This is not another article about how corporate employees are refusing to return to soul crushing, fluorescent offices. This is about a shift from the before times when a certain kind of company could hide behind the glossy smoke and mirrors of what I’ll call “smart and cool media person culture” and use that valuable identity token as an excuse to justify and perpetuate a toxic culture. It is not so anymore, without the office there is nothing left to hide behind.
A Manhattan high rise where you swipe a badge to be granted entry into a glass box with sweeping views across the city once you reach your company’s 23rd floor, a sleek reception area where you’re not greeted by a bitchy and hot receptionist, your slender colleagues are wearing the season’s latest trends maybe even paired with (heels!) They scowl as you walk by pretending not to know your name until at least six months into your tenure. These were the glory days of the cool media office brought to us to in vivid depictions like in The Devil Wears Prada or How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days. The woman many of us wanted to be was a culturally savvy, sexy, well dressed, well connected, powerful media maven with a side of guy drama just kind of always on a low simmer until she inevitably meets Mr. Right. To be this woman is to have figured out the perfect balance between creative expression and slotting yourself carefully into the folds of capitalism so as to reap the most outsized benefits. You have access to capital but it’s not at the cost of being an accountant or something equally straightforward (bless the many wonderful accountants out there, somebody’s gotta do it), but you are special. You have ideas that are worthy of being put in print.
The barriers to entry are significant. Multiple rounds of interviews where not only are you being judged on the skills your resume says you have but also on the relevance of your outfit and the quality of your balayage highlights. Once you’ve been granted access, a whole world of exclusivity opens up. Company sponsored happy hours with your fabulous colleagues at swanky cocktail lounges, company subsidized fitness classes, a seat at fashion week, fancy media parties and if you’re really lucky an increased following on social. A daily sad desk salad bought with a Simply Salad punch card that you hide in the back of your wallet so nobody thinks you are practical god forbid. In spite of the sad desk salads you consume five days a week, you have made it and you’re not going to give up your spot without a fight.
Your new role as smart and cool media person can be exhausting. It is work after all. When you have a moment to stop and think about how you’ve been spending your time and why your 11’s seem to be taking up permanent residence between your eyebrows you wonder if it’s the work itself or if it’s the way the people do the work, the way they treat the work. And as a matter of fact, the way they treat you. The subtext of your manager’s feedback actually doesn’t seem very well intentioned upon further reflection, were they trying to cut you down? The thing that most definitely was not a direct result of your actions but that you had to take responsibility for anyway in order to preserve someone else’s status of being at the “director level” actually seems pretty fucked up now that you’ve had a moment to think about it. Were they using you as a sacrificial lamb of sorts? You tell yourself that it doesn’t matter because this is a stepping stone toward the next great thing and you think about all of the wonderful connections you’ll make now that you’re in with the cool kids. The pain of constantly second guessing yourself, taking the blame for other people’s mistakes, and pitching new ideas that are met with blank stares is a price you can tolerate because of all of the cool things you get to do as a member of this creative class.
But what is left now that the office is essentially a massive storage closet for unused computer monitors and expired snacks? There are no events anymore, there is no vibe to feed off of, there is no one to confirm your outfit is cool, or even to build camaraderie with around some of these wrong doings. The micro aggressions, slights and paper cuts pile up until you’re drowning in something you don’t even recognize. And two years later you’re still in the obnoxiously bright Entire World sweatsuit you bought in 2020, working from your dining room table in a setup that can only be described as the polar opposite to an ergonomic work environment.
There’s something about being micromanaged ten years into your career, to the point of a boss requiring a review of your emails ahead of sending them, that is really impossible to tolerate in your sweatpants working from a laptop in your apartment. There are literally no perks, not even a “wellness credit” to be spent at your discretion that some smart employers have offered during the pandemic. The allure and mystique of other people’s personal lives that was once standard in a corporate environment no longer exists. Whether it’s a messy table behind them, a crying child, or a barking dog— we all have a first look into the lives of our colleagues and it’s much less glamorous than we may have initially imagined.
It’s easier to trick yourself into thinking that what you’re doing matters when the environment carries cultural cache. But without that cache, many companies are in for a rude awakening. The pandemic has resulted in a total renegotiation of work and identity. Many of the folks who before felt the two were entwined have now realized that a job does not define your entire personality. It can be something you do during certain hours so that you have money to survive. The lack of human touch that is inevitable in a remote work environment makes it easier for abusive managers to intimidate their subordinates. Whatever human quality was there before has vanished and now people have little reason to stay.