Voice

The Problem With Confidence Men

How Katty Kay and Claire Shipman get it wrong on women and overconfidence.

If you happen to be a world leader, and you happen to attend one of those world leader powwows to which the rest of us usually aren't invited (the opening festivities of the U.N. General Assembly session, for instance), and you happen to look around at your fellow world leaders, you might also happen to notice that most of your fellow world leaders are fellows.

According to U.N. figures, women made up only about 10 percent of all heads of state in 2013, and, according to the Inter-Parliamentary Union, women constituted only about 17 percent of all government ministers in 2012 and 22 percent of all parliamentarians worldwide as of February 2014. In the United States, only 20 percent of current cabinet secretaries are female, along with only 18.5 percent of all current members of Congress. A few rungs down the ladder, men continue to outnumber women: Women hold only one-third of federal senior executive service positions, for instance, and in the national security and foreign-policy agencies, the figure is even more skewed toward men.

Since women make up 51 percent of the world's population, all this raises an obvious question: Why don't women run the world -- or at least 51 percent of it?

Good question! In answer, you might be tempted to start muttering about the lingering effects of centuries of sex-based discrimination or the lingering existence, in some quarters at least, of good old-fashioned sexism. You might also add a scowling commentary on the scarcity of affordable, high-quality child care, the absurd demands of the 24/7 workplace, the "second shift" of housework and child care most women still do when they get home from their paid jobs, and the cultural expectations that steer women away from traditionally male roles such as leader of the free world (or even chief of staff to the leader of the free world).

But you'd be wrong. Or at least, according to veteran television reporters Claire Shipman and Katty Kay, you'd be missing the deeper underlying reason for women's "continued failure to break the glass ceiling," which is "something more basic: women's acute lack of confidence."

In the cover story in this month's issue of the Atlantic, Kay and Shipman offer a lengthy excerpt from their just-published book, The Confidence Code: The Science and Art of Self-Assurance -- What Women Should Know. Few women make it to the top, they argue, because women generally underestimate and undervalue their own skills and expertise. They're less likely than men to ask for raises or negotiate about salaries when they get job offers, and even when the objective evidence suggests that they know as much as or more than their male peers, women still express less confidence about their knowledge. As a result, they're less likely than their male peers to apply for promotions: Women won't apply for promotions unless they believe they meet 100 percent of the qualifications for the job, while men will if they think they meet even half the qualifications. The problem isn't that women are locked out of top jobs, say Kay and Shipman -- it's that too often, they simply take themselves out of the running.

Up to a point, Kay and Shipman have a point. What they refer to as "the confidence gap" has been amply documented, and most women will relate to Kay and Shipman's anecdotes about meetings in which men yak away blithely about even the most half-baked ideas, while smart women with terrific notions seem bent upon undermining themselves the minute they open their mouths. ("Um, so, this is probably kind of a bad idea, so probably I just shouldn't even waste everyone's time with it, but I was sort of thinking, you know, um, maybe.…")

Needless to say, there are already plenty of self-help books urging women to stop undermining themselves, own their own expertise, and generally "lean in." And, yes: Women with smart ideas should speak up; women who do high-quality work should ask for raises; women who know their stuff shouldn't wallow in self-doubt.

But Kay and Shipman go way beyond that.

Women, they note, tend to be underconfident: They underestimate their own knowledge and skills. Men, on the other hand, tend to be overconfident: Compared with women, men are more likely to have an inflated sense of their knowledge and skills. (For instance, Kay and Shipman cite a 2011 study that found, they write, "men consistently rated their performance on a set of math problems to be about 30 percent better than it was.")

Yet this inflated sense of self-worth, Kay and Shipman inform us, has its rewards: Overconfident men are showered with success. People like them! In fact, the bigger blowhards they are -- that is, the greater the gulf between their actual knowledge and skills and their inflated sense of their knowledge and skills -- the higher their social status. Overconfident men are perceived as self-assured leaders, and raises and promotions flow their way.

One might conclude from this that the challenge for gender equality lies partly in getting women to be less underconfident, partly in getting men to be less overconfident, and partly in getting everyone to understand that the appearance of confidence can mask underlying incompetence, and vice versa. But Kay and Shipman go in a different direction. For them, the lesson for women is clear: "overconfidence can get you far in life." Women, in other words, need to work on becoming more like men.

