I Like Nikki Haley. Not For what She Is, But For Who She Is.

I Don’t Know if She Has My Vote, But She Will Always Have My Respect.

by sarah selip

Nikki Haley is a woman running for president, and yes, I can hear you on the other side of the screen saying, “Sarah, you’re a woman, and women always support women. Women always vote for other women.”

That’s not the case here. I can’t agree entirely with all of her policy proposals. Vivek had it right when he said she was “Dick Cheney in 3” heels.”

Bear with me; it makes sense for this argument’s sake. I like that she’s a strong woman with an established career, but she didn’t get that way from using the age-old talking point (read: platform) of being a woman politician. One might argue that Hillary Clinton and Kamala both soared to their status in the same way, but they screamed “I am a woman” in our faces.

And, let’s be honest here, it felt threatening. If you didn’t vote for a woman, you’d be accused of being a misogynist. There’s a significant difference between wanting to be president and wanting to be the first woman president. Think about the motives, and think about it from a woman’s perspective.

Working as a woman in politics, especially Republican politics, can be like finding footing in the Old Boy’s Club. I’ve been there, especially on Capitol Hill. And I don’t mean that in a derogatory way. I know way too many women who outperform their male counterparts in other offices, and I have plenty of male friends who are at the top of their game in their respective fields. I can’t stress this enough. Your number of X chromosomes doesn’t determine your professional capabilities. And it shouldn’t. Heck, most of us women have male colleagues turned mentors.

But why is that?

It is so damn hard to find mentorship in a city where women will do anything to tank another woman’s career, and probably because it’s easier. It’s threatening to pit yourself against a man in a field where you feel like they are “the protected class.” And they aren’t. At all.

My first boss in politics was a woman.

When I first moved here, I prayed she would become a mentor. Heck, she was known as a pioneer as a woman in conservative public affairs. And one might argue that she is damn good at what she does. Yet, she went out of her way to pick my female counterpart and me apart for what we wore, what we ate, and even who we were friends with in the media. A few years into my time in the office, she went so far as to call a Fox producer friend “my boyfriend” for months, even though she had known him for the better part of two decades. That alone was equal parts belittling and humiliating.

Here was this woman in tight dresses and heels, parading around cocktail hours with a smile and pushing me to the side when she was chatting with people I had previously asked her to introduce me to. It was petty. And she made it evident that she tried to ruin my career in this city.

After chatting with former employees from the alumni network, I realized it wasn’t just me, but it was a trend. She consisted hated and belittled her female employees while adoring their male coworkers. (But apparently, my case was much more severe.)

And, in total transparency, her treatment made me hate the fact that I was a woman. My life would have been so much easier if I was a man. To trade the stilettos and dresses in for tailored suits.

But damn, I love being a woman.

During my first appointment with the therapist I saw when I was working for the horrible boss, she asked me what success sounds like. Weird, I know. But it’s a good exercise.

My answer was heels on marble.

From then on, I have been incredibly passionate about female mentorship. Many of my friends who came up in politics around the same time feel precisely the same way — female bosses or coworkers loathed them and stranded them when they needed help. I could give you a million examples from my own experiences.

I’m a staunch believer that this comes with the territory. Most women in politics, especially in communications, like I am, are either too nice or too cutthroat.

But, here’s the dirty little not-so-secret nuance. If you can’t beat them, join them.

Be kind but aggressive. Be strong and push back. Speak your truth and stand up for yourself. Play the game and play it well. There’s no better example of how to do this than the former governor and U.N. Ambassador Nikki Haley.

Nikki dons Chanel suits and struts around in 5" heels.

Yes, she dresses like a First Lady, but she has the charisma, wit, and chutzpah to stand with equal footing on an otherwise male-dominated stage. And, especially as a woman, I respect the hell out of her.