Originally published in March 2022.
Back when I worked for doomed startups, thoroughly believing that “having a job” meant devoting every waking hour to a company that could and would replace me within 48 if necessary, I clung to every word every higher-up ever said to me. I fed off their praise and approval, and lost sleep and/or weight if I somehow displeased them. I thought working as an adult meant giving everything — every moment, every ounce of effort, every bit of sanity, to whoever was doing me the favor of giving me money. I was working myself into the ground for nothing and I was doing it for about ten years. One such salary found me at a small New York startup hoping to change the online shopping industry despite not being able to turn ideas into physical realities. I ran their marketing copy, social media, and blog.
There was an era in startup culture that was very reactive. “Oh, they’re doing X, we must do X, right now! Why aren’t we doing X? Who failed here, who didn’t see the future?!” That sort of thing, you remember.
The company’s top tier was a handful of professionals who all had thriving careers in other industries that gave them up to come and do… whatever it was we were trying to do. Social media-based marketing was new to them because it was new in general. But I think it freaked them out. We’re talking about people who used to confidently spend thousands of dollars on ads in magazines that had little to no performance metrics available suddenly freaking the fuck out about a tweet with no likes. It was my responsibility to make us internet famous, and it wasn’t going well. Of course, this was my fault and problem, rather than the fact that our product was difficult to explain, and they would never just let me say “Pinterest For Shopping.” Whatever.
I don’t like reactive behaviors in humans and less so in companies. The world can tell when you’re only doing something because someone else did it, and it’s pretty basic behavior. But remember, I was a startup girl, both consumed by dedication culture and terrified of losing my health insurance. If the C-Suite wanted to be reactive, that’s what I had to be.
Around this time, a new toy called Snapchat was invented. I observed Snapchat, I learned who users engaged with on the platform and how. This was a place where those with existing followings and celebrities were instantly successful, and unknowns had a very slim chance of growing a platform from scratch big enough to notice. This was a long time before a democratic algorithm like TikTok’s existed, so if you weren’t already famous, it was unlikely you were going to GET famous on Snapchat. No one knew who my company was, but somehow Snapchat was going to be our lord and savior.
Only I wouldn’t do it. I wouldn’t put our company on Snapchat because I saw it as a waste of resources. We were already on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, clawing our way to each new follower, how was starting from zero on a new platform that kids used to talk to each other and celebrities used to talk to kids going to do anything other than spread us more thinly than we already were? We were having much more success via email marketing, but no one wanted to put more effort there because it wasn’t the shiny new toy — Snapchat was.
It was my belief that not every platform works for every company, and I had the foresight to know Snapchat was not the place for us. I stood by my understanding of and experience in social media, and I didn’t put the company on Snapchat. I was pulled into an office later that week, where a woman who was 2nd in company command told me this:
“The way you handled Snapchat was the biggest mistake of your fucking career.”
That was the day I started looking for a new job. Because even with zero self-worth and no understanding of what a respectful and responsible employer/employee dynamic looks like, I knew that no one should speak to me like that — especially when what they’re saying is actual bullshit.
Two months later, I was sitting at a desk in my new role at another startup, which was a worse situation than the one before (don’t worry, I learned my lesson eventually, I work for myself now). I got an Instant Message on Gmail (remember how we lived and died by those?) letting me know that the company I’d previously worked for had let everyone go on the same day and shut down because they ran out of money.
It wasn’t “the biggest mistake of my fucking career,” but it was the first time I listened to a red flag the startup world was waving wildly in front of my face. I’m not stupid, I’m not less-than, I’m not beneath the C-Suites of the world who make career decisions with their egos and spend money like it’s water. I don’t owe the people I work for anything, especially not when I’m giving them so much. Work is an even exchange of services for money, and any time it doesn’t feel even, find the door.
Because I couldn’t say it back then, because I was too afraid, too small, and quite frankly too broke, allow me to say what I should have said to her back in that poorly ventilated office on 31st and Park all those years ago:
“I handled Snapchat correctly. Not every idea or whim is a wise use of resources. Not every platform is a fit for every company. For how confusing our fucking product is, I think I’m actually doing an amazing job of communicating it via our website copy, our blog copy, our email marketing copy, our Instagram posts, and our Tweets. I stand by my decision, because it was the right one. What I don’t stand by is the way you just spoke to me, someone who’s been working 12+ hour days for you (and all the shopping holidays) for over two years. I’m going to start looking for a new job now, because it’s clear you don’t trust me, and I don’t want to work for someone who questions my work because they’re panicked about their own. You can fire me now if you’d like, or you can leave me to my tasks until I’m able to relocate myself. It’s your choice, but I won’t be listening to any further critiques from someone who’ll be out of business by June.”