‘I Just Want a Dumb Job’

You got your dream job! Congratulations. Except — it sucks. The hours are terrible, the pay is bad, and your shiny title doesn’t make up for the stress and drama. You secretly start to envy your friends who you used to make fun of — the corporate sellouts who clock in, clock out, and get paid. What does it feel like to realize that everything you thought you wanted in a career is actually a mirage? Here, three women talk about quitting the glamorous jobs they fought hard for and finding out that they’re much happier on the other side.

When I was in my early 20s, I wanted to write for magazines. I thought it would be like working at my college paper, where I got to go to cultural events for free and then write about them. Older people cautioned me that that kind of job doesn’t really exist anymore and that magazines were dying, and I did not care. I got my first magazine job, earning approximately $30,000 a year, which I thought was great and totally normal, and I actually did have fun and enjoyed it for a while.

But there was also a lot of shit-eating that I had not anticipated. I would get screamed at. Higher-ups would throw things at people. Verbal abuse was completely normalized. One day, our boss would be like, “Oh, this is so genius. This work looks so good.” And then the next day, it would be like, “This is totally unacceptable. You’re an embarrassment. How dare you show your face here?”

I had a supervisor who made my life a living hell. I hadn’t been her hire, and I think she didn’t like that I lacked a certain boarding school, Ivy League, trust-fund pedigree. The hours that we were working were also crazy, 12-hour days and weekends. Even if I was on vacation, I was expected to be checking and answering emails. The attitude was very much, “You’re lucky to be here and lucky to have this job, and you don’t deserve to be paid a livable wage; in fact, you really owe us.”

After years of this, there was one particular incident where I was screamed at about something, I don’t even remember what. I was told that I must have various physical disabilities in order to be so stupid. Today, it would probably be grounds for a lawsuit. Back then, these types of HR violations were the norm. I suddenly had a moment of clarity that this was not okay, and that I could have a better and gentler life somewhere else.

I started working on an exit strategy. I had heard about people leaving magazines to work at brands, and I thought maybe I could do that. So I emailed one of them, cold turkey, asking if they were hiring, and they were. I left a month later. I was so desperate that I didn’t even get a pay increase at the new job. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a lot easier, more civilized, and significantly more professional. It took years for my nervous system to adjust. When something went wrong at work, I remember sitting in the office, having that feeling of dread in my body, like a dog that’s about to get kicked. But then the kick would never come. And I was like, huh. No one was throwing things. It was sort of like a gateway drug to a much better life. I learned that I could work a lot less and make way more money and not have to deal with bullshit.

I’m now a full-time editorial consultant for a large tech company. I work remotely, nine to five, and I get compensated well — probably quadruple what I was making at my best-paid magazine job. My colleagues are nice, smart, and respectful, and they value my contributions. The only downside is that I have to pay for my own health insurance, but it comes out in the wash due to higher overall earnings.

I really don’t miss my old career at all — no amount of perks (lavish PR gifts, fancy events, etc.) are worth that abuse. And as I’ve gotten older and had kids, my professional objectives have shifted: I want to earn as much as I can with the least amount of soul-sucking drama, so I can spend time with my family and on my own creative projects. I’m also relieved that there seems to be a cultural shift against the workplace culture that I experienced. I’m excited for younger generations who don’t tolerate bullying and abuse, who can excel without having to “pay dues” or get shamed and berated for years.

In high school, I worked at a coffee shop in the small town where I grew up, and I loved it. At first, I worked behind the counter, and it was so fun. My friends would come in to visit me during my shifts, and I got to know the regulars. Then I started working in the shop’s kitchen too, making cookies and muffins and things like that. I got this romantic idea that I wanted to open my own chocolate shop, sort of like in the movie Chocolat. I applied to culinary school, because it seemed like the most logical next step.

Culinary school was intense, full of people who took themselves very seriously and planned to work at Michelin-starred restaurants. I felt sort of silly being like, “Oh, I just want to open my own little bakery and chocolate store,” and it gave me a chip on my shoulder. Like, Oh, I’d better succeed. I have to show them.

When I graduated, I worked in various kitchens and took catering gigs while I applied for small-business loans and grants to open my own place. I drove around doing pop-ups at farmers’ markets and food festivals. I was making hundreds of chocolates and baked goods in the kitchen of my rental apartment in Boston. Finally, I found a tiny storefront with a kitchen that seemed like it could be right, and I signed a lease for my first year. The rent was a little over $1,000 a month.

In many ways, owning my own store was everything I had dreamed of. I loved being part of the community, having parents come in with their kids, seeing people on dates or buying treats for special occasions. We got nice write-ups in local publications. Even my parents, who were pretty dubious about my career path, were really proud.

