Marissa Mayer, Google's 20th employee, becomes Yahoo!'s new CEO

A move up and out for Google's star

Marissa Mayer, a Silicon Valley veteran who was previously the head of local, maps and location services at Google, has been hired by Yahoo! to come in as their new CEO, their third in ten months and fifth in three years.

Mayer is one of Google's superstars. As the company's 20th employee, she is responsible for much of the backbone of the company, from the iconic simple white homepage (the original was never as good looking) to some of the its strongest products, such as GMail, Google Images and Google News. She was also Google's first female engineer, and has consistently been one of the most important players.

But Mayer also hit a ceiling at Google. The "triumvirate" of co-founders Larry Page and Sergey Brin and the company's longest-running CEO, Eric Schmidt, was impossible to break into, leaving her one tier down. She still ran a very important department, and was on the company's operating committee, but there was little to no chance of her moving to one of the top jobs. Even though it comes as a surprise, then, her departure makes sense.

From Yahoo!'s point of view, choosing Mayer is very important for one key choice the company has to make: whether to turn towards media, or remain a tech company. Like AOL, another internet services company which leveraged its "portal" into a powerful content provision network, Yahoo! is a valuable media company in its own right, and many had assumed that its new CEO would come from that realm. But the inference one can draw from the hiring of Mayer is that Yahoo! views itself as a tech company first and foremost, and is trying to get that house in order before it goes anywhere further.

Neither arm of the company has been particularly well run for the past few years, and Mayer has her work cut out for her. PaidContent reports the board's belief that "most of the company is search and mail and the home page," core competencies which Mayer will be familiar with, but which are also undoubtedly withering under Yahoo! as it is currently constituted.

And when it comes to more forward-looking services, Yahoo! has a poor history indeed. The company has previously acquired and killed – or as good as killed – the popular companies Flickr and Del.icio.us, earning it a twin reputation of being dangerous to be bought by and not the sort of place you want to keep your data. Mayer will have to work hard to overcome that reputation, and if the company can't buy its way out of the trouble, it will have to innovate instead, particularly when it comes to the mobile sector, where it has barely any presence at all.

Mayer has a peculiar set of incentives going into her new role. Having started at Google long before the company was profitable, she spent a lot of time being paid in equity: equity which is now extremely valuable. As a result, she is probably one of the few CEOs of a Fortune 500 company for whom her actual remuneration doesn't really count for much. Whether this is a good thing, allowing her to focus on the long term without worrying about the source of her next paycheck, or a bad thing, enabling her to take the sort of risks that no one ever would if they had "skin in the game", remains to be seen.

She is also a example of a woman determined to, in the words of a current debate, "have it all": Mayer is expecting a son in early October. The Yahoo! board didn't know that when they first approached her, but were reportedly unconcerned when they found out last Wednesday. Mayer, for her part, doesn't expect it to conflict with her new role. She told Fortune:

I like to stay in the rhythm of things. My maternity leave will be a few weeks long and I'll work throughout it.

Marissa Mayer. Photograph: Getty Images

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

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For 19 minutes, I thought I had won the lottery

The agonising minutes spent figuring out my mistake paired beautifully with hard, low wisdom tooth throbs.

Nineteen minutes ago, I was a millionaire. In my head, I’d bought a house and grillz that say “I’m fine now thanks”, in diamonds. I’d had my wisdom tooth (which I’ve been waiting months for the NHS to pull the hell out of my skull) removed privately. Drunk on sudden wealth, I’d considered emailing everyone who’s ever wronged me a picture of my arse. There I was, a rich woman wondering how to take a butt selfie. Life was magnificent.

Now I’m lying face-down on my bed. I’m wearing a grease-stained t-shirt and my room smells of cheese. I hear a “grrrrk” as my cat jumps onto the bed. He walks around on my back for a bit, then settles down, reinstating my place in the food chain: sub-cat. My phone rings. I fumble around for it with all the zeal of a slug with ME. Limply, I hold it to my ear.

“Hi,” I say.

“You haven’t won anything, have you” says my dad. It isn’t a question.

“I have not.”

“Ah. Never mind then eh?”

I make a sound that’s just pained vowels. It isn’t a groan. A groan is too human. This is pure animal.

“What? Stop mumbling, I can’t hear you.”

“I’m lying on my face,” I mumble.

“Well sit up then.”

“Can’t. The cat’s on my back.”

In my defence, the National Lottery website is confusing. Plus, I play the lottery once a year max. The chain of events which led me to believe, for nineteen otherworldly minutes, that I’d won £1 million in the EuroMillions can only be described as a Kafkaesque loop of ineptitude. It is both difficult and boring to explain. I bought a EuroMillions ticket, online, on a whim. Yeah, I suffer from whims. While checking the results, I took a couple of wrong turns that led me to a page that said, “you have winning matches in one draw”. Apparently something called a “millionaire maker code” had just won me a million quid.

A

Million

Quid.

I stared at the words and numbers for a solid minute. The lingering odour of the cheese omelette I’d just eaten was, all of a sudden, so much less tragic. I once slammed a finger in a door, and the pain was so intense that I nearly passed out. This, right now, was a fun version of that finger-in-door light-headedness. It was like being punched by good. Sure, there was a level on which I knew I’d made a mistake; that this could not be. People don’t just win £1 million. Well they do, but I don’t. It’s the sort of thing that happens to people called Pauline, from Wrexham. I am not Pauline from Wrexham. God I wish I was Pauline from Wrexham.

Even so, I started spending money in my head. Suddenly, London property was affordable. It’s incredible how quickly you can shrug off everyone else’s housing crisis woe, when you think you have £1m. No wonder rich people vote Conservative. I was imaginary rich for nineteen minutes (I know it was nineteen minutes because the National Lottery website kindly times how much of your life you’ve wasted on it) and turned at least 40 per cent evil.

But, in need of a second opinion on whether or not I was – evil or not - rich, I phoned my dad.

“This is going to sound weird,” I said, “but I think I’ve won £1 million.”

“You haven’t won £1 million,” he said. There was a decided lack of anything resembling excitement in his voice. It was like speaking to an accountant tired of explaining pyramid schemes to financial Don Quixotes.

“No!” I said, “I entered the EuroMillions and I checked my results and this thing has come up saying I’ve won something but it’s really confusing and…”

Saying it out loud (and my how articulately) clinched it: my enemies were not going to be looking at butt selfies any time soon. The agonising minutes spent figuring out my mistake paired beautifully with hard, low wisdom tooth throbs.

“Call me back in a few minutes,” I told my dad, halfway though the world’s saddest equation.

Now here I am, below a cat, trying to explain my stupidity and failing, due to stupidity.  

 

“If it’s any consolation,” my dad says, “I thought about it, and I’m pretty sure winning the lottery would’ve ruined your life.”

“No,” I say, cheese omelette-scented breath warming my face, “it would’ve made my life insanely good.”

I feel the cat purr. I can relate. For nineteen minutes, I was happy too. 

Eleanor Margolis is a freelance journalist, whose "Lez Miserable" column appears weekly on the New Statesman website.