Why Looking for Editorial Work is So 2007, Which Isn’t a Bad Thing
I’ve spent 2016, stuck in a bubble that is still floating without a compass. I want a job. I need a job because I’m getting older and this inability to secure full-time employment at the company of my choice is embarrassing.
I can’t pay back my friends for their generous loans, I can’t help pay the bills that my parents are drowning in and I can’t secure a permanent address to save my life. I am officially the talk of the town and the murmurs are not the sort that initiates healthy envy or pride.
I am a disaster in the making — despite years of practice.
I remember being twenty-five and not quite figuring out how I could make myself useful. Telemarketing jobs were all the rage back then and I went for it in order to keep myself busy and employed. It was a tedious endeavor that sometimes left me open to weird shit — like calling ticket holders and begging them to renew their accounts without realizing that their partners had passed away.
My venture into retail was a natural occurrence and the basics of the American way. You must sell in order to buy! You must possess the skills necessary to convince the misguided that they are better off dropping hundreds of dollars in order to feel complete and valuable.
I did all of that and during this period of martyrdom — I was trying so damn hard to become the writer I knew I would eventually be. It takes time to realize dreams. It takes a lot longer to realize that those dreams can become fantasies that dwell in your insides. No matter how hard you try to vomit the concoction to life — you may only end up drooling in the sleep that hits you suddenly after hours of glazing over HBO Go — in the dark and in a bed with sheets that are dimming with the blackened traces of your body parts.
I’ve come to understand that searching for editorial work in 2016 is like walking out of a deep sleep and convincing strangers that Joey Lawrence is still the shit while trying to keep your ear lobes from plopping due to the weight of your fake gold earrings.
Or maybe it’s more like carrying the torch for Britney Spears back when she was being torched by the media — that was just beginning to be the monstrous vat of disinformation it has become.
The crazy thing is that I can be the social media super star that everyone is looking for and yet — to save my dignity — I refuse to sell out.
I want to be able to come up with brilliant headlines and choose the images that will require gawking and ugly satisfaction. I am totally aware that in this day and age — you can’t just be the kind of writer who delivers the goods in a way that inspires — you have to be a salesman or saleswoman.
I am totally hip to the primes of Gigi, Kendall, and Bella. I can trace the steps of The Karadashians with astute precision. Kourtney and Scott forever! Nobody can better sum up all the reasons why Evelyn Lozada’s return to Basketball Wives is so overrated. And when it comes to pricking the character assassination of every member of the Real Housewives clan — I can assure you that nobody does it better than me.
This age of clicks and licks with all the toppings you can internalize could be my one-way ticket to the art fair of bullshit that costs readers nothing but demands way more than I am willing to shell out.
I am so out of my league but not in the way you assume.
I am stuck in 2007 and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I like being the grandma of my profession. I don’t have nightmares when I recall how twenty-somethings from my last job tried to explain why my scheduled tweets failed to meet the clickbait quota. I don’t try to fight the turmoil of being cast in a role in Black Mirror without my consent because I can’t imagine a better contender.
I am outdated and outmatched.
It’s okay people! It happens. I realize that my chance at being that writer who pursues the news and calls it as it is without succumbing to the threads of SEO engines and traffic jams has passed into an oblivion that continues to churn the vapors of discontent.
That machine may have more work to do but this girl is done.
I welcome this new dawn of fake news and prettied up confection that describes race motivated killings as an investigation that is ongoing. I am elated with the prospect of a racist President and his cabinet of impotent pricks. I look forward to the future that will challenge writers like me with the task of either giving in or bailing.
I’m so 2007 and proud of it!
Actually — I’m more inclined to select 1997. I was younger and way hotter.