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On Monday, interim CEO of Reddit Ellen Pao began testimony in a gender discrimination and retaliation lawsuit she filed against her former employer Kleiner Perkins Caufield and Byers, LLC. Pao claims the Silicon Valley based venture capital firm denied her promotion due to gender bias. According to the defendant, Pao – a BA in Electrical Engineering from Princeton and a JD and MBA from Harvard – did not exhibit the skills warranted for partner. It’s hard to parse what those skills are exactly – the trial has exposed the contradictory messages that determine success at the firm.

John Doerr, her boss and mentor at KPCB, stated in 2008 that Ivy League drop-out tech nerds with no social skills are great investment opportunities. Yet one of the defenses KPCB has been wielding against Pao is that she didn’t have the personality to lead and was “prickly” with others. A company sponsored ski trip did not invite female entrepreneurs from portfolio companies (because “women don’t like sharing [condos]”) and an affair with a junior partner created a complicated, voraciously followed court case – which is one of the first and only glimpses into the bizarre cultural dynamics at play in the secretive world of tech investment.

Sexism in technology is part of the territory – this isn’t the first lawsuit describing gender discrimination at a technology-related firm and there is still a ghastly lack of women entering or supported in the STEM fields. An already abysmal picture gets worse in the tony world of venture capital – Dan Primack wrote at Fortune that this case isn’t reflective of KPCB’s peers, “because that would at least reflect the existence of more female venture capitalists.” Turns out, only 4% of senior venture capitalists are women.

In the world of technology, venture capital can make or break your business and has implications for the long-term growth and scalability of your company. Many of the biggest and most valuable companies have received rounds of VC funding (Google, Apple and Microsoft). Obviously, not every company will be an Apple, but VC funding generally focuses on technology products that show high growth potential. The impact of VC funding is not just money (generally to the tune of 1-2 million dollars), but expertise and social capital from the investors. Investment with this kind of impact would do well with increased diversity in decision-making.

The case is being defined by line-by-line readings of text messages from Pao’s affair with a married peer, but the financial dirt is much more fascinating. Consider this: Pao claimed in testimony she had shown interest in investing in Twitter, but was shut down by a male senior partner. So, how is it that despite the progress in women’s lives, the same gender narrative that dominated previous models of business (read:the old boys club) is still so present in an industry that regards itself as innovative? What does it mean that this new economy, ripe with high-growth potential for women entrepreneurs, is exposing itself as an outwardly hostile environment for women?

The Pao case demonstrates how subjective the standards for leadership and promotion are. Claire Cain Miller writes at the New York Times that Pao was told, “she didn’t speak up enough and was too passive but also that she spoke up too much and was pushy and entitled.” Another subjective standard was she didn’t exhibit “thought leadership” -something even the court is having trouble defining. And that kind of makes sense – how does one even measure influencing thought? The commonly thrown around phrase just means “having and doling out publicly expertise in your field.” But here’s the problem with being “a thought leader” – the most recognized people stick to the script of knowledge and insights that define white, male, privileged experiences. Don’t believe me? Take look at most technology and/or business conferences – and you will see there is a specific point of view, and identity, that is continually given voice.

To be sure – determining when someone is ready for senior leadership is complicated and goes beyond an impressive resume or Ivy education (anyone building a team can tell you that). But the reason affirmative action legislation was so necessary is because often sexism in the workplace is unconscious – employers may not realize they are doing it and can’t always be trusted to make objective determinations on someone’s abilities. Complicating matters, our relationships to people are often inherently subjective. Facebook COO Sheryl Sandberg, took to the New York Times arguing male bias against women was still a problem – her much touted book, Lean In, was in many ways a set of strategies to overcome ingrained prejudices.

What can be frustrating about arguments against equality is that supporting and promoting women is not just about being “politically correct,” or fair – it makes sense from a business perspective. When it comes to product development or seeing potential in new firms, having a diversity of viewpoints allows you to think critically about the different uses and applications of a possible technology or tool set. Studies have shown that when you invest in women, they often reinvest in their communities. A recent study from McKinsey found that firms with increased diversity in leadership yielded an increase in annual profits. Denying women in technology is not solely about exclusion – it is unsustainable because bias is not a tenable business model.

Despite the cultural progress social media and online tools have given us, the action behind the scenes of technology powerhouses is still rife with the sexism. As we watch the Pao trial unfold, it becomes clearer than ever that we need more women at the top. According to research from the National Women’s Business Council, not only do companies have to continue to think concretely about other ways to support and sustain women’s involvement in all levels of STEM, we also need to share and document stories of successful women in technology. Considering the trajectory of Ellen Pao, the tech community could specifically encourage women to attend business school and add in more support for women pursing a career in finance.

