T minus 5 minutes until my grand escape--out the office door, down the stuffy elevator, and into my beloved Lexus--home. My leg bounced anxiously under my desk, as if keeping time with the ticking clock above my office's north window.

My first job out of college should have been perfect. Going to an internationally known university meant that throughout my time there I'd been coached and groomed to land my dream entry-level position--an above-average salary at a company with a culture Google would be jealous of. Despite that experience though, I still ended up at a stiffling, conservative firm with a traditional skirt-and-heels dresscode and verbose black-and-white memo correspondences. All the staff are here female, but the partners are exclusively old, white men in pressed suits, shining shoes, and gray-blue ties.

Looking back, it's a wonder they even hired me, given I'm the only Asian woman in the building; it must have been the Danish name at the top of my resume--a gift from my late father that I have been grateful since my first day in kindergarten.

There was a soft knock on my door before it clicked open. I looked up in anticipation as Mr. Howard's intern Liz steps in.

"Afternoon, Claira." She holds up a sheet of paper and slides it across my desk. "Just dropping off a memo for tomorrow morning's meeting."

"Thank you, Liz."

"Of course. Have a good rest of the day, Claira."

We share a smile as she turns to leave. Liz is my favorite person at the office despite us having barely talked. She keeps herself busy with Mr. Howard's errands, but from the times we've run into each other in line at the lobby coffee shop, we've bonded over book recommendations and bread recipes.

I skimmed over the memo, with its 11-pt Times New Roman and heavy, textured paper, and was surprised to find that some of the global management team will be attending. The rest of the memo then stressed, of course, the importance of dressing modestly for the meeting; I nearly rolled my eyes.