Opinion: The ‘bro’ culture barrier holding women in finance back

Written by Tassan Sung, founder of SPOKEN Leadership & Education and co-founder of Women’s LEAD

When I was 25 years old, I began a career as an investment advisor at a bank-owned brokerage firm. I had grown up with a sense of financial instability and was determined never to feel dependent. Financial literacy felt like empowerment and safety. An investment firm seemed like the right place to claim both.

What I didn’t anticipate was that I would learn as much about power structures as I did about portfolios.

We were ranked publicly each month by revenue generation. The list was circulated and studied. I was never quite sure which was the stronger motivator: the fear of being last or the need to be first. There was a constant hum of anxiety in the office. Whispers about who was falling behind. Speculation about who would be let go next.

It wasn’t just competitive; it was psychologically corrosive.

Out of 55 advisors, five of us were women.

In theory, we should have found strength in one another. In reality, we did not.

The men, despite competing for the same clients, formed bonds that extended beyond the office. They went for drinks. They shared information. When someone retired, client lists were quietly transitioned to trusted colleagues. They built informal networks that sustained long careers.

We did not.

I remember the loneliness most vividly. The absence of shared laughter. The lack of casual “How was your weekend?” conversations. One man told me, almost casually, that he and the others could tolerate me, but that the women hated me.

I knew it wasn’t just me. We seemed to distrust one another in equal measure. For years I have asked myself why. Why, as a minority, didn’t we band together? Why didn’t we create the support we so clearly needed?

Scarcity changes how people behave. When you believe there is room for only one of you at the table, you stop pulling out chairs for others. In a system where rankings were public and fear was ambient, it felt as though we were competing for a very small piece of the pie. Whether that scarcity was real or constructed almost didn’t matter; we internalized it.

But with hindsight, I can see more clearly: we were operating inside a system designed to reward individual competition and informal male bonding. The culture was not neutral. It amplified rivalry and left connection to chance. Mentorship was not structured. Sponsorship was not transparent. Advancement flowed through relationships we were not part of.

We were 20-somethings trying to survive in an environment engineered to isolate us.

Like the proverbial frog in slowly warming water, I adapted. I stayed longer than I should have (five years), convinced that hard work alone would secure my future. All five of us eventually left or were pushed out. Most of the men built long, successful careers.

Twenty-five years later, I occasionally cross paths with one of the women from that office. The woman who once iced me out now speaks kindly to me. Time softens things, but it also sharpens perspective. We were never each other’s enemies. We were reacting to pressure.

Today, I see more clearly that solidarity is not a personality trait; it is a cultural outcome. Community does not emerge accidentally in high-stakes environments; it must be designed. Mentorship programs. Shared best practices. Collaborative incentives. Leadership that rewards collective success as much as individual performance.

And yet, even within imperfect systems, we still have agency.

The scarcity mentality is a social malignancy, and often more imagined than real. When we believe another woman’s success diminishes our own potential, we shrink ourselves. When we see her success as evidence of what is possible, we expand.

The women I know who are truly thriving invest in other women. They sponsor. They mentor. They speak generously of one another. They create networks strong enough that no one has to stand alone.

On this International Women’s Day, I think about those five young women in that office. I wish we had known that there was not just room for one of us. I wish we had understood that connection was not a liability but a strategy.

If we want women to thrive, not just survive, we must design workplaces where collaboration is valued, sponsorship is intentional, and community is cultivated from the top down. And we must refuse the story that there is only one seat available.

There isn’t just room.

There is responsibility.