Wonder Woman Bozoma Saint John

m&k: You are often quoted as saying that your childhood and teenage years shaped you into the person you are today. What was your upbringing like?

Bozoma Saint John: My parents are originally from Ghana, but I was born in the United States. My father earned his doctorate in the U.S.; I was born five months before he received his degree. And right after that, my parents left America again, which is rather unusual. I think most immigrants come to the U.S. to live the «American Dream.» They want to get an education; they want to build a life for themselves here. But my mother and father are proud Africans; they said to themselves, «Okay, we’ll take this great education back home with us—and give something back to our homeland.» So my dad started giving lectures at the university in Ghana and then went into politics. He comes from the same region as Kwame Nkrumah, Ghana’s first president—representing that region was a great honor for him. Unfortunately, in the late 1970s, there was a coup led by a man named Jerry John Rawlings, a military officer. He overthrew the government, sent many politicians to prison—or had them killed outright.

 

Those must have been very dangerous times for your family …

Rawlings’ people detained my father for a little over a year, yes. That was terrible for my family. My mother managed to flee with my two younger sisters and me while she was pregnant with my third sister. We went first to Washington, then to California, then to Nairobi—and then back to the United States, where we settled permanently and where my father was also able to rejoin the family. So I was used to traveling around a lot (laughs)…

So you were born into a very loving family, but not into a life of complete security and stability. Still, you've always managed to adapt.

I think we all face situations in our lives that can go one way or the other. If I had become a criminal mastermind (laughs), someone would probably point to my childhood and say, «Well, that’s because she suffered trauma as a small child; she witnessed violence, experienced terrible things. And that’s what made her who she is.» Or—perhaps others become very withdrawn after such crises because they tell themselves, «Oh, I’m afraid of the world. I just want to be quiet; I don’t want anyone to see me, because if they see me, they might attack me.»

My parents are proud Africans. They wanted to bring the education they had received in the U.S. back to their homeland.

 

Neither of those things applied to you. You quickly became quite outgoing.

Yes (laughs). Every time I had to change schools, I’d repeat my mantra: «I’m going to make friends. I’m going to tell the other kids how to pronounce my name. I’m going to tell them what I like. And I want to know what they like.» I always wanted to quickly gather people around me—people among whom I could move freely. That was partly due to my personality, since my parents were also always very open-minded and very friendly. But I think it was also necessary for me: I still remember very well how, when I was twelve years old, we moved to Colorado Springs. That place was so completely different from anything I’d known up to that point. I was a total outsider there; I looked strange and spoke differently. So I did everything I could to connect with those around me in a way that made me seem less foreign. And I’ve put that to good use throughout my entire career—the ability to win people over.

 

Do you think you made a conscious decision to act that way—even though you were so young?

Maybe my perspective on this differs a bit from that of the general public, but I’m convinced that we shouldn’t underestimate children’s ability to make decisions. I could have been a troublemaker, played the class clown, provoked the teachers… and based on my experience, that would probably have even met some people’s expectations. But even later in life, when I experienced trauma, I decided to move in a certain direction—to adapt, to cope; but in a positive way.

 

Since you mentioned trauma: In early 2023, you’ll publish your first book, which is titled *The Urgent Life*. A large part of the book will deal with your relationship with your husband Peter and his death. When he died of cancer, your daughter was in kindergarten—and you were at the peak of your career so far at Pepsi. How did that «affect» you?

I want to be honest with you: I sold a book to the publisher that I didn’t end up writing. Yes, the book I originally had in mind was supposed to focus on the last three months of my husband’s life. That was the time when we found out that his cancer was incurable. Back then, I started taking a photo every day with my cell phone. I still have the album; it’s called—and there’s a good dose of sarcasm here—«One Day at a Motherfucking Time.».

 

You'll have to explain the name to us.

I named the album that because almost every time I talked to someone about Peter’s illness, they’d say, «Oh, just take it one day at a time.» Can you imagine how much that annoyed me? I wanted to reply: «Do you have any idea what our days are like? Tomorrow is supposed to be better? No, tomorrow will be even worse; Peter will be sicker. He’ll be closer to death. »Day by day’ just doesn’t work for me!” Still… I started taking pictures. During my husband’s illness, I captured a moment every day that made me laugh or cry—a moment I wanted to remember. The book I’d initially pitched to my publisher was supposed to tell the story behind each of these photos.

 

But did that change during the trial?

When I started working on this, I realized that when telling a story, you sometimes have to go back in time to explain the context. And then I thought of all those other traumas and difficult situations—all the crap that’s happened to me. And I thought of the people who asked me, «How did you manage that? How did you survive? How is it possible that you’re doing so well today?» I don’t have a perfect answer to these questions. But I can tell what happened. And I can tell what’s happening right now. «The Urgent Life» is a kind of memoir centered on Peter and the time of his illness, but it’s also about so much more.

The book is called *The Urgent Life* because your husband's death gave you a whole new sense of urgency.