But, in order for us to have role models in the first place, women need to access the “power corridor.” Ellen Pao did everything right – she has a top tier education, she sought out training where she needed it to be better at her job, she has start-up experience, and a successful track record of valuable investments. What else could she have done?

Last week, software engineer Kelly Ellis tweeted that she quit Google after enduring years of sexual harassment in her job. The company failed to respond publicly to the allegations. Pao, Ellis, Whitney and many other women fighting sexism in the tech world day in and day out are dealing with more than unconscious bias, but an environment that is actively hostile to the advancement of women – sabotaging their careers through an entire spectrum of threats from subjective definitions of appropriate behavior, to sexual harassment, retaliation and intimidation. We simply cannot afford another generation of women left out of the most important financial decisions, because male leaders can’t accept the idea of women in leadership.

We have the tools, money, research and ability to overcome many of the barriers that have always existed for women in the workplace – it’s time to use them to hold accountable the key power players in this Silicon Valley. Ellen Pao is making her case publicly and regardless of the ruling, there is now another heap of excoriating testimony about the experience of women in technology that we simply cannot ignore.

And with that knowledge, what do the John Doerrs of the world ultimately say for themselves?

Samhita Mukhopadhyay is the Director of Strategic Engagement and Communications at the National Women’s Business Council, a non-partisan federal advisory council to the U.S. Small Business Administration, Congress, and the White House on issues of impact and importance to women business owners, leaders, and entrepreneurs.

Editor’s Note: This op-ed has been updated to clarify that no female entrepreneurs from the Kleiner Perkins Caufield and Byers portfolio companies were invited on the ski trip. It also clarifies the sharing was for the condos, not rooms.

Netflix

The first time I saw anyone in the media I could relate to was in an En Vogue music video. I was 14 years old and I had never seen brown women with curves on television. I still remember the visceral thrill I felt from watching them. (To be fair, who didn’t feel that watching En Vogue?)They’re sexy, I thought, and maybe I can one day be, too. The members of En Vogue are not South Asian, but this was the first time I was faced with the possibility that someone in the media should or could look like me. My lifelong quest to feel heard or seen in mainstream media was just beginning—I wondered when would I see an actual person of South Asian descent in a movie or on TV.

I would be waiting a while. For many years, it seemed like the only South Asian character on television was a cartoon: Apu from “The Simpsons.” In the last decade or so things have changed a little; we’ve seen more South Asian characters on our favorite shows (“Parks and Recreation,” “The Office,” “Community,” “30 Rock,” “New Girl,” “Big Bang Theory”) and, most recently, shows run by and starring South Asian leads (“The Mindy Project,” “Quantico”). The notable rise of South Asians in the media and specifically on television may have reached its peak this past weekend with the release of Aziz Ansari’s new Netflix comedy, “Master of None.”

Many are calling it Ansari’s best work to date: It’s beautifully shot, witty, charming and has a great soundtrack. The show breaks ground for many reasons: a South Asian male romantic lead, stories about immigration, a diverse group of friends, and several not-so-subtle invocations of feminism. But what is most notable is how creators Aziz Ansari and Alan Yang have achieved the difficult balancing act of creating a fictional world that also feels real. The show ticks all the boxes of what diverse representation should be without ending up hokey or inauthentic.

For many Asian Americans and South Asians, it has almost been taken for granted that our stories were not the ones worth telling. An ethos that plagues those communities socially—keep your head down, work hard, don’t complain—mirror our media persona, as well. We are always on the sidelines. We are almost never the stars of the show. Instead, we are math geeks, spelling bee champions, grocery clerks, cab drivers, spiritual mystics or other flat and troubling caricatures.

Authenticity in storytelling can sometimes be a trap; if we become too obsessed with representation, we may prioritize it in the service of diversity alone, at the expense of complex stories. Yet we often hold fiction accountable to real-life standards, especially if we live most of that life never seeing ourselves in the pop culture we love. This desire makes sense: For many of us in order to connect with a character or a storyline, we need to be able to relate on a human level and sometimes that also means characters that look, feel and think like we do.

“Master of None” satisfies this craving in a way I’ve never experienced. It isn’t exactly about my life, but it is pretty damn close: I am young(ish) and South Asian, an aspiring creative born and raised in New York, living a complex life where being the child of immigrants is a part of my story, but not all of it. Most of my writing has been about dating and about race more broadly, not the immigrant experience, and it’s nice to see this complexity play out on television.

