In 2014, when Etsy announced its commitment to growing in Brooklyn, I was a young professional, three years out of a Master's program, working at a prominent University in New York City. In the years that followed, I took on roles that afforded me more autonomy over Diversity & Inclusion efforts and created a sustainable career out of my own personal identity work.
But then corporate cynicism crept in. I saw through the smoke and mirrors of the D&I world. More often than not, major institutions hired social justice educators as straw men, powerless entities, or middle managers. In many of my positions I was meant to be seen, but not heard.
As my belief in traditional institutions was declining, a crush on Etsy, Inc. was rapidly developing. I read articles about a company that dared to be different, I watched from the sidelines as they continued to stand for something meaningful, and I shared in the celebration of moving to a new office space in Brooklyn — the borough that birthed, raised and nurtured me for over half of my life. Everything about the company resonated deeply — including the ability to tend to my candle obsession, buy handmade Ankara prints, and plan an event with goods made exclusively by Black and African women — all in one place!
Fast forward five years, when I landed my dream job, Program Manager for Diversity & Inclusion initiatives at Etsy. I was cautious: Surely this was too good to be true, and even if it wasn't, why me? Seven weeks into the role, a stroke of luck, collegial generosity and a new Chief Marketing Officer sent me on location to Toronto with Etsy's TV & Media team. We were filming commercials for the Etsy 2019 holiday campaign (kudos to this team of people who believed this was necessary and brought the opportunity to fruition). I was asked to lend a critical eye to the cultural elements of the campaign and to ensure authentic representation in our media spots.
As excited as I was to participate in this assignment, I couldn't help but wait for the moment. The moment of silencing, microaggressive commentary, or tokenization that far too many marginalized people experience in professional settings. The moment didn't come when I timidly asked if the makeup artist had previously done work on brown skin. The moment didn't come when I tied my Ankara headwrap on our Black actresses' hair. And the moment didn't cover me in a blanket of shame when I suggested different props for a vignette depicting a family of Latinx descent.
The moment never came. In its place, there was the shared giggle between me and our Black actress in the wardrobe room as I tied her beautiful curls up in my headwrap. There was the moment she pulled me aside and whispered “this is what I would wear in real life!”. There was the twirl from our 8-year old actress after I braided her hair for the shoot, her mom nervously watching on the sidelines. Perhaps most gratifying was the moment of surprise and admiration from production staff; “Etsy sent someone from the D&I team?! In all my years of doing this, I've never worked with a company smart enough to do that.”
Every minute of production brought the Etsy I imagined to life. This is in fact, a company on the road to building a truly inclusive work culture. It is also a company that understands the need for true representation for communities of color — without fear, pretense, or skirting the obvious issues. My Etsy crush has turned out to be everything I dreamed of, and I will proudly share our story with others looking to bring their fullest and truest selves to work.