Please, God, no.

I don't doubt Kay and Shipman's conclusion that career success often goes to the overconfident at the expense of the truly competent. (This has the ring of painful truth about it.) But though Kay and Shipman cite several recent studies documenting the career and social status benefits of overconfidence, they give short shrift to the even more numerous studies documenting the costs of overconfidence -- which, unfortunately, are often borne not by those with inflated egos, but by all the rest of us.

For instance: Overconfident physicians make more medical errors. Overconfident drivers cause more car crashes. Overconfident investors make too many trades and lose more money. Overconfident corporate CFOs are "more aggressive in their investing and borrowing," as one researcher put it, with negative effects for the corporate bottom line.

What's more, classic studies of overconfidence suggest that experts are no better than nonexperts at avoiding overconfidence. In fact, some studies suggest that expertise can increase overconfidence without a corresponding increase in competence. Weirdly, the overconfident become even more overconfident when faced with highly difficult tasks. Put the overconfident into leadership positions, and the stakes simply go up: A 2011 review of the literature on power and overconfidence found that "the experience of power exacerbates overconfidence."

In the realm of political and foreign-policy leadership, overconfidence can be deadly. Indeed, there's a substantial scholarly literature on overconfidence as a cause of war. U.S. military officials were convinced that Pearl Harbor was invulnerable to Japanese attack; American officials were equally convinced that military success in Vietnam would be a simple matter.

More recent examples come readily to mind. In 2002 and 2003, U.S. officials were overconfident about the validity of intelligence information on the existence of weapons of mass destruction in Iraq: "We know that Saddam Hussein has chemical and biological weapons," Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld blithely proclaimed in November 2002. "And we know he has an active program for the development of nuclear weapons."

Officials were still more overconfident about the odds of military success: the war would be a cakewalk, U.S. troops would be hailed as liberators, and it would all be wrapped up quickly. "I can't tell you if the use of force in Iraq today would last five days or five weeks or five months," declared Rumsfeld, "but it certainly isn't going to last any longer than that."

I'm all in favor of increasing the percentage of women in leadership roles in the United States and around the globe, and insofar as underconfidence is part of what holds back smart and capable women, I'll be the first to offer pep talks. But Kay and Shipman draw all the wrong lessons from the correlation that male overconfidence has with social status and career success.

If we find a disproportionate number of men in leadership positions because employers -- or colleagues, or voters -- wrongly equate male overconfidence with competence, the solution isn't simply to urge women to become more confident. (That's particularly true given the persistence of double standards. As Kay and Shipman acknowledge, what looks like assertiveness in men is often characterized negatively as aggressiveness in women.)

Instead, let's work on getting employers and selection bodies -- from party nominating committees to talent scouts -- to understand that the appearance of confidence may be inversely correlated with actual competence. And let's urge them to go the extra mile to find the talented women who may not thrust themselves into the limelight. Let's work on all those overconfident men too. Studies suggest that overconfidence and its costs can be reduced or mitigated, in part through frequent reminders of how dangerous overconfidence can be.

But the last thing we should do is urge women to emulate male overconfidence. If the price of getting more women into leadership positions is that we end up with Donald Rumsfeld in a skirt, will we really be better off?

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COLUMN

'We Need a Dictator With a Gun and a Hoover'

Can India's likely next prime minister unleash his country's economy without allowing his Hindu nationalist base to run free?

KANPUR, India — S. P. Singh is a professor of history at Christ Church College in Kanpur, a grimy and charmless industrial city in India's biggest state, Uttar Pradesh (UP). He has, he says, "politics in the blood": his father was a state assemblyman from a rural area outside of Kanpur, a member of the anti-Congress Janata Party whose career came to an end in 1980 when Indira Gandhi made a secret, last-minute deal with a Janata ally, whose poll workers abandoned their posts on election day. Singh recalls the skullduggery with professional delight; he remembers the exact margin of his father's loss, as he does the outcome of dozens of state and local races in UP.