It’s refreshing after years of feeling intensely ambivalent about another show starring a South Asian character—“The Mindy Project,” written by and starring comedian Mindy Kaling. Arguably, she holds up even more of a mirror: She’s a woman closer to my age who has a body that doesn’t necessarily fit into white standards of beauty. The show trailblazed the depiction of a multilayered South Asian character on television. And yet neither she nor the show talks about race, an issue I think and talk about all the time.

Of course, no one is going to ever perfectly represent me. But that’s the thing about being a minority that pop culture either ignores or derides: You’re always on the hunt, and you scrutinize the few cultural touchstones that try to capture your experience.

In 2006, Jhumpa Lahiri published The Namesake, one of the first popular, critically acclaimed portraits of second-generation South Asian life. To me it felt simple and reductionist—I wish my biggest battle in life were with my name. (Although it was still a battle!) But South Asians and the broader community alike cherished it. A story about fitting in, about awkwardness, about navigating parents and romance set to the backdrop of a coming-to-America story—it was the perfect narrative for a community coming out of hiding in the mainstream media. The Namesake laid the groundwork for a new South Asian experience, one rooted in growing up in America. Still, I felt frustrated when people suggested my life was just like the characters in the book.

If anything, I related much more to the 2004 stoner flick, “Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle,” starring Kal Penn and John Cho. The premise of the movie was absurd, but it offered us a fresh take on the immigrant experience set to a very American, universal theme: getting high. The Harold and Kumar franchise set the stage more than 10 years ago for a recasting of the nerdy Asian, breaking taboos (our parents don’t talk to us about drugs or sex!) and creating relatable and funny Asian American characters.

Of course, none of these depictions 100% satisfied the authentic “story of me,” and they don’t have to. They instead created space for imagination and possibility. That’s what entertainment does—it inspires us and reminds us that we are not alone. It is our right, as historically unrepresented communities, to exist in a fashion outside of our day-to-day lives. The danger of a single story about South Asians is we become reduced to certain symbolic parts of our life rather than understanding the full complexity of our experience, both as part of our own race and the human race. Ansari and Wang’s “Master of None” gives us that opportunity (albeit on Netflix’s smaller stage) while opening us to a future with more stories like it. Hopefully, networks will soon follow suit.

On Monday, interim CEO of Reddit Ellen Pao began testimony in a gender discrimination and retaliation lawsuit she filed against her former employer Kleiner Perkins Caufield and Byers, LLC. Pao claims the Silicon Valley based venture capital firm denied her promotion due to gender bias. According to the defendant, Pao – a BA in Electrical Engineering from Princeton and a JD and MBA from Harvard – did not exhibit the skills warranted for partner. It’s hard to parse what those skills are exactly – the trial has exposed the contradictory messages that determine success at the firm.

John Doerr, her boss and mentor at KPCB, stated in 2008 that Ivy League drop-out tech nerds with no social skills are great investment opportunities. Yet one of the defenses KPCB has been wielding against Pao is that she didn’t have the personality to lead and was “prickly” with others. A company sponsored ski trip did not invite female entrepreneurs from portfolio companies (because “women don’t like sharing [condos]”) and an affair with a junior partner created a complicated, voraciously followed court case – which is one of the first and only glimpses into the bizarre cultural dynamics at play in the secretive world of tech investment.

Sexism in technology is part of the territory – this isn’t the first lawsuit describing gender discrimination at a technology-related firm and there is still a ghastly lack of women entering or supported in the STEM fields. An already abysmal picture gets worse in the tony world of venture capital – Dan Primack wrote at Fortune that this case isn’t reflective of KPCB’s peers, “because that would at least reflect the existence of more female venture capitalists.” Turns out, only 4% of senior venture capitalists are women.

In the world of technology, venture capital can make or break your business and has implications for the long-term growth and scalability of your company. Many of the biggest and most valuable companies have received rounds of VC funding (Google, Apple and Microsoft). Obviously, not every company will be an Apple, but VC funding generally focuses on technology products that show high growth potential. The impact of VC funding is not just money (generally to the tune of 1-2 million dollars), but expertise and social capital from the investors. Investment with this kind of impact would do well with increased diversity in decision-making.

The case is being defined by line-by-line readings of text messages from Pao’s affair with a married peer, but the financial dirt is much more fascinating. Consider this: Pao claimed in testimony she had shown interest in investing in Twitter, but was shut down by a male senior partner. So, how is it that despite the progress in women’s lives, the same gender narrative that dominated previous models of business (read:the old boys club) is still so present in an industry that regards itself as innovative? What does it mean that this new economy, ripe with high-growth potential for women entrepreneurs, is exposing itself as an outwardly hostile environment for women?