Exactly. And Peter taught me so much in that area. When he received his final diagnosis, I just wanted to crawl into a cave; I wanted to… disappear. I didn’t have the strength to do anything. It all came from him. Peter was the one who put a piece of paper on the table and wrote down the things he still wanted to do. It wasn’t a «bucket list» with bungee jumping and skydiving—that’s not what you want to do in a situation like that. You want to do the little things. You want to go out for ice cream, you want to see your best friend, you want to go camping with your daughter. And every time we checked an item off the list, Peter added another one, so the list remained practically endless … until it had to end. That’s when I realized that even though we have all these «carpe diem» mantras, that’s not how we live. None of us lives that way. I realized that during our late-night conversations—when the only sound in the room was the beeping of the machines—we didn’t want to talk about work. Or about retirement. Or about any other point in life that lay ahead.

When I experienced trauma, I decided to move in a certain direction—in a positive way.

 

Because for you, only the radical present mattered.

You know, Peter always wanted to open a wine shop. I wish he had done it; I really wish he had done it. He had an incredible wine collection. By the way, I still have that collection: the bottles have probably all gone bad because I moved them and stored them incorrectly—and that’s why my husband, wherever he is right now, is mad at me. (laughs). Either way: Peter’s illness has taught me that we can’t afford to wait. None of us can. Why wait six months or a year before doing something? How can you even know if you’ll still be here in six months? For me, that’s not fatalistic or morbid—I use it as inspiration. I use it as motivation to say: I want to do this, and I want to do it right now. I want to have a good time. I want to enjoy life.

Doing whatever you feel like doing—that’s what led you into marketing, right? You actually wanted to become a doctor. But as luck would have it, you landed a job at Spike Lee’s agency—he would later go on to become an Oscar-winning filmmaker…

The start of my career was a total coincidence. I didn't know anything about anything; I really was that—naive (laughs). I was just trying to enjoy my time in New York and take on a few jobs to put off starting medical school for a little while. The concept of marketing didn’t even cross my mind. My parents wanted financial security and a respectable job for me; they would never have said, «Okay, go find a job in marketing.» So there were no conversations or any preparation in that direction.

 

Even so, you gave up your plans to go to college and stayed at Spike DDB for more than four years. Why?

Working with Spike, I discovered talents in myself that I didn’t even know I had. I found that totally fascinating, totally exciting. When you have no idea that you can do something … and suddenly you’re really good at it … But as for those four years: I took a short break during that time. I handled all the administrative work for the agency, got the coffee, picked up Spike’s kids, and ran errands for him at the dry cleaner’s. I soaked up every single word he said; I went to all his NYU classes… but at first, he and the team still didn’t want to give me any major opportunities. So I wanted to prove that I could make it somewhere else, too. But I really failed at that. (laughs). I couldn't find another job, so I went back and stayed for two more years.

 

That was the kickstart—after that, you moved to the client side. You worked for Pepsi, Beats, Apple, Uber, Endeavor, and Netflix—and, as you say, you were constantly «breaking through glass ceilings.» People see your successes, but what price did you have to pay for them?

Oh, I’ve paid a high price. That’s something people rarely see. Women who pursue careers in male-dominated fields are sometimes … portrayed as a kind of «Joan of Arc.» You know, with imaginary armor and a shield—a heroine who can never be hurt. And that’s not the truth. The truth is much more chaotic. Much less pleasant. I’ve experienced great triumphs, yes. You just listed a number of fantastic companies I’ve had the privilege of working with. Many people call what I’ve experienced a «dream career.» But the truth is, it wasn’t easy in any of those jobs, in any of those companies. And challenges arose not just occasionally, but constantly. Every meeting, every email, every conversation in the hallway: I always had to make sure my voice was heard; that I wasn’t overlooked when opportunities arose; that I didn’t get caught up in the machinations of internal politics. And that can be truly traumatic.

 

This kind of honesty is rare, especially at the C-level.

There were moments when I felt ashamed of it because I thought: Shouldn’t I be stronger? Shouldn’t I be able to handle this? I’m talented, I have a great job—everything’s fine, isn’t it!? But I’m only human. I suffer, just like everyone else. I cry, just like everyone else. I’m afraid, just like everyone else. There were countless moments when I ran to the restroom at work just to cry. And before I came back out, I’d try to take a deep breath—then go back into the meeting and speak without my voice trembling. Golfer Johnny Miller once said, «It’s not what you achieve in life that matters, but what you’ve overcome.» And those are the things by which I want to be judged—because there have been quite a few.

 

She publicly emphasizes what being a mother means to her. She takes her 400,000 Instagram followers along on vacation with her daughter; she talks about the values she wants to instill in her—and how proud she is of her.

