The profound repercussions of possessing an unrecognized name in professional circles can be disheartening.

In a different reality, Karl Starr might have already delivered a TED talk. About six years ago, during a gathering for science writers at a New York bar, I shared a frustrating experience with a friend named John. I had attempted multiple times to contact a professor for an interview. Even just obtaining a PDF of his latest research would have sufficed. I had reached out to others in the same field for quotations, but to no avail.

“Did you even get the PDF?” John inquired.

“Nope. I even mentioned I was writing a book for Penguin.”

“Interesting. Who was it?”

As it turned out, John had also contacted that same professor earlier in the week.

> While I received no reply, John secured an interview shortly after reaching out.

We speculated that I had to send at least five emails to elicit a response—usually redirected to a lab assistant, a graduate student, or a communications office for future scheduling—whereas John faced no such hurdles, often receiving phone calls and PDFs the same day.

Reflecting on Bruce Willis's realization at the end of The Sixth Sense, I found myself at that bar and later on my way home, contemplating all the unanswered emails I had sent over the years. The countless lingering questions. The hours spent searching, waiting, and hoping.

I considered the editors I had approached, the additional research and proposals they had requested before going silent. Meanwhile, John swiftly received responses from sources for interviews, engaged in discussions with editors about ideas, and enjoyed multiple rounds of edits—while earning significantly more per article.

What would my reality be like if I consistently received responses? If my work was shared and subscribed to as frequently as John's? How much additional effort would I need to exert to earn the same income as him? Research studies can never fully capture this narrative, as such experiences are complex and not easily quantified.

At this juncture, some might label my account as mere anecdata, suggesting that I exaggerate or focus on peer-reviewed research or critique my emailing methods. In response, I would highlight my firsthand experience of working alongside a four-time New York Times bestselling author for three years, witnessing a contrasting reality that comes with having the right name. This serves as a reminder to researchers that peer-reviewed studies, often collected by biased individuals, fail to encapsulate the nuanced aspects of real life.

Yes, studies have examined the repercussions of having the wrong name.

Job applicants with a felony record were found to be more likely to receive callbacks than black applicants without a criminal history. Adjusting resumes to remove racial identifiers ("whitening") proved beneficial: Asian Americans experienced nearly double the callbacks after whitening, while black candidates received two and a half times more. The study indicated that the organization did not influence outcomes, as “Employers claiming to promote diversity discriminated against resumes with racial references just as much as those who did not mention diversity in their job postings.”

One particularly striking example from the gender disparity in callbacks involves Kim O’Grady, who received no responses after submitting resumes for four months. He recounted:

> I made one change that day. I added “Mr.” before my name on my CV. Though it felt overly formal, I received an interview for the very next job I applied for. This continued success came swiftly, with the second job offering significantly greater responsibilities than my previous roles.

In my previous workplace, there was a female manager, the sole woman at my level among a dozen peers, and none at the level above. She had ascended through the ranks over many years and excelled in her role. She was often pointed to as evidence that success was attainable, yet many believed that most women simply did not aspire to such achievements. It is disheartening to recall that I once subscribed to this notion, and even more so to acknowledge that many still do.

Writing While Female

Emily Glassberg Sands sent identical scripts to artistic directors and literary managers across the country, under the names Michael Walker and Mary Walker. The scripts submitted under the female name “received significantly lower ratings regarding quality, economic potential, and audience feedback compared to Michael’s.”

Writer Catherine Nichols decided to test the reactions her work would garner by sending queries under different names. Fifty literary agents received inquiries from Catherine, while another fifty received the exact same inquiry from Charles Nichols.

Of the fifty emails sent by Catherine, only 2 agents requested to see her manuscript. In contrast, 17 agents expressed interest in Charles's submission.

> “He is eight and a half times better than me at writing the same book,” Nichols remarked.

Literary agents are individuals who have voluntarily chosen to read unpublished manuscripts for a living and are compensated based on their ability to sell them, so their focus should ostensibly be on the quality of the manuscripts.

However, our brains often complicate matters. Our cognition, designed for efficiency, tends to rely on available cues to assess value in ambiguous situations. We gravitate toward individuals who resemble those we have previously deemed successful, often failing to recognize how every interaction contributes to cumulative advantages over time.

Success in cultural markets hinges on capturing the attention of the right audience, and ensuring that this audience evaluates us positively.

We prefer to think that life operates as a pure meritocracy, yet both studies and lived experiences demonstrate that merit is not assessed equally.

It wasn’t until I dated a lawyer who elucidated the racial inequities of incarceration in the U.S. that I grasped the gravity of the situation. If one is black, they face increased likelihood of being pulled over, having their vehicle searched, receiving citations or arrest upon encountering law enforcement, being tried, found guilty, and ultimately receiving harsher sentences. Being black is a liability at every stage.

Similarly, for those striving to establish themselves as writers—or merely seeking to be acknowledged as credible professionals—not being a white male also poses significant hurdles at each turn. One is more prone to being overlooked or disregarded by sources, receiving fewer responses or commissions from editors, earning much less per article, being perceived as less of an expert, having their writing evaluated more harshly, experiencing lower rates of sharing by readers, attracting negative or hostile feedback, and facing challenges in securing book deals or garnering attention from reviewers or the public.

Your work and time are undervalued by all.

The cumulative advantages result in a glaring absence when we examine bestseller lists.

> This reality is exhaustingly draining. And the effects accumulate over time.

What You Can Do

Let’s abandon the notion of life as a zero-sum game. Cease viewing others as competition. Reject the idea that diversity is inconsequential. Begin uplifting, valuing, and celebrating contributions from individuals who differ from you. Acknowledge their narratives. Take their work seriously. Facilitate introductions to editors, agents, and hiring managers. If this feels like favoritism or unfair credit, remember that *judgments are already skewed unfairly*.

Productivity experts often focus on the immediate and controllable elements: phones, the internet, their organizational systems. However, for many, sustaining momentum and completing tasks requires an extraordinary level of grit, resilience, motivation, and an unwavering sense of optimism. While I find little information addressing the anger, fatigue, or burnout stemming from the realization that having the wrong name is a professional disadvantage—it undeniably is.

Every decision others make is influenced by a blend of factors within and beyond your control—the theme of my first book—which helps me avoid letting success inflate my ego or letting failures discourage me.

I oscillate between the desire to encourage kindness toward oneself and the urge to dismantle everything.

But first, perhaps a nap.

GO AHEAD AND GIVE THIS 50 CLAPS.

Karla Starr (@karlastarr) is the coauthor of Making Numbers Count: The Art and Science of Communicating Numbers. Her first book, Can You Learn to Be Lucky? Why Some People Seem to Win More Often Than Others, was a Fast Company book of the year. She also writes The Starr Report.

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