Indians love politics, and they make sure to have a great deal of it. The country holds fiercely contested elections at the village, district, state, and national levels, and they all feature tumultuous spectacle and cynical hugger-mugger. During two days I spent in Kanpur earlier this week, I tried to get someone to show me around the city. But everyone wanted to talk instead about the upcoming parliamentary contest in the city, the state, and the country. Above all, they wanted to talk about what it would mean for India if Narendra Modi, the leader of the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), the modern outgrowth of Janata, becomes prime minister.

It is very far from certain that that will happen. While very strong in the "Hindi heartland" of India's north and west, BJP has little following in the east, northeast, and south. But the "Modi wave" is gathering force even in places where the party has historically been weak. Modi's own favorability ratings dwarf those of Congress's leaders -- including Rahul Gandhi, the party's diffident champion -- and some polls have shown a BJP-led alliance gaining a majority of seats. Modi is strong, and the Congress and Rahul are weak, though regional parties may wind up holding the balance of power. 

And it is Modi, not his party, that is surging among voters. In the past two national elections, "the BJP focused on the party," says S. P. Singh. "Then they realized that the brand BJP is not selling. As a result the super-brand Modi took over the party." Modi has sidelined the old lions of the party and centralized power in his own hands. The campaign is a non-stop glorification of his record as chief minister of Gujarat state and his humble beginnings as a chai-wallah selling tea from a stall in a railway station. As Satya Dev Pachauri, a grizzled BJP state assemblyman from Kanpur, explained to me, the local candidates have become immaterial: "All over India, in every constituency, it is Modi who is fighting the election."

This has made for some piquant drama in Kanpur, where one of the founders and chief ideologues of the BJP, the 80-year-old Murli Manohar Joshi, is contesting the seat for the parliament, known as the Lok Sabha. Joshi had previously represented Varanasi, but when Modi decided that he wanted to stand for election in the city that is the incarnation of India's Vedantic -- and pre-Islamic -- past, Joshi had to settle for Kanpur, where he has no roots. Joshi has publicly grumbled that the party should come first. As you drive around town, you can see the billboards that say, "This Time, Modi Government," as well as the ones Joshi has put up: "This time, BJP Government." When Pachauri said that the candidate is "immaterial," he was referring to the candidate in Kanpur.

Joshi is the chief author of the BJP manifesto, which came out weeks late, allegedly because of internal disputes. Joshi has strong ties to the RSS, the party's grassroots organization, which has provided the shock troops for sectarian demonstrations and riots across India. The body of the manifesto promises good governance and a moderate foreign policy, but Joshi was apparently given free rein with the preface, which declares, "Historical records establish the level of progress and prosperity attained in India before the advent of the Europeans. Indian advancements in mathematics, astronomy, physics and chemistry along with the biological sciences has been well recognized. India was a land of abundance, prosperity, affluence, a land of sharing and caring...."

Modi himself has steered clear of almost any talk of the Hindu nationalist ideology, "Hindutva," or any reference to the party's hot-button issues. Sharat Pradhan, a veteran journalist in Lucknow, UP's capital, told me that when Modi learned that he was to be joined on a dais by two party activists accused of involvement in Hindu-Muslim riots last year, he stalled at the airport while the men were garlanded by minor party officials and then swept off the stage.

Modi is single-mindedly focused on development. The party manifesto, however, calls for the rebuilding of the Ram temple in Ayodhya, halted by court order in 1992 after RSS activists tore down a mosque on the site brick by brick, an episode which gave birth to the modern, deeply ideological, BJP. The manifesto also calls for the elimination of Article 370 of the Constitution, which provides a special status for Muslim-dominated Kashmir.

BJP leaders are now well-drilled on the new party line. In Kanpur, I went to see Manoj Mishra, a physics professor and the state party spokesman, and asked about the manifesto. Mishra, who joined the RSS when he was 18 years old, told me that the destruction of the Babri Masjid (mosque) had been a spontaneous event which senior figures like Joshi and L. K. Advani had sought to stop. (In fact, the dismantlement was a highly professional job, and Joshi and Advani egged on the rank and file with fierce rhetoric.) In any case, he said, the Babri mosque was no longer in use, and had no reason for being. As for Article 370, he asked, "How can it be that people elsewhere in India cannot buy land in Jammu and Kashmir?" Abolition of the article, he told me, was in no way targeted at Muslims.

