Reflections on Two Media Layoffs
Second verse, same as the first.
I’ve been working on this piece for 3 years, since 2020. In that time, I kept trying to give it an uplifting, happy ending, but it never felt right. It’s not that kind of piece.
It’s not that kind of industry.
Five months ago, the third act/ending became clear. Read on.
Part 1: Tough Times in Online Media, 2019
I knew I was getting laid off three months before it happened.
I saw all the signs that my editor role at [women’s media company] was quickly coming to an end. A woman with a razor-sharp bob took the helm and she wanted to make “changes” and “elevate” content.
I relayed my suspicions to anyone with ears, like I was a weirdo [women’s media company] conspiracy theorist. I rehearsed an emotionally detached goodbye speech every morning, in case it was the day. On my days off, I went on a flurry of job interviews and covertly took unpaid edit tests.
When a TV network recruiter asked me why I wanted to leave my seemingly cushy editor job, I tried to bullshit an answer, but then stopped. After a beat, I blurted out: “I’m pretty sure I’m getting laid off soon.”
But aside from those suspicions, my life felt uncertain and up in the air until it happened on the evening of Nov. 6, 2019. When I received an ominous calendar meeting invite for the next day, Nov. 7th, scheduled for 7 a.m. Pacific Time.
After receiving the cal invite, I reluctantly RSVP’d yes — and accepted my fate, along with about 30 other colleagues. That afternoon, goodbyes were said, and freaking out was done, but I refused to cry. I was losing a job I loved and my emotions were far more complicated than just tears. I was devastated to be ripped away from my wonderful team of writers and colleagues — a job that I had loved for over 5 years.
And knowing the end was coming in less than 24 hours, it came in a rapid-fire combination: adrenaline, anger, and anticipation. I simultaneously wanted to get it over with and stay in the moment “before.” At least here in the “before,” I had some power, a voice. I felt vindicated. Ha! You think you’re so slick, but you can’t fool me. I knew this was coming for three months! I KNEW.
As if that mattered.
Then, there was a sliver of hope that the 7 a.m. meeting was just a meeting. But I knew better; this wasn’t my first rodeo.
I distracted myself by cueing up whatever music was on YouTube to quiet my mind for a bit. And that’s when the algorithm decided on Jimmy Eat World’s “555.” No matter what song I chose, “555” was always the next song.
My mind kept focusing on a terribly appropriate lyric from the chorus— so much that by the end of the night, I really believed it: “There’s always a reason to let it change.”
Any sliver of hope I had slipped away. I thought, Even the YouTube algorithm knew I was losing my job.
The next morning, I recited the goodbye speech around 7:20 a.m. Pacific Time. I delivered it just like I had always practiced, except for one unexpected snag—when I got to the end, I cried.
I held onto the fact that I KNEW as some kind of badge of honor. As if I had any control in this knee-jerk layoff-happy industry. As if it mattered.
But to me, it did for a while. Job searches felt so powerless, so I clung to the small smidge of power I had left. I got laid off…but I KNEW it was coming. Tehehehehe.
After outlets like CNN and Variety reported on my awful day and misspelled my name, several other media companies contacted me with job postings, urging me to apply.
It felt like a life preserver that could pull me ashore during the storm. But once I grabbed on, these companies disappeared and moved on to save someone else, another victim of unfortunate media tragedy.
And so the cycle continued.
Because a media company can’t save you. You save yourself.
Part 2: Tough Times in Podcasting, 2023
I didn’t end up at the unionized newspaper giant I wanted to work at so badly that I interviewed there for 2.5 roles (long story). Instead, I accepted a job at [a podcasting studio] owned by [giant tech company]. Within that first year, I helped unionize [the podcasting studio] and got involved in every way I could.
Because a tech company can’t save you either. You save yourself. And in the 2020s, you did that by unionizing. (I really believed that, too.)
It was great…for a few years. A global pandemic waxed and waned and waxed and waned. I helped [the podcasting studio] bargain and win a strong union contract (or so I thought).
Then, another woman with a razor-sharp bob took the helm on the same day my boss and half of my coworkers were invited to a big meeting and never came back. She wanted to make “changes” and “elevate” content.
Here we go again, I thought.
I knew I was getting laid off eight months before it happened.
I relayed my suspicions to anyone with ears, like I was a weirdo [giant tech company] conspiracy theorist who also wrote for a podcast about conspiracy theories. Every morning, I checked my Google Calendar at 6 a.m. to see if that day was the day. On the days I worked from home, I went on a flurry of job interviews and covertly took unpaid edit tests. Our union Slack asked “layoffs?” for eight months.
I didn’t rehearse a goodbye speech this time. What more was there to say?
During interviews, recruiters saw the news headlines about [giant tech company]’s struggles and nodded when I blurted out: “I’m pretty sure I’m getting laid off soon.”
But aside from those suspicions, my life felt uncertain and up in the air for eight months until the morning of June 5th, 2023. My cat jumped on my pillow, screeched, and pulled my hair, insisting I wake up at 6:30 a.m. PT and causing me to check my phone (my bad habit). I saw that outlets like CNBC and The Hollywood Reporter reported [podcasting studio]’s closure, causing my Dad to panic text me at 9:30 a.m. ET. Finally, I checked my work calendar, where I received an ominous meeting invite from HR scheduled for 11:30 a.m. PT.
Everyone knew I was losing my job — even my cat.
And knowing the end was finally coming in less than 5 hours, it came in a rapid-fire combination: adrenaline, anger, and anticipation. I simultaneously wanted to get it over with and stay in the moment “before.” At least here in the “before,” I had some power, a voice. I felt vindicated again.
Ha! You think you’re so slick, but you can’t fool me. I knew this was coming FOR EIGHT MONTHS.
But it didn’t matter. Because 200 colleagues and I still lost our jobs, even if was a long time coming.
Goodbyes were said in a meeting titled “crying,” and freaking out was done, but I refused to cry. I was losing a job I loved and my emotions were far more complicated than just tears. I was devastated to be ripped away from my colleagues — another job that I had loved for over 5 years.
I cried two weeks later. Turns out, some unions only make you feel comfortable until the inevitable end, but they can’t save you. You save yourself.
And so the cycle continues.