The Pao case demonstrates how subjective the standards for leadership and promotion are. Claire Cain Miller writes at the New York Times that Pao was told, “she didn’t speak up enough and was too passive but also that she spoke up too much and was pushy and entitled.” Another subjective standard was she didn’t exhibit “thought leadership” -something even the court is having trouble defining. And that kind of makes sense – how does one even measure influencing thought? The commonly thrown around phrase just means “having and doling out publicly expertise in your field.” But here’s the problem with being “a thought leader” – the most recognized people stick to the script of knowledge and insights that define white, male, privileged experiences. Don’t believe me? Take look at most technology and/or business conferences – and you will see there is a specific point of view, and identity, that is continually given voice.

To be sure – determining when someone is ready for senior leadership is complicated and goes beyond an impressive resume or Ivy education (anyone building a team can tell you that). But the reason affirmative action legislation was so necessary is because often sexism in the workplace is unconscious – employers may not realize they are doing it and can’t always be trusted to make objective determinations on someone’s abilities. Complicating matters, our relationships to people are often inherently subjective. Facebook COO Sheryl Sandberg, took to the New York Times arguing male bias against women was still a problem – her much touted book, Lean In, was in many ways a set of strategies to overcome ingrained prejudices.

What can be frustrating about arguments against equality is that supporting and promoting women is not just about being “politically correct,” or fair – it makes sense from a business perspective. When it comes to product development or seeing potential in new firms, having a diversity of viewpoints allows you to think critically about the different uses and applications of a possible technology or tool set. Studies have shown that when you invest in women, they often reinvest in their communities. A recent study from McKinsey found that firms with increased diversity in leadership yielded an increase in annual profits. Denying women in technology is not solely about exclusion – it is unsustainable because bias is not a tenable business model.

Despite the cultural progress social media and online tools have given us, the action behind the scenes of technology powerhouses is still rife with the sexism. As we watch the Pao trial unfold, it becomes clearer than ever that we need more women at the top. According to research from the National Women’s Business Council, not only do companies have to continue to think concretely about other ways to support and sustain women’s involvement in all levels of STEM, we also need to share and document stories of successful women in technology. Considering the trajectory of Ellen Pao, the tech community could specifically encourage women to attend business school and add in more support for women pursing a career in finance.

But, in order for us to have role models in the first place, women need to access the “power corridor.” Ellen Pao did everything right – she has a top tier education, she sought out training where she needed it to be better at her job, she has start-up experience, and a successful track record of valuable investments. What else could she have done?

Last week, software engineer Kelly Ellis tweeted that she quit Google after enduring years of sexual harassment in her job. The company failed to respond publicly to the allegations. Pao, Ellis, Whitney and many other women fighting sexism in the tech world day in and day out are dealing with more than unconscious bias, but an environment that is actively hostile to the advancement of women – sabotaging their careers through an entire spectrum of threats from subjective definitions of appropriate behavior, to sexual harassment, retaliation and intimidation. We simply cannot afford another generation of women left out of the most important financial decisions, because male leaders can’t accept the idea of women in leadership.

We have the tools, money, research and ability to overcome many of the barriers that have always existed for women in the workplace – it’s time to use them to hold accountable the key power players in this Silicon Valley. Ellen Pao is making her case publicly and regardless of the ruling, there is now another heap of excoriating testimony about the experience of women in technology that we simply cannot ignore.

And with that knowledge, what do the John Doerrs of the world ultimately say for themselves?

Samhita Mukhopadhyay is the Director of Strategic Engagement and Communications at the National Women’s Business Council, a non-partisan federal advisory council to the U.S. Small Business Administration, Congress, and the White House on issues of impact and importance to women business owners, leaders, and entrepreneurs.

Editor’s Note: This op-ed has been updated to clarify that no female entrepreneurs from the Kleiner Perkins Caufield and Byers portfolio companies were invited on the ski trip. It also clarifies the sharing was for the condos, not rooms.

The first time I saw anyone in the media I could relate to was in an En Vogue music video. I was 14 years old and I had never seen brown women with curves on television. I still remember the visceral thrill I felt from watching them. (To be fair, who didn’t feel that watching En Vogue?)They’re sexy, I thought, and maybe I can one day be, too. The members of En Vogue are not South Asian, but this was the first time I was faced with the possibility that someone in the media should or could look like me. My lifelong quest to feel heard or seen in mainstream media was just beginning—I wondered when would I see an actual person of South Asian descent in a movie or on TV.

