Just because stereotypes exist in real life doesn’t mean you can put them into your novel.
The street is full of men in classy suits today. Black or dark charcoal is in. Not a navy suit among them.
The men wearing them are cocky, confident and loud. The single women—there is only ever one woman in each group, and they all wear smart black pant suits—never get a word in.
Some of the conversation I overhear is egotistical. Boasts about how they will exceed their targets, boasts about what they will do in the future.
They turn out to be real estate agents, here for training.
Of course they are, I realise. They behave exactly the way you would expect a group of real estate agents to act.
They were one big stereotype.
Had I written about them in a novel, of course, I would have to change many of the characteristics. Otherwise I would have been told to cut the stereotypes.