The #BowWowChallenge: What do you make anyway?
We can’t solve economic insecurity if we can’t talk about it
Last week, Shad Moss aka Bow Bow formerly aka Lil Bow Bow caught some shit for juicing his Gram with a G6 that sure as hell wasn’t his.
That is to say: the former-child-star-rapper-turned-CSI-cyber-hacker downloaded a picture of a private plane from a luxury services website and posted it to his 3.5 million Instagram followers; except he shot it off from the window seat of his commercial flight claiming that the photo was his personal ride for a press tour he was just taking off for. Inevitably, the internet found out, and (mostly, Black) Twitter in all its magnanimity created the #BowWowChallenge. Hilarity ensued as post after post after post of people getting their fake billionaire on filled my feed.
The internet loves nothing more than taking down posers and hypocrites, and while I normally count myself as one of these gleeful sheep, I didn’t want any part of this latest trending public shaming — because it’s about money.
Perhaps I was reticent because I was figuring out my own personal budget for the summer and realizing I’m going to have to pick up extra work to make it. Perhaps it was that sense of dread that has been present for most of my adult life — that, for a moment, I had thought I had escaped for good — beginning to creep back in. Will I make rent and the bills this month? How can I cut spending so the kids don’t feel it? How long can I get away without paying that one bill?
Money makes us uncomfortable. It’s a taboo subject for conversation — amongst friends, coworkers, even family members. Instead of having candid conversations, we funnel that insecurity about our own financial situations into monitoring the wealth of others. By keeping money and status secretive, we perpetuate the notion of prosperity and wealth as a zero-sum game.
That it was Bow Wow who did the thing, and because of the self-aggrandizing opulence mainstream hip-hop has come to represent, the expectations that accompany the projection of wealth are heightened. As Aliysa S. King points out on BET, though:
When people like DJ Funk Master Flex, Charlamagne the God, 50 Cent, Chance the Rapper and more mock you for pretending to have what you once did, where does that take you?
When you’ve sold out stadiums at a time when all of the above people couldn’t dream of doing so — and still can’t — where does that take you?
We all have our insecurities. We all want people to see us a certain way. I’m not sure what clowning someone like Bow Wow is supposed to prove. I guess it’s supposed to be funny?
It’s not news that, as a culture, we are all complicit in idolizing wealth, and those who sit on the fattest wallets are put on a pedestal. We’ve imbued the accumulation of dollars and property with a certain kind of moral virtue. I mean, look at the dude in the Oval Office.
On the flip side, however, we’ve made a lack of money something to be ashamed of. Our political discourse is suffused with the idea of righting the injustice of income inequality. Yet we hide our own economic insecurity. The conversation is defined by how high the inequality swells, but never how deeply it hurts the most affected. Instead, we restrict our own money-induced anxieties to frantic kitchen-table conversations and 3am night terrors.
How do we begin to tackle a problem as large as the widening income gap when we can’t cross the chasm with each other? Questions like, How much do you make? are not for polite company. Saying, I don’t know how I’ll pay for rent, to our bosses is a frightening proposition for far too many of us.
To address growing economic insecurity, a culture shift is in order. One where we openly discuss what we make (and how we spend it). It may not squash the individual anxiety — the bills will still pile up after all — but at least we can begin to collectively shoulder the burden and start to strip the centralized power of the decision-makers.
At the Chicago Reader, workers are hoping the disinfecting nature of sunlight does its work. They’ve posted their respective salaries and experience up in their office to exert pressure on management. From Fusion:
For the past 16 months, the unionized employees at the Reader have not gotten any raises — and, they say, “some staffers have not received so much as a cost-of-living raise in more than a decade.” That is on top of staffing cuts of more than 30% since the current owners, Wrapports LLC, took over in 2012. Those owners are a group of wealthy investors. The highest paid editorial staffer at the Reader makes $55,000 per year.
This is that culture shift in action.
Being open about how much you make requires a great deal of bravery. Not just because when people find out you aren’t worth much, their estimation of you might diminish, but because it puts those who pay you on the spot — subsequently, putting your job on the line. Talking about money not only exposes yourself to the world, but focuses management’s attention on you. And when facing the very real threat of economic insecurity, you don’t want to rock the boat.
Secrecy around salaries and income has long been a major driver of race and gender inequality. When we’re all more open about what we make, it’s a lot harder to disguise the wage gap.
As a freelancer and contractor, my income is not as consistent as it would be were I full-time staff somewhere. Relative to so many, I am fortunate for my circumstances. I am far from living the good life, however, and on a month-to-month basis, I have to track my expenses to make sure I make it.
I make $1,000 a month here researching policy and occasionally contributing content. I have $3,000/month contract with a political campaign that will end in August, and — fingers crossed — I’ll secure another one at the same rate sometime in the next week. I have set aside 20-30% of all my income for tax purposes, which I’ve already withdrawn from because to secure a 12-month lease on the most affordable apartment in Seattle I had to pay over $4,000 in deposit as well as first and last month’s rent. Housing will continue to cost me $1,500/month for a two-bedroom that the kids can sleep in when they stay with me. I pay another $1,500 in child support. I pay down my debt slowly — $220/month. I’m presently putting off health insurance. My car was towed two weeks ago and on top of the $200 it took to get it out of the tow lot, I’m weighing paying the $150 ticket that came with it or the one I got weeks ago. A savings account is a laughable proposition.
We can’t solve economic insecurity if we can’t talk about it.
Sure, lets talk about how only the top 10% of wage earners in America have seen their paychecks increase since 1979. Of course, the top 0.1% make over 184 times the amount that the bottom 90% make — $6,087,113 to $33,068, respectively. You bet your ass that productivity has more than doubled since 1972 while real hourly compensation has flat-lined. As with most systemic issues, however, the top-line numbers only set the foundation. Anecdotal evidence will be what shapes the conversation and affects change.
When you go to work tomorrow, if you can afford it, ask your boss their salary. Tell your co-worker how much you make. Find out what the median income is for where you live or the industry average. Ask if what you make relative to that is fair. Begin the conversation. I know, it’s scary. Trust me, it’ll be easier to shade Shad and just Instagram another zoomed-in shot of that tropical-destination timeshare brochure that just came in the mail for another hilarious addition to the #BowWowChallenge. But the best path forward is to honestly and bravely tell our stories: to not shy away from what makes us vulnerable and to invite in nuance.
This is more than just a workplace conversation too. In the way we overcome the discomfort and ideological distance in conversations about politics, we have to begin to be open about salary and income. It is, after all, the main driver of socioeconomic class, which in turn shapes so much of how we move through the world. Openly discussing our incomes is a necessary, courageous step in developing an economy built around people — one that thrives because of our connection to and dependence on one another.
