recording programs open, eyes closed, “jamming out” in a weird blissful state of ecstasy. I played along the only way I knew how, and bopped my head along politely to the beat. Boppity bop bop. Untz untz untz.

Before I knew it, 5 hours had passed, and I was still there in the same place, forcing tight-lipped smiles. “Alright, time for me to go,” I announced as nicely as possible. The Executive cornered me, and seemingly out of nowhere, pulled a guitar into his lap and starting crooning.

I was in disbelief. This man, 40 years my senior, was ad libbing rhymes to “Vicky is a desperate entrepreneur”. “Her company needs money” he sang, tauntingly. I finally made my exit, at 6pm, texting my friends in a group chat that I had successfully escaped.

Then, the follow-up email:

“I think I’d just like to pack you in my suitcase enroute [to] China”

“possible to hang out again before i leave next week?

Maybe a dinner and some brainstorming?”

I ignored these comments and responded by suggesting a mutually convenient (day)time and public coffee shop to discuss further. I never heard from him again.

A few weeks later, the talent scout contacted me again. This time, he had a seemingly unrelated, new proposition. His friend was starting an online lingerie shop for “size zero and below” women, and thought I could be a good model for them. As if there were a shortage of aspiring models or skinny women in New York, the proposition just sounded sketchy so I politely declined. Out of curiosity, I googled the brand and found a hastily put-together website with pixelated images that looked like careless screenshots taken from eBay. The header contained some links that led to a familiar site that I’d seen somewhere before.

To my utter dismay and horror, it was the Executive’s homepage.