Modi was formed by the RSS, just as Mishra and Joshi were. He shares the Hindutva outlook, which every once in a while sneaks through on the stump, as when he accused India's defense minister, A. K. Antony, of being one of the "agents of Pakistan and enemies of India" because of a single incident in which Pakistani soldiers attacked Indian troops, beheading one of them. He has refused to apologize for his failure to stop the anti-Muslim riots in Gujarat in 2002, soon after he took over as chief minister, an act which has lead the State Department to deny him a visa to come to the United States.

Modi rarely speaks to the press, and has never seriously addressed his own views of the Hindu-nationalist agenda. Indians can only speculate -- endlessly -- about how he would deal with Pakistan, with Kashmir, or with India's family code, which allows Muslims and others to administer their own law on matters involving inheritance, marriage, and the like. Congress stalwarts profess to have no doubt on the subject: The central, and wholly negative, theme of the Congress campaign is "secularism versus communalism." Many people told me that, as prime minister, Modi will be taking orders from the RSS. And yet in Gujarat he has by all accounts brought the organization to heel. It was Modi, not RSS leaders, who determined the distribution of tickets for the campaign.

S. P. Singh argues that, "If Modi wins a strong victory, the RSS will be finished. The BJP itself will be finished." In 1970, Indira Gandhi used a strong electoral mandate to banish senior Congress Party officials who opposed her rise. They formed the Congress (S) and the Congress (O) and so on, all of which eventually disappeared, leaving her in sole control of the party. Singh believes that Modi will adopt the same model: his friends in the RSS tell him that they are deeply worried about Modi's domineering ways. Singh took me to an RSS meeting where a local leader had agreed to talk to me off the record. However, the man turned out to be in his shop, and instead I talked to a very genial codger who said that, as Muslims had once been Hindus who had converted centuries ago, they, too, belonged to Mother India. He only slipped when he referred to the Babri Masjid as a "so-called mosque."

Modi seems to have in mind a fusion of religious nationalism and free-market capitalism -- a peculiar, and quite possibly untenable, combination of past and future. Whatever that is, however, it does not appear to be democratic. Like Mrs. Gandhi, Modi appears to believe above all in himself, and to have little patience for critics or for party rivals. In an article I wrote about Rahul last year, I quoted Swapan Dasgupta, one of the BJP's leading intellectuals, as calling Modi -- admiringly -- "a blend of Putin and Lee Kuan Yew." In Gujarat, Modi has long been feared and admired in equal measure. The question he poses thus may not be, "Can India be governed by a Hindu nationalist?" but rather, "Can India be governed by an autocrat?"

The millions of young Indians who seem likely to vote for Modi may care less about India's ancient heritage, or even about threats from Muslims or from Pakistan, than they do about knocking over the obstacles to a good life that they feel lie in their path. I have been coming to India for almost 40 years, and I have never stopped hearing envious comments about China, which of course have only grown as China has boomed. Many Indians believe that only a Chinese-style autocrat can force the country's wild energies into productive channels.

Rakesh Suri, a shoe exporter in Kanpur who despairs of the city's shattered roads and spotty electricity, told me only half-jokingly that, "We need a dictator with a gun and a Hoover." He didn't mean Modi, but a lot of other people do.

A Modi who has the mandate to shuck off his own party, and to rule with few if any coalition partners, could operate as a populist autocrat, in the mold of Turkey's Recep Tayyip Erdogan, if not as Vladimir Putin. I'm not convinced that India would accept such a figure; I hope it wouldn't. Democracy is no fragile flower in India; it's more like a banyan, whose branches sink back down into the earth to form new roots. Indians practice their freedoms with abandon, as they do their elections. Indira Gandhi's attempt to rule by force majeure during the Emergency of 1975-1977 came to an abrupt end when she was voted out of office.* S. P. Singh may be amused, all these years later, by Mrs. Gandhi's high-handed tricks; but he does not want to see Narendra Modi duplicate her assault on Indian democracy.

*Correction, April 28, 2014: This article originally misstated the years of the Emergency in India. The Emergency was from 1975 to 1977, not from 1977 to 1980. (Return to reading.)

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