They called her stupid.
She built an empire anyway.
Almost a decade ago, I gave my TEDxTalk at Barnard.
The theme was Rethinking Failure.
I still remember one of the speakers who went before me.
A powerhouse in real estate.
She told the story of how a nun once looked her in the eye and said:
“You’ll always be stupid.”
She called it her “stupid gene.”
And instead of letting it break her,
she let it build her armor.
Because real estate isn’t for the faint-hearted.
It’s rejection.
Door after door slammed in your face.
So today, when she hires,
she doesn’t look for the smartest person in the room.
She looks for the one who can take a hit and keep going.
The one with the “stupid gene.”
The one who doesn’t wallow.
The one who sells again the next day.
I’m heading to the Met tomorrow morning.
Because I can feel it—
That Lisbon glow? That clarity?
It’s slipping.
A new exhibit just opened:
John Singer Sargent.
His story? Another masterclass in rejection.
He arrived in Paris at 18, full of promise.
The Impressionists were taking hold—Monet, Degas.
And he was pushing boundaries of his own.
Then, in 1884, he made a bold move:
He painted a socialite.
Not just her face.
But her verve.
Her danger.
Her unapologetic sensuality.
One black strap slipped off her shoulder.
The painting was called vulgar.
Too intimate.
Too much.
He was publicly humiliated.
He repainted the strap more securely.
But the damage was done.
That painting—Madame X—now hangs at the Met.
Iconic.
Timeless.
But back then? It ended his career in Paris.
So he left.
He moved to London.
And built a wildly successful career as a portrait artist.
Here’s what I take from both stories:
You can be brilliant.
And still be rejected.
Not because you weren’t ready—
but because the room wasn’t.
Sometimes rejection isn’t a dead end.
It’s a sign.
A sign to stop trying to win the wrong room.
To move cities.
Shift platforms.
Trust that your voice will find its people.
Because maybe you weren’t too much.
Maybe they were too small.
✍🏽 Journal Prompts
When have I been rejected not because I wasn’t ready — but because the audience wasn’t?
Where in my life or business am I still waiting for permission?
What would I do differently if I stopped trying to win over the wrong room?
Where am I diluting my voice, my offer, or my art to be more "acceptable"?
What bold move have I been avoiding — even though I know it’s true to me?
What would it look like to stay faithful to my vision, even when it risks criticism?
What market, platform, or audience is no longer aligned with who I am becoming?
If I had to “move cities” metaphorically (like Sargent leaving Paris), what would that look like?
Where is my work already being appreciated — and how can I double down on that momentum?
What part of me is quietly whispering, “There’s a bigger stage”?
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