I would be waiting a while. For many years, it seemed like the only South Asian character on television was a cartoon: Apu from “The Simpsons.” In the last decade or so things have changed a little; we’ve seen more South Asian characters on our favorite shows (“Parks and Recreation,” “The Office,” “Community,” “30 Rock,” “New Girl,” “Big Bang Theory”) and, most recently, shows run by and starring South Asian leads (“The Mindy Project,” “Quantico”). The notable rise of South Asians in the media and specifically on television may have reached its peak this past weekend with the release of Aziz Ansari’s new Netflix comedy, “Master of None.”

Many are calling it Ansari’s best work to date: It’s beautifully shot, witty, charming and has a great soundtrack. The show breaks ground for many reasons: a South Asian male romantic lead, stories about immigration, a diverse group of friends, and several not-so-subtle invocations of feminism. But what is most notable is how creators Aziz Ansari and Alan Yang have achieved the difficult balancing act of creating a fictional world that also feels real. The show ticks all the boxes of what diverse representation should be without ending up hokey or inauthentic.

For many Asian Americans and South Asians, it has almost been taken for granted that our stories were not the ones worth telling. An ethos that plagues those communities socially—keep your head down, work hard, don’t complain—mirror our media persona, as well. We are always on the sidelines. We are almost never the stars of the show. Instead, we are math geeks, spelling bee champions, grocery clerks, cab drivers, spiritual mystics or other flat and troubling caricatures.

Authenticity in storytelling can sometimes be a trap; if we become too obsessed with representation, we may prioritize it in the service of diversity alone, at the expense of complex stories. Yet we often hold fiction accountable to real-life standards, especially if we live most of that life never seeing ourselves in the pop culture we love. This desire makes sense: For many of us in order to connect with a character or a storyline, we need to be able to relate on a human level and sometimes that also means characters that look, feel and think like we do.

“Master of None” satisfies this craving in a way I’ve never experienced. It isn’t exactly about my life, but it is pretty damn close: I am young(ish) and South Asian, an aspiring creative born and raised in New York, living a complex life where being the child of immigrants is a part of my story, but not all of it. Most of my writing has been about dating and about race more broadly, not the immigrant experience, and it’s nice to see this complexity play out on television.

It’s refreshing after years of feeling intensely ambivalent about another show starring a South Asian character—“The Mindy Project,” written by and starring comedian Mindy Kaling. Arguably, she holds up even more of a mirror: She’s a woman closer to my age who has a body that doesn’t necessarily fit into white standards of beauty. The show trailblazed the depiction of a multilayered South Asian character on television. And yet neither she nor the show talks about race, an issue I think and talk about all the time.

Of course, no one is going to ever perfectly represent me. But that’s the thing about being a minority that pop culture either ignores or derides: You’re always on the hunt, and you scrutinize the few cultural touchstones that try to capture your experience.

In 2006, Jhumpa Lahiri published The Namesake, one of the first popular, critically acclaimed portraits of second-generation South Asian life. To me it felt simple and reductionist—I wish my biggest battle in life were with my name. (Although it was still a battle!) But South Asians and the broader community alike cherished it. A story about fitting in, about awkwardness, about navigating parents and romance set to the backdrop of a coming-to-America story—it was the perfect narrative for a community coming out of hiding in the mainstream media. The Namesake laid the groundwork for a new South Asian experience, one rooted in growing up in America. Still, I felt frustrated when people suggested my life was just like the characters in the book.

If anything, I related much more to the 2004 stoner flick, “Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle,” starring Kal Penn and John Cho. The premise of the movie was absurd, but it offered us a fresh take on the immigrant experience set to a very American, universal theme: getting high. The Harold and Kumar franchise set the stage more than 10 years ago for a recasting of the nerdy Asian, breaking taboos (our parents don’t talk to us about drugs or sex!) and creating relatable and funny Asian American characters.

Of course, none of these depictions 100% satisfied the authentic “story of me,” and they don’t have to. They instead created space for imagination and possibility. That’s what entertainment does—it inspires us and reminds us that we are not alone. It is our right, as historically unrepresented communities, to exist in a fashion outside of our day-to-day lives. The danger of a single story about South Asians is we become reduced to certain symbolic parts of our life rather than understanding the full complexity of our experience, both as part of our own race and the human race. Ansari and Wang’s “Master of None” gives us that opportunity (albeit on Netflix’s smaller stage) while opening us to a future with more stories like it. Hopefully, networks will soon follow suit.