Ginsburg’s face etched into pink wallpaper and a
golden welcome note embedded in the fl oor that
read: ‘‘YOU HAVE ARRIVED.’’ On many days,
perched behind the curved wooden front desk
was Vei Darling.
When Darling, who uses the pronoun ‘‘they,’’
joined the Wing, they had just come off a couple
of service jobs at workplaces dominated by men,
and thought a women-only space sounded like
the place to be. But when Darling arrived in the
sprawling SoHo location for an interview, they
were not so sure they fi t in. The crowd seemed
very white; everybody looked rich. But Darling
was assured that they were exactly the kind of per-
son the Wing was looking for: a fi rst-generation
Liberian-American with a striking, pasteled
online presence who was cultivating their own
business as a professional witch incorporating
Tarot and astrology. Within months, they were
drafted to model shirts that read ‘‘THE JOY OF
SISTERHOOD’’ and ‘‘EXTREME SELF-CARE’’
on the Wing’s website.
But after working there for a year and a half,
Darling came to understand that their true value
to the company was diff erent from what they had
fi rst imagined. ‘‘It was only so that they could
exploit my presence and my image for their own
purposes,’’ they say, ‘‘to make it seem like they
were more inclusive than they actually were.’’ In
June 2019, when Dumbo employees were paid
several days late, Darling wrote an email copied
to Gelman and Kassan describing what Darling
and their colleagues felt was ‘‘a toxic culture’’ of
‘‘passive aggression,’’ ‘‘disrespect’’ and ‘‘fear of
retribution.’’ Wing employees ‘‘don’t get paid
enough for our immense physical, intellectual and
emotional labor,’’ Darling wrote. (A Wing spokes-
woman said the company couldn’t comment on
most specifi c personnel matters, but in this case
said Gelman off ered to meet with Darling.)
By the time Darling left, they had come to feel
that the Wing’s political branding was cynical.
‘‘It makes feminism a cool club that you can join
as opposed to a social necessity,’’ Darling says.
From their perspective, Winglets could assure
themselves: ‘‘I’m a member of this all-women’s
social club, so I’ve paid my dues — literally.’’
In interviews with 26 current and former Wing
employees, people who have worked in Wing
headquarters and in spaces across the United
States in jobs that range from cooking and clean-
ing to management, most told a similar story of
excitement about their new workplace curdling
into anxiety and disgust. (Many — citing fear of
losing their jobs, of being sued over breaking the
nondisparagement clause in their employment
contract or of retribution from the Wing’s pow-
erful professional network — agreed to speak only
on the condition of anonymity.)
At fi rst, these women say, they were relieved
to have landed at a company built by women,
one that seemed to leverage their expertise
behind the barista counter or in corporate man-
agement in service to a larger mission. Most
Wing employees I spoke with had ambitions
bigger than their starting positions; the job
planted them tantalizingly close to their pas-
sions. They were granted membership privi-
leges, with access to the beauty rooms and the
lending libraries, and they mingled with actors,
magazine editors, political operatives, Gelman
herself. The pitch to incoming staff members
emphasized the grand opportunities aff orded by
the space. ‘‘These are the people that are going
to hire you for your next job,’’ A. C. Smallwood,
who worked at the front desk in the Flatiron
location, remembers being told about the mem-
bers. ‘‘These are the people that are going to
invest in your start-up.’’
But soon they became disillusioned. Some
staff members hired to work the front desk
or run events saw their job duties infl ated to
include scrubbing toilets, washing dishes and
lint-rolling couches. As the company rapid-
ly expanded and new members fl ooded into
crowded spaces, a chasm opened between
members and the staff. While some members
had friendly or unremarkable interactions with
the employees, others seemed to hold them per-
sonally responsible for delivering on the brand’s
promise of feminist entitlement. ‘‘I was the con-
nector, the friend, the therapist, the mother, the
sister, the live-in coach,’’ one former employee
says. ‘‘I was treated like a human kitty-litter box.’’
Another says: ‘‘We were ‘the help.’ ’’ When staff
members tried to exercise their membership
privileges, on breaks or after their shifts, mem-
bers would hand them dirty dishes or barge in
on them in the phone booth. Some screamed atemployees about crowding in the space and
cried over insuffi cient swag. A common mem-
ber refrain was that it was anti-feminist not to
give her whatever perk she desired.
Despite the impression of diversity promot-
ed on the Wing’s Instagram feed, employees
working events could fi nd themselves to be the
only black women in the room. Members and
their guests could be casually racist. One eyed a
photo board of Wing employees and remarked,
‘‘There’s a lot of colored girls that work here.’’
Another overheard some local teenage girls,
who had been invited to the Wing for an event,
speaking in Spanish, and complained that they
were ridiculing her. (The member said she her-
self did not understand the language.) At one
community event, planned at the suggestion of
a friend of Gelman’s, black employees served a
crew of redheads as they discussed the societal
woes of gingers. According to two employees
who were present, the women demanded a total
of 18 free bottles of wine and stayed past the
club’s closing time. When a staff member asked
them to leave, one redhead called her a bitch.
Luxury products were missing from the beauty
room after they left. Employees observed few
consequences for this kind of behavior. ‘‘It was
always members fi rst,’’ Raichelle Carter says.
At the same time, employees found their
own promised empowerment elusive. They
described tumultuous turnover. Opportu-
nities for growth could be dangled and then
dropped without explanation. ‘‘I’ve been made
to feel small, insignifi cant, stupid,’’ one employ-
ee says. ‘‘This is a place for ‘women on their
way,’ unless you work at the Wing.’’ Maya Sari
Ahmed, who worked as a design director inPhotograph by Robyn Twomey/Redux26 3.22.20
The Wing space in New York’s Flatiron district.