But once the initial honeymoon phase wore off, the work was relentless. I hired staff, but it was really hard to manage them — the best people never stayed longer than a few months. The ins and outs of running a brick-and-mortar shop are not fun, either. You have to keep up with fire codes and health codes and insurance and all that stuff. I’d have a great month, and then a bad one, and I was constantly trying to come up with new ways to attract customers. We did partnerships with local restaurants, which was great, but then the restaurant would change their menu and I’d have to come up with something new. I was barely paying myself at all — just enough to cover my rent. I remember having drinks with a friend once and being like, “I just want a dumb job. I just want to work for someone else, and not have to be on my toes all the time and not think so much.”

When the pandemic hit, I was almost relieved. I know that sounds awful, but it’s true. I shut things down immediately and just holed up and sustained myself on unemployment. That summer, I applied for every job I could find. And eventually, I got a position working for a large food and beverage distributor. It is not glamorous or creative or exciting to tell people about at cocktail parties — but at least now I get to go to cocktail parties because I’m not working all the time! My income is stable, I make over $70,000 a year, I get health insurance and paid time off, and I work at a computer instead of being on my feet all day. I’m not sure if I’ll do this forever, but for now, it’s perfectly fine, and I don’t have to overthink it.

I do miss interacting with customers and people face-to-face. I hope that someday, I can find a role that involves that, but I never want to own my own business again — or at least, nothing brick-and-mortar. It’s too stressful and exhausting. Maybe I’m a corporate sellout, but it’s nice to have a healthy division between my job and my personal life. Owning a business meant that it was a huge part of my identity. And while that was cool sometimes, I could never get away from it. Now, when I’m not clocked in, I’m not thinking about work. And that’s so freeing.

I studied photography in college, but I’m someone who needs consistency, routine, and a steady paycheck. So I figured that my goal would be to work as a photo director somewhere. When I first graduated, I got a very low-paying internship at a magazine in New York, which I was able to afford by living with my boyfriend, who’s now my husband, and another roommate. But it was a scary time. I had student loans, and there was a countdown clock on when I had to start paying them — four months, three months, two months. Finally, I got my first full-time photo-assistant job at a publication. I was making $34,000 a year with overtime, and I felt rich. It was more money than I’d ever been paid before.

As a photo assistant, I did photo research, but it was mostly admin stuff — and it was pretty nice. I liked my co-workers. But then the company shut down, and I had to find a new job. I worked at publications and brands for a couple of years, sometimes freelance and sometimes on staff. Finally, eight years after I started, I finally landed what I considered to be a dream job at a luxury lifestyle brand. I was like, “I made it!”

But right away, it was clearly not what I hoped. As a member of the photo department, I didn’t have any creative input. I was just a middleman between different arguing factions. And my boss seemed to believe that all this clashing ultimately made for better results. There was this implicit endorsement of bad behavior and a culture of fear. I was basically just managing egos, dealing with different collaborators, and acting as a therapist and production monkey.

My “aha” moment happened when I was on my way to a friend’s house for Memorial Day weekend, and I got an email from a higher-up asking all these questions about the status of a shoot. And it was worded like, “You need to get me answers now.” Then I had to go hound other people, who were presumably also headed out for their own long-weekend plans, for a totally nonurgent matter. And I was just like, “I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m not compensated well enough.” Also, what was the point? It was a one-day shoot with some fancy people in some fancy clothes — it didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, but it was making me feel so anxious, upset, and undervalued. It was like, I had won this cake-eating contest, but the reward was just more cake.

I also couldn’t see a path forward that I wanted. If I had my boss’s job, then I would have to deal with these conflicting personalities even more. So I stuck it out for another year, but I was working on my exit. My husband got a new job on the West Coast, so I started looking for new jobs out there. I also got pregnant, and I was tired of getting crappy pay and being treated badly. I realized that the more “luxury” a company is that you’re working for, whether it’s consumer or editorial, the worse the attitudes are. It’s like, “Well, you’re lucky to be an ambassador of this brand.”

Now I do project management at a tech company, which is not sexy at all, but it’s stable, and there is a solution to every problem. There’s absolutely none of the behavior that was tolerated at my old job. If you have an issue with something, then you discuss it with the person you’re working with like an adult. If a higher-up doesn’t like something, we get together and we brainstorm solutions for how to fix it as opposed to pointing fingers. That’s probably the biggest thing. It’s a collaborative atmosphere, not a strict hierarchy where whoever’s at the bottom gets blamed for everything.

Becoming a parent helped clarify things for me, too. Now I have two kids, so I have a second shift. I know what I need from my job: I need to be around nice people, I need to get paid decently, and I need to be doing something measurable that gives me a sense of accomplishment.

Before my current job, my highest paycheck was $85,000. Now, I’m making $200,000. I also get partly compensated with stock in the company, which does directly impact my incentive — I have a stake in the result. The benefits are good, too. We’re fed breakfast and lunch, and dinner if we work late, but I almost never do. The hours are super clear. It’s nine to five with an hour break for lunch. I don’t get emails after hours, and if I do, it’s implied that I don’t need to respond to them until the next day. There’s training around how you give feedback and how you receive it, how you tackle problems, and how you behave. Seeing all these systems in place, when I first arrived, I was just like, “Wow. I didn’t know work could be like this.”

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