#####11/25/2013— [Kelsey Breseman](/blog/"http://www.instructables.com/id/Treadmill-Desk/" target="_blank">treadmill desk (I don’t have one yet, but I will someday), and partly because the refusal to learn code feels increasingly like an intentional lack of agency in the modern world. And, well, feminism. I think it got to me.
I can’t help but feel like a traitor to women in tech when I, an engineer by training, describe what I do as the “non-technical” work. Though I’m proud of what I’ve done for Technical Machine, I cringe to describe what I do– usually because I’m explaining it to engineers, who don’t really go in for “marketing” (my excuse to pursue writing) and who don’t adequately respect the difficulties of learning business and logistics (speaking as an engineer who didn’t). And because I’m a woman.
I don’t think it’s possible to graduate from an engineering college that’s intentionally half women and not be aware of terms like “gender gap” and “imposter syndrome”. So when I arrive at a code conference, I am not surprised to feel like a fake. It doesn’t happen immediately; the conferences are interesting, and I forget sometimes how odd it is to be a woman in tech. But at some point I always remember. Reflexively, I look around and seek out other females in the room: one… two… three of us! No, four! The numbers are not always that skewed, but they usually are. And then, instantly, I feel like a representative. Worse, I feel like a false hope. Because I really don’t belong: is it still imposter syndrome if you really are an imposter?
I don’t code, not really. I’m there representing Tessel, introducing my teammates’ impressive technical work. If anybody asks me about Tessel and how it runs, I’ve got that down pat. I’ve seen it work; I’ve run the code; I looked up any relevant terms I didn’t already know. Going to all of these conferences (Wikipedia at the ready), I’ve basically had a crash course in what’s important in the web development scene. And I haven’t felt discriminated against at the conferences. There aren’t very many women speaking, but there also aren’t very many women attending, so it’s not a surprise.
People who approach me don’t pre-assign me a coding level based on my gender. Quite the reverse; they overestimate me, assuming I have at least as much experience as they have. So when they ask me, inevitably, “What do you do for Technical Machine?”, I feel like a bit of a letdown. I preface my answer with, “I’m an engineer, but…”
And then, when I say whatever comes next (“I’m working on marketing.” “I’m doing business development at the moment.” “I’m doing a lot of the non-technical work.”), I feel instead like I’m saying, “I’m just along for the ride.” Hair flip, ditzy smile. And in my head, I silently apologize to all four of the other women in the room, who are probably real programmers.
Perhaps, if I don’t code, I don’t belong at coding conferences. No matter that by now I’m excited by the open source community, that I learn a huge amount of code theory when I listen to good speakers. Regardless that attending helps me fill my community engagement role by putting Tessel in the hands of the people it’s built for. If I don’t actually follow through and write programs myself, do I belong at a programming conference?
So that’s part of the reason I’m learning to code.
I can’t decide how I feel about that. I know that feminism isn’t about pushing women into fields they don’t want to enter. But I feel like a traitor to all the women who had a much harder time entering STEM fields if I arrive at a technical conference with below-average knowledge of the subject. And in the modern world, code literacy is increasingly like, well, literacy.