There’s a phrase I’ve heard countless times in male-populated spaces: “being one of the boys.” On the surface, it might seem harmless—maybe even empowering. A way to signal you’ve been accepted, that you’ve “earned your place.” But here’s the truth: every time I hear it, I feel a quiet pang of frustration. Because I know what it really means.
I remember the first time I was told, “You’re just one of the boys now.” It was said with a grin, meant as a compliment. I had spent months proving myself—working harder, coming in earlier, staying later, and laughing along with jokes that, deep down, made my stomach twist. I wanted to belong, so I played the role. And in that moment, I felt a strange mix of pride and discomfort. I was in, but it wasn’t really me who was invited. It was a version of me that fit into their world.
That feeling stuck with me. It wasn’t just about acceptance—it was about what I had to give up to get it. The unspoken rules. The way I had to silence parts of myself to make others comfortable. And how, no matter how hard I tried, I was still “one of the boys,” never just one of us.
The Problem with “Fitting In”
The phrase “being one of the boys” sends a clear message: to belong here, you need to adapt to us. It places the responsibility of fitting in on women, rather than on workplaces to create a culture where everyone belongs. It suggests that success comes from conforming to male-centric norms—whether that’s toughness, silence, or the ability to laugh off disrespect.
And here’s the thing: that expectation doesn’t just rob women of their authenticity. It robs workplaces of the unique perspectives and strengths that come from people showing up as their full selves. When we force people to fit into a narrow mold, we miss out on the innovation and humanity that diversity brings.
The Divide It Creates Among Women
I’ve experienced firsthand how the pressure to be “one of the boys” not only isolates women but creates unnecessary divides between us. Let me share a story from early in my career—a moment that still sticks with me.
On my very first day, my foreman pulled me aside. “I’m not going to be able to teach you,” he said. “I can’t talk to you like I talk to the boys.”
That sentence hit me like a brick. Without even starting, I was already an outsider. If I wanted to learn, I had to adapt—not just to the job, but to a culture that demanded I blend in to be worth their time. I quickly realised that if I wanted to gain the skills I needed to succeed, I had to become “one of the boys.”
But it didn’t stop there. A few weeks later, that same foreman told me, “We’re going to train you up to be the best female out of all the crews.”
At first, it sounded like a compliment—a sign they saw potential in me. But the more I thought about it, the more it didn’t sit right. My training wasn’t designed to help me grow as a worker or reach my full potential. It wasn’t about developing my skills or preparing me to excel in my role. It was about outshining the other women.
Instead of being seen as a worker, I was being judged against the only people in the company who were like me. My development wasn’t centered on my growth as a professional—it was framed as a competition between me and the other women.
That approach robbed us all. It created a sense of rivalry where there should have been camaraderie. Instead of building a system where women could connect, mentor, and uplift one another, it reinforced the idea that there was only room for one of us to succeed. And worse, it let the culture and the system off the hook. Rather than questioning why there were so few of us, it shifted the focus onto us competing for scraps in a male-populated space.
The Emotional Cost of Belonging by Assimilation
Brené Brown draws a powerful distinction between fitting in and true belonging. Fitting in means changing who you are to be accepted. True belonging means being exactly who you are—and being valued for it.
For a long time, I thought I had to wear the label of “one of the boys” like a badge of honour. It felt like proof I’d made it. But the reality was, I wasn’t just fitting in—I was erasing parts of myself to stay in. And the emotional toll of that decision wasn’t something I fully understood until much later.
It starts small. You laugh at jokes that make you uncomfortable because you don’t want to be labelled as “too sensitive.” You tolerate inappropriate comments or behaviour because pushing back risks making you an outsider. You stay quiet when you have an idea because you don’t want to come across as bossy.
Over time, those small moments add up. You find yourself questioning what you stand for, what you believe in, and what you’re willing to put up with. You become hyper-aware of how you’re perceived, constantly editing your behaviour, tone, or even your personality to fit into an environment that wasn’t designed with you in mind.
I remember catching myself in one of these moments. Someone made a joke—one of those jokes—and I laughed along like everyone else. But inside, I felt a wave of frustration, shame, and exhaustion. I wasn’t laughing because it was funny. I was laughing because it felt safer than silence.
The cost of belonging by assimilation isn’t just discomfort in the moment. It’s the slow erosion of your sense of self. It’s realising that, in order to be accepted, you’ve been pretending to be someone you’re not. It’s looking back and wondering how much further you could have gone if you’d been given the space to thrive as yourself, without the need to constantly prove or defend your right to be there.
And the worst part? The act of fitting in doesn’t make you feel like you truly belong. No matter how hard you try, there’s always a lingering sense that you’re still on the outside, holding your breath, hoping no one notices the cracks in your armor.
True belonging, I’ve learned, isn’t something you can achieve by erasing yourself. It’s something that happens when you’re allowed to bring every piece of who you are to the table—your skills, your ideas, your humanity. And it’s something workplaces desperately need to foster, not demand women sacrifice themselves to attain.
Rethinking Belonging in Male-Populated Spaces
This isn’t how it should be. Workplaces shouldn’t force women—or anyone—to conform to a narrow definition of belonging. True inclusion isn’t about adaptation. It’s about creating space for everyone to show up authentically, without compromising who they are.
To the women navigating these spaces: you don’t have to be “one of the boys” to belong. Your value isn’t measured by how well you fit in—it’s in the unique skills, perspectives, and authenticity you bring to the table.
And to the men and leaders in these spaces: look around. Ask yourself if the culture you’ve built allows everyone to thrive, or if it only rewards those who play along. Then take action. Inclusion isn’t about offering people a seat at the table—it’s about making sure that seat is designed for them, too.
Because true belonging doesn’t ask us to change. It asks us to grow. Together.
Ash MacMahon - Field Director & Co-Founder