I remember well how a male colleague said in a meeting before the pandemic that he couldn’t understand how anyone could find the time to take their children to school. I sat there with my mouth agape—because since Peter’s death, I’ve been a single parent and travel a lot… but if I hadn’t taken the time to drop my daughter off at school or pick her up, go to her theater performances, or drive her to her friends’ houses, I would have regretted it for the rest of my life. Besides, I believe that personal life and work influence each other: I’m a better leader because I’m a mother—that’s for sure. I have more empathy; I understand more quickly how things work and what drives people’s emotions; I’m much more attentive. When I was at Pepsi, a colleague advised me not to put pictures of my daughter on my desk. That might raise doubts about where my priorities lie. I never followed that advice.

 

… because you have repeatedly said that you either come to work with everything «that belongs to you»—or not at all.

That's right. Either you get everything from me or nothing at all. That's it. No half-measures.

 

Your understanding of marketing is also very closely tied to your personality. You’re an expert in pop culture—and you draw connections between global brands and trends. How do you go about doing that?

I mentioned this briefly earlier: When I was a teenager and trying to connect with new people, pop culture was the easiest way to do it. I talked with friends about sports, music, movies, and gossip. Anything that’s somehow new sparks interest. And I’ve stuck with that to this day. I’ve lost count of how many colleagues have told me that I’d never become a successful marketing manager unless I learned to understand «data» better. Pop culture, well, they said, I could just set that aside for now. Of course, I feel a little vindicated now. (laughs), when those same people come up to me and say, «Yeah, pop culture!« I just sit there and think, »Oh, really? I’ve known that for 25 years.”

When my husband received his final diagnosis, I just wanted to crawl into a cave. I wanted to disappear.

But pop culture moves so fast. How do you stay «up to date»?

You have to be humble—and take risks. My humility comes from the fact that I realize I don't know everything. I have excellent taste (laughs), but I don't know about every new trend. So I have to find trends. That's part of my job: staying curious and constantly gathering information. I'm on social media all the time. I’m on Twitter, I’m on Instagram, I read articles online. I talk to people—young people, but also people who work in fields that aren’t even remotely related to my own industry. I’m in group chats where I can ask, «Is this cool? Have you heard of this?» And you have to be willing to take risks to catch the right moment to do something. Timing is everything in marketing. I compare it to a farmer’s work: You have to go out, dig in the soil—maybe you even have to taste a little of the soil! Is the soil good? Is this the right time to plant the seeds? Because that’s exactly what we do: We plant ideas in people’s minds—ideas about what they should see, know, or buy. And if we miss the perfect time to sow the seeds, there won’t be much to harvest. But if we do absolutely nothing, we might as well forget about it.

 

Is it because either the marketers show courage—or because no one else in the company does?

If marketers aren’t the ones who go out into the world to understand what’s happening in the culture—to make sure a brand is still relevant, that it makes sense to people…—who else would do it, and who could? Sometimes I come across ads that make me wonder, «Who’s responsible for this? This is just plain stupid!» (laughs) You can tell when the people behind a marketing campaign aren’t paying attention to what’s going on in the world. That’s what makes their marketing—deaf and blind. It’s a shame, because really, all you need to be successful in our field is an open-minded, curious person.

The start of my career was a total coincidence. I didn't know anything; I was naive.

 

You recently announced that you're stepping down from your role at Netflix—and we've already talked about your upcoming book. What else do you have planned?

Oh my goodness. It’s kind of funny—I feel like I should have an answer to that. I should say something profound, something inspiring. But the truth is, I don’t know. I really don’t. And that’s pretty scary. Whenever I’ve left previous jobs, I’ve always moved right into another role. This is the first time in my entire career that I’m taking a leap into the unknown. You mentioned *The Urgent Life*, for which I just submitted the first draft—by the way, you’re lucky I showed up for the interview, because I could have thrown up (laughs), This book makes me so nervous! So: I’m working on that, and I’m spending time with my daughter. What a wonderful moment in life—to have the space and time to do that! And otherwise? I sometimes struggle with myself: There are these voices in my head that doubt, that ask: «Who will you be without your title?» I try to silence them and grow as a person in the process. So if there’s an answer to your question, it’s that I’m trying to just be. That’s all. I’m trying to be myself.

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Bozoma Saint John was born in the U.S. to Ghanaian immigrants. She originally wanted to become a doctor—but then entered the advertising industry in New York City before switching to the client side, where she enjoyed a meteoric rise: CMO at Netflix and Endeavor, Chief Brand Officer at Uber, and Head of Global Consumer Marketing for Apple Music and iTunes are just a few of the highlights in her eventful career. «Boz» has been inducted into the Billboard Hall of Fame and the American Advertising Federation’s Hall of Achievement for her work; she was named the most influential CMO of 2021 by Forbes, honored as Executive of the Year by Billboard Magazine, and regularly features on lists such as «Disruptors, Innovators & Stars: 40 Under 40» by Fortune Magazine or «100 Most Creative People» by Fast Company. She is the mother of a daughter and lives in Malibu near Los Angeles.

 

This article first appeared in the print edition of m&k, No. 06-07/2022