I’m a First Lady, and It’s an Incredibly Weird Job

https://www.nytimes.com/2019/10/01/opinion/first-ladies.html

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As a first lady, every workday is blessedly different, and the thrill of being able to give back to the society that welcomed me 16 years ago has yet to diminish. Yet there is one persistent expectation that tends to follow me, and others like me, wherever I go: that I play the role of genteel sidekick.

This summer, for instance, European Council President Donald Tusk shared a video on Instagram from the G7 meeting in Biarritz, France. The video was of Melania Trump, Brigitte Macron, Malgosia Tusk and Akie Abe — spouses of President Trump, President Emmanuel Macron of France, Mr. Tusk and Prime Minister Shinzo Abe of Japan — gazing out to sea, dresses fluttering in the wind. The caption: “The light side of the Force.”

As the spouse of a head of state, the Instagram made me cringe. It is regrettable to see independent, intelligent women reduced to props who exist to support their husbands’ political agendas — to see them celebrated first and foremost for their sartorial decisions or, as Mr. Tusk’s post implied, their demure and gentle demeanors. In 2019, can we not do better than presume the spouses of our leaders have nothing more worthwhile to do with their time than traipse after their other halves to sample wines, watch traditional dances and take in the view while their (almost exclusively) male counterparts take care of Serious Business?

It also gave me pause: On the occasions when I travel with my husband, am I unwittingly contributing to the perpetuation of the myth that female spouses are the softer side of their power-wielding husbands? Is my attendance merely to show that he can be both a leader and a loving family man? (Of course, there are a handful of male spouses of heads of state or government, but few of them are likely to find themselves depicted as delicate public policy muses on Instagram.)

Since becoming first lady of Iceland in August 2016, I’ve had the chance to wrestle with the contradictions that come with this unofficial, undefined role. It provides me with an opportunity to share my voice and bring attention to issues I believe are important, to meet inspirational people and to enjoy unforgettable experiences around the world, and I enjoy it almost every day. Yet even in progressive Iceland, and certainly abroad, there are lingering and dated assumptions about what I should be doing and how I should be acting that are at best disconcerting and at worst, downright abhorrent to my feminist nature.

In short, being a first lady, even in 2019, remains very, very peculiar.

On the one hand, to serve my adopted country in this way is a privilege and an honor for which I am very grateful. Moreover, it is an opportunity: Day to day, when choosing those activities in which I wish to take part, I am guided by preconceptions of my role as spouse and how I wish to modernize them. I delivered a keynote address at this year’s StartUp Iceland conference, for instance — but declined to be involved in the process of redecorating the presidential residence’s main reception area.

On state visits, which are scheduled to the minute around the dictums of protocol and bilateral priorities, for example, one of my aims is to confound the often gendered expectations of what “the wife” should do: During what is usually called the “spouse program,” I deliver speeches that I write myself, or I participate in panels about issues in which Iceland can showcase its strengths — sustainable tourism, entrepreneurship and innovation, and yes, gender equality.

Yet I still resent the occasions when my presence is assumed rather than requested. I am not my husband’s handbag, to be snatched as he runs out the door and displayed silently by his side during public appearances. (Of course, he doesn’t even have a handbag; he has proper pockets in his clothes that discreetly store everything he will need. But that’s another discussion.)

And it’s uncomfortable to have strangers tell me I now look much nicer with my hair longer, that I should more often wear blazers that flatter my figure or that I should not wear green again because it’s not my color. On virtually every solo trip I make as first lady, I am asked who is looking after our four young children, as if their devoted father has no parental obligations. If I am ever asked about my professional background, it is always in the past tense, although I still continue much of my paid work. (Why should I get a new job because my husband was elected to one?)

Individually, these are petty quibbles; sometimes, though, it can feel like the stifling of my identity by a thousand paper cuts. I sometimes find it hard to adjust to the reality that I am most often seen as a first lady before I’m seen as me.

When I have shared these or similar sentiments with other first ladies, they smile knowingly. I am by no means unique within this club; in fact, as a first lady of a small, albeit well known and respected, nation, I am not subjected to nearly as much scrutiny as those with a more global profile; and when “off duty” at home in Iceland, I am almost always left alone to go about my business.

I am not unaware of the irony that I am in the privileged position of being able to help shape debate surrounding gender equality because of something my husband has achieved.

I am also sure that I have broken many of my own self-imposed rules for participation in more stereotypical spousal activities. I have of course visited preschools and art galleries; no doubt I will gladly visit them again in future. Nor does turning up at a high-profile event necessarily mean that a spouse has been reduced to sidekick: He or she might be there to spend more time with a husband or wife, to catch up with old friends, experience a new place, promote a cause or support a clothing designer.

But so long as society continues to require the presence of people like me — unelected, unpaid spouses — as some sort of vital window dressing to the affairs of state, we are obliged to re-examine our expectations and preconceptions of these all-too-often-female companions. I am extremely proud of my husband and his achievements — but no one wants to be judged as her partner’s accessory.

Eliza Reid is a co-founder of the annual Iceland Writers Retreat and the first lady of Iceland.

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