Stillettos to Steel Toes: Stepping Into a Man's World

By Michelle Coffino

My book is to share entrepreneurial ideas concepts and nuggets of how to change the trajectory of your business model and look through a lens that not everybody sees. It doesn't matter the business you're in it's the relationships you cultivate and how you treat people because at the end of the day people wi

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bowker
• Release date: Feb 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9798985490916

Book preview

PREFACE

Do you want to be an entrepreneur? If you do, I can show you how because I did it—three times. But if I do, I’d like you to pay it forward, and here’s why.

I’m a woman who was not born into privilege. I had no silver spoon and no leg up. People have been the secret to my success. And I believe they are the secret to your success too. I don’t mean using them, exploiting them, or manipulating them. I mean helping them and caring about them, no matter what their past looks like. Society is in a dark place, but entrepreneurs are in a unique position to bring communities together so that everybody benefits.

At its core, this book is about being a minority in a white man’s space and making it anyway. It’s about pushing through when you really don’t want to because the results will be great if you do. This book will show you how to build a brand, look at things through a different lens, find a path, and keep fighting. But mainly, it’s about people. It’s about seeing them, hearing them, and helping them because that’s what makes a business work.

Sure, you can get rich. There are plenty of businesspeople out there making millions, but few of them are doing it in a way that encourages humanity. My hope is that this book might inspire them to do it differently because I honestly don’t think there’s any other way to long-term, sustainable entrepreneurship.

— Mickey Coffino,

serial entrepreneur

Part I

LIMITS

It promised to be a pleasant dinner. The company was surprisingly entertaining. Who knew that the Institute of Scrap Recycling would attract such a diverse, international crowd to its annual convention? There was an energetic woman from Singapore to my left, a humorous gentleman from Canada to my right, another handsome gentleman from Holland opposite me, and my buyer next to him.

We sat happily sharing anecdotes about recycling in a chic Las Vegas restaurant, sipping cocktails served by bustling waiters. What a contrast—from tin cans to tequila!

I took a moment to congratulate myself on making it in a white man’s world—and in scrap metal to boot! It had been just a year since I had bought my scrap business and become CEO of Queen City Metal Recycling & Salvage. I obviously had an eye for an opportunity… and threats.

I spotted him immediately. He wore a dark grey business suit, and his hair was black, bluntly cut, and gelled to a greasy sheen. He came right toward our table in what seemed like slow motion and that don’t fuck with me strut. He came closer and closer and closer. He reached our table and reached me. He bent forward until his face was in mine, so close I could smell his breath as he spat out the ugliest words I’d heard in a while, and I’ve heard some ugly words.

Don’t you ever fucking call my boss again, or you’ll never buy another fucking motor in this town. I run the dealership, you got that? She don’t give a fuck about women, and she don’t give a fuck about you. So don’t you ever fucking call her again.

I froze in shock, except my stomach was quivering. To my relief, he turned to leave. Feeling the adrenaline running through my veins, I tried to calm my heart rate as my eyes followed his black figure as it headed to the exit.

I looked at my fellow diners. The energy had been knocked out from the Chinese lady with her Shanghai shirt buttoned up to the neck. The guy from Canada was out of quick quips, and the Dutchman with a lovely accent looked at me in bewilderment. My buyer was speechless. They all looked at me, wide-eyed and mouths agape, wondering what I was going to do next.

Well, I said. Compliments of the house, I guess.

1

REALITY

She owned one of the biggest scrap yards in Chicago and had endless accolades in the scrap business—a member of The Greater Women’s Business Council and a ton of honorary awards was how her bio read. The media claimed she donated to the Ronald McDonald House, did charity work, was extremely supportive of small businesses, and even mentored women like me who were just starting out as entrepreneurs. I figured she’d be on my side, but that was before I learned that you shouldn’t believe everything that you read.

I had been trying to contact this icon of female entrepreneurship because I wanted to buy her company’s electric motors. I thought they would be a good source of scrap metal for me, and I was keen to get the contract. The Greater Women’s Business Council had recommended her, which was even more reason for me to pursue the contract, so I had called a number of times. I’d received no return calls, but I tend to be tenacious where business is concerned.

I knew the guy was one of her buyers, but I could not for the life of me understand how a woman who claimed to be so pro-women and business could have such a misogynistic asshole on her payroll. I was livid and could not calm down.

The next morning, I wrote a long, scathing piece and posted it on LinkedIn, exposing her and describing the incident. I told the story of the threatening buyer-cum-mobster who accosted me in the middle of an upscale Las Vegas restaurant. I described the type of employee hired by the woman in Chicago who claimed to be so supportive of women in business. I told the story of her buyer’s shocking and abusive behavior that had offended and upset loyal institute members. I exposed the whole damn freak show of a woman who supposedly supports other women in business and is so generous to charities.

Three thousand people read the article within an hour. It was the talk of the convention. Everybody gave me knowing looks over breakfast, coffee, and lunch. Some offered condolences. Others told me that they weren’t surprised and congratulated me for my article. The piece went viral.

My phone started to ring. Someone in Chicago was anxious to speak to me. I took my time to answer, but when I finally picked up, her first words shocked me more than those of the uninvited visitor in the restaurant the night before.

You know? What kind of fucking woman are you not to pick up my calls?

I hung up.

The next call I got was from the woman’s son. He was the new CEO of the company, he informed me. He also told me that his mother, that charming lady from Chicago, wasn’t running the show anymore. He was extremely apologetic. I sensed he was used to damage control. He assured me that what I had experienced was not the way they did business. Yeah, right.

My mom’s not like that, he said. I’m so sorry that this happened.

Meanwhile, at least 40 other women in the scrap business started messaging and calling me. They all said that the woman from Chicago talked to everyone in that rude and crude way. She and her sidekick were well known for their abusive treatment of other businesswomen despite what The Greater Women’s Business Council would have you believe.

* * *

What did I learn from that experience? I learned that just because a business claims to be one thing, it does not mean it is. Who is a business or entrepreneur accountable to? Investors? Customers? Who holds their feet to the fire and makes sure they keep their promises? No one.

This woman could say one thing and do completely the opposite. Despite her claims and accolades to the contrary, she didn’t give a shit about people.

The Vegas incident was part of a playbook of a sham company, and there are many of them. The company claimed to empower and support women, except that this was all bullshit. The reality is that just because a company registers as a woman-owned business and receives awards and accolades, it doesn’t mean they want to embrace and empower other women—it just means they talk a lot about it. Just because someone is a woman doesn’t mean they care about other women, and just because they employ women doesn’t mean they care about the outcomes of other women.

That came as a shock to me.

The truth will out though because I had learned an even more valuable lesson way before the incident in Las Vegas. I had learned that people always remember how you treat them, and that will follow you forever.

2

BOUNDARIES

I hadn’t seen him in over a year. I only went because I was hoping it would shut my mom up. He was lying there in the hospital bed, already rotting. I felt numb looking at him; he was skinny, pale, shriveled, silent, and still. He could have been a stranger for all I cared. He didn’t pose much of a threat now, but I felt sick nonetheless.

Y ou really need to say your goodbyes, my mother said. I don’t think she could process what had happened to me, but I do think she had done her best.

Listen, you have to let go of this. He’s your grandfather. I know it was a bad thing, but he’s in hospital dying of prostate cancer. You really need to say your goodbyes.

When everyone else left the room, I heard