Sisterhood
I was sitting at a rubber-chicken dinner in an unremodeled Michigan hotel, being feted as one of Automotive News’ Top 100 Women. The carpet was loud, the applause polite, and each honoree was handed a tall, solid-glass obelisk—twelve inches of corporate glory that looked more like a weapon than a trophy. There was no way I was fitting that in my carry-on, so I leaned it against my chair leg like a piece of stage décor and tried to take it all in. And somewhere between the applause and the mini raspberry cheesecake, my mind wandered to Downton Abbey.
Not for the love stories, which are predictable, or the period drama, which is overstarched, or the men, who are mostly background noise. I watch for the women. The ones who run empires from the drawing room while pretending to care about napkin folds. Granny in pearls, wielding sarcasm like a saber. Sybil, representing the changing times. Edith, underestimated and quietly unstoppable. And Lady Mary—flawless hair, granite spine, master of the long game. Her husband dies unexpectedly? She schedules her grief, delegates the drama, and moves on—with precision. That’s not cold. That’s management.
That same quiet steel was on full display at the Automotive News event. Yes, I was honored to be recognized. But what stayed with me wasn’t the title or the applause—it was the dealership daughters. The women born into the business who could have coasted but didn’t. They didn’t just inherit; they earned. They learned every gear, every margin, every customer quirk. They’re not protecting tradition. They’re reinventing it.
Daughters
I wasn’t born into the auto business, but I was raised inside big-company life. My dad worked for one, and I absorbed the rules early: sound confident but not cocky, lead without intimidating, win—but never want it too much. For a while, that was enough. But now, that old script feels like it’s on borrowed time.
Women aren’t just climbing ladders anymore. We’re building new staircases, sometimes inside the same crumbling mansion, sometimes outside it, brick by brick. And sure, some ceilings are still ridiculous—Japan is still debating whether Princess Aiko can be Empress—but the power move now isn’t breaking the rules; it’s rewriting them entirely.
Bitches, we’ve always been part of the estate. Budgeting, balancing, managing egos and holiday parties. But now some of us are finally at the head of the table—not just as guests, but as architects. We get to choose what’s worth keeping, what needs renovating, and what belongs in the historical archives next to the doilies.
Legacy matters, but not everything is worth preserving. The real work now is making sure the next generation doesn’t waste time relearning what we already figured out. They deserve a head start, not just a seat. And if Lady Mary taught us anything, it’s this: when you get the keys to the estate, don’t just run it—redesign it. Because legacy isn’t the perfectly pointy obelisk you balance on a shelf. Legacy is what you build so the next generation never has to swing one to get in the room.