In the middle of our E3 shows, this popped up in my Twitter feed:

Watching a bit of the e3 @giantbomb bombcast from last night and damn that is a lot of (white) dudes. :-/ — Elizabeth Simins (@ElizSimins) June 13, 2014

I know so many women at all levels of game stuff and I’m way less connected than @giantbomb, how hard is it to find more than 1 per panel? — Elizabeth Simins (@ElizSimins) June 13, 2014

That hurt, but it’s also true. I don’t run Giant Bomb, but I did, for the first year ever, have control over our nightly E3 shows. That was, previously, a job shared between myself and Ryan Davis. When Ryan passed away last year, I reluctantly took over that job, hoping to do the man proud. Someone needed to do it, and I was happy to give it my best shot. I wanted to honor what he’d created, while putting my own stamp on it.

I want to make one thing clear: criticism like this is important. Yes, even when it’s directed at yourself. There are reasons our E3 shows ended up the way they are, reasons I’ll outline below, but simply because I’ve advocated for certain positions in the past shouldn’t absolve me from criticism, especially when I find myself in a position of power and influence. When I saw these tweets and some others like them, my initial reaction was to be upset: don’t these people know I’m on their side?!

But it’s not hard to see where this line of criticism came from. We had more than 50 guests on our shows this year, and five were women. That’s not a particularly good ratio, even if it’s leaps and bounds better than what we’ve featured on Giant Bomb in the past. You don’t get credit simply for trying, and it’s always worth acknowledging that you can probably do better the next time around. That’s true here.

Our guest list started with a document outlining the shows. We’d start every night an hour after the close of E3. Every hour, we’d rotate guests. That would happen two or three times, and, then, we’d break for the night. I was informed that we were technically capable of handling up to eight or nine microphones at a time, though that’d be an extreme. (If I recall correctly, we only hit that maximum capacity once during the entire show, but we came close a few other times. It was too much.)

There were several forces at work here. Since I was the only person booking guests, I was terribly afraid no one would show up. I wanted to do a kick ass job, and not let my colleagues down. Ryan set a high bar, and I wanted to hit it. I was worried we’d have people who couldn’t show up for one reason or another, or would have to leave before there was an open slot. To that end, I booked everyone for specific time slots and…booked too many guests. In years past, our shows have taken place both offsite and in locations that were…well, they were colorful. This year, we were right next to the convention center, which meant not only did nobody drop out, but people brought others with them.

This is no one’s fault but my own, but when you only have a handful of women on your show already, cramming more men into the frame only skews the ratio even higher. I considered grouping women on the same panel, but worried a “woman panel” separate from the “other panels” would be equally terrible.

The optics of the situation were only part of the problem, though.

Through this, I have a better understanding of what it’s like coming on a Giant Bomb show. Part of what makes our site work is interesting personalities coming together to talk about games (most of the time). This stems from a rotating crew of regulars the community has gotten to know over the years. You can’t become a regular until you’ve been on more than once. If you’ve ever been part of a podcast, video show, or anything with a group discussion, it can be difficult to have your voice heard while learning the group dynamics. This was compounded by Giant Bomb having a series of very loud regulars on-hand (regulars I love, mind you!).

It creates a tough situation for newcomers. If you yell to keep up, you can look like you’re trying too hard. A problem emerged: a small but select number of smart, funny, insightful women eager to contribute found themselves sitting in a sea of men that had established chemistry with one another. The optics of a singular, seemingly silent women is a bad one, possibly worse than not having any women at all!

(I must say, however, that Alexa Ray Corriea’s lengthy breakdown of Lord of the Rings lore in front of Jeff Gerstmann, who hates that stuff, was one of my favorite moments of the whole conference.)

This problem wasn’t limited to women, however. We had several male guests on who ran into the same issue, and it all comes back to a day one problem: overbooking. Smaller, more focused panels would have given our new guests, women or otherwise, an opportunity to become comfortable with the format. As the person who booked the guests, I failed in giving them a proper platform. That’s all on my shoulders.

While all the above is true, it could also serve as a convenient excuse, one that doesn’t address the broader issue: the rolodex. More specifically, my rolodex, the people I personally know. Here’s an excerpt from an exceptional essay by critic Jenn Frank on the issue:

“This Rolodex analogy is how we keep perpetuating something called institutionalized sexism (also, institutionalized racism, plus institutionalized homophobia and transphobia). Really talented people–people who aren’t yet in a fellow colleague’s "Rolodex”–never quite get that foot in the door. Of course they can’t, because we’re all too busy consulting these Rolodexes of people we already know, rather than seeking fresh–and oftentimes unproven!–talent.“

It’s not just about women. It’s also about race. Both issues come back to the rolodex. In addition to booking high-profile guests (Palmer Luckey, Phil Spencer, etc.), I plucked from my rolodex, and that rolodex has, as it turns out, a fairly limited diversity profile. In retrospect, it’s of little surprise the shows looked the way they did. It reflects who I know.

"Patrick, you should book based on talent! Not just to hit a check box.”

That’s true. In theory. But that theory suggests that I’m pulling from everyone in the world. That’s not true. I want to book talent from a wider pool. The statement’s subtext is that there aren’t equally funny, amazing people outside of the people I (or Giant Bomb) already know. That’s certainly not the case.

Look, all of this might not make me a bad person, but it does make me a bit hypocritical. It’s easy to rail against the lack of diversity in an editorial, much harder to come to terms with your own limitations and admit you could be doing a whole lot more. Solutions require some introspection.

When someone calls you sexist, especially when you’ve spoken out against the issue, there are two ways to take it. One, you can get angry that no one seems to appreciate how you actually feel. For a brief moment, that was how I wanted to react. But, then, I took a breath. Two, you can realize you aren’t perfect, and the best of intentions don’t always have the best outcomes. Just because you’ve been called “sexist” doesn’t mean you are a woman hater. There is a difference between passive and active sexism. Active sexism would be going out of one’s way to be anti-woman. Passive sexism is the rolodex. It’s systemic, unnoticed.

At the end of the day, I’ll continue to book these shows based on on who will serve the audience best. That won’t change. But doing that justice means recognizing my own faults, the limitations of my own rolodex. It means introducing the audience to the wider diversity that reflects what our industry really looks like in 2014. I intend to reach out to people to help me accomplish that, and avoid what happened this year. I’ve already asked the women who were on Giant Bomb’s shows this year for feedback on their experience, and I’ll be asking them for recommendations on other people to come on our shows in the future.

It’s a small step, a first step. But if people didn’t hold my feet to the fire, I wouldn’t have an opportunity for these moments of reflection. Thanks for that.