Bait and Switch: The (Futile) Pursuit of the American Dream
Barbara Ehrenreich
Praise for Bait and Switch by Barbara Ehrenreich
“Ehrenreich is a keen observer of American culture.”
—Fortune
“Bait and Switch . . . resembles a novel by Evelyn Waugh, in which a middle-aged social critic with supersonic verbal skills, a Voltaire pretending to be a Candide, disappears into a zombie zone of career counselors, résumé writers, networking and job fairs.”
—Harper’s
“Insightful . . . her experiences are perversely fascinating, and Ehrenreich conveys them with humor and aplomb.”
—Business Week
“Wry, eloquent, hilarious.”
—Entertainment Weekly
“Acerbic and astute.”
—Mother Jones
“Illuminating . . . fall’s smartest read.”
—Glamour
“Vivid and compelling.”
—Dissent
“The humorous and the melancholy are tightly entwined throughout the book.”
—Newsday
“Ehrenreich uncovers outposts . . . that most journalists would have trouble learning about. . . . What Ehrenreich has found is something that can’t be gleaned from reams of data about levels of middle-class income and unemployment.”
—Columbia Journalism Review
“Engaging.”
—The Seattle Times
“Skillfully dissects how job gurus deploy the language of self-actualization and magic thinking to cow their clients.”
—Elle
“Sharply observed and, perhaps more surprising, funny.”
—Common Wealth
“Laugh-out-loud funny.”
—The Richmond Times-Dispatch
“Being unemployed is devastating, and Ehrenreich does a sound job reminding us of the emotional toll.”
—Fast Company Magazine
“Ehrenreich’s description of the dull-eyed anomie of the white middle class is spot on.”
—The American Conservative
“Ehrenreich’s acerbic critiques are devastating. . . . She does a superb job of focusing the spotlight on a nether world of those without jobs or those profoundly shaken by their inability to find economic security.”
—The Charlotte Observer
ALSO BY BARBARA EHRENREICH
Nickel and Dimed: On (Not) Getting By in America
Blood Rites: Origins and History of the Passions of War
The Snarling Citizen
Kipper’s Game
The Worst Years of Our Lives: Irreverent Notes from a Decade of Greed
Fear of Falling: The Inner Life of the Middle Class
The Hearts of Men: American Dreams and the Flight from Commitment
Global Woman: Nannies, Maids, and Sex Workers in the New Economy
(with Arlie Russell Hochschild)
Re-making Love: The Feminization of Sex
(with Elizabeth Hess and Gloria Jacobs)
For Her Own Good: 150 Years of the Experts’ Advice to Women
(with Deirdre English)
Witches, Midwives, and Nurses: A History of Women Healers
(with Deirdre English)
Complaints and Disorders: The Sexual Politics of Sickness
(with Deirdre English)
Bait and Switch
Bait and Switch
The (Futile) Pursuit of the American Dream
Barbara Ehrenreich
Owl Books
Henry Holt and Company, LLC
Publishers since 1866
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, New York 10010
www.henryholt.com
An Owl Book® and ® are registered trademarks of
Henry Holt and Company, LLC.
Copyright © 2005 by Barbara Ehrenreich
All rights reserved.
Distributed in Canada by H. B. Fenn and Company Ltd.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Ehrenreich, Barbara.
Bait and switch: the (futile) pursuit of the American dream / Barbara Ehrenreich.—1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN-10: 0-8050-8124-0
ISBN-13: 978-0-8050-8124-4
1. Displaced workers—United States. 2. White collar workers—United States. 3. Job hunting—United States. 4. Downward mobility (Social sciences)—United States. I. Title.
HD5708.55.U6E47 2005
654.14′086′22—dc22
2005047916
Henry Holt books are available for special promotions and
premiums. For details contact: Director, Special Markets.
Originally published in hardcover in 2005
by Metropolitan Books
First Owl Books Edition 2006
Designed by Kelly Too
Printed in the United States of America
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
contents
Introduction
one Finding a Coach in the Land of Oz
two Stepping Out into the World of Networking
three Surviving Boot Camp
four The Transformation
five Networking with the Lord
six Aiming Higher
seven In Which I Am Offered a “Job”
eight Downward Mobility
Conclusion
Afterword
Acknowledgments
author’s note
Most names in this book have been changed in the interest of privacy. The exceptions, in the majority of cases, are public speakers who were introduced by name and people I interviewed who agreed to have their full names used.
Bait and Switch
Introduction
Because I’ve written a lot about poverty, I’m used to hearing from people in scary circumstances. An eviction notice has arrived. A child has been diagnosed with a serious illness and the health insurance has run out. The car has broken down and there’s no way to get to work. These are the routine emergencies that plague the chronically poor. But it struck me, starting in about 2002, that many such tales of hardship were coming from people who were once members in good standing of the middle class—college graduates and former occupants of midlevel white-collar positions. One such writer upbraided me for what she saw as my neglect of hardworking, virtuous people like herself.
Try investigating people like me who didn’t have babies in high school, who made good grades, who work hard and don’t kiss a lot of ass and instead of getting promoted or paid fairly must regress to working for $7/hr., having their student loans in perpetual deferment, living at home with their parents, and generally exist in debt which they feel they may never get out of.
Stories of white-collar downward mobility cannot be brushed off as easily as accounts of blue-collar economic woes, which the hard-hearted traditionally blame on “bad choices”: failing to get a college degree, for example, failing to postpone child-bearing until acquiring a nest egg, or failing to choose affluent parents in the first place. But distressed white-collar people cannot be accused of fecklessness of any kind; they are the ones who “did everything right.” They earned higher degrees, often setting aside their youthful passion for philosophy or music to suffer through dull practical majors like management or finance. In some cases, they were high achievers who ran into trouble precisely because they had risen far enough in the company for their salaries to look like a tempting cost cut. They were the losers, in other words, in a classic game of bait and switch. And while blue-collar poverty has become numbingly routine, white-collar unemployment—and the poverty that often results—remains a rude finger in the face of the American dream.
I realized
that I knew very little about the mid- to upper levels of the corporate world, having so far encountered this world almost entirely through its low-wage, entry-level representatives. I was one of them—a server in a national chain restaurant, a cleaning person, and a Wal-Mart “associate”—in the course of researching an earlier book, Nickel and Dimed: On (Not) Getting By in America. Like everyone else, I’ve also encountered the corporate world as a consumer, dealing with people quite far down in the occupational hierarchy—retail clerks, customer service representatives, telemarketers. Of the levels where decisions are made—where the vice presidents, account executives, and regional managers dwell—my experience has been limited to seeing these sorts of people on airplanes, where they study books on “leadership,” fiddle with spreadsheets on their laptops, or fall asleep over biographies of the founding fathers.1 I’m better acquainted with the corporate functionaries of the future, many of whom I’ve met on my visits to college campuses, where “business” remains the most popular major, if only because it is believed to be the safest and most lucrative.2
But there have been growing signs of trouble—if not outright misery—within the white-collar corporate workforce. First, starting with the economic downturn of 2001, there has been a rise in unemployment among highly credentialed and experienced people. In late 2003, when I started this project, unemployment was running at about 5.9 percent, but in contrast to earlier economic downturns, a sizable portion—almost 20 percent, or about 1.6 million—of the unemployed were white-collar professionals.3 Previous downturns had disproportionately hit blue-collar people; this time it was the relative elite of professional, technical, and managerial employees who were being singled out for media sympathy. In April 2003, for example, the New York Times Magazine offered a much-discussed cover story about a former $300,000-a-year computer industry executive reduced, after two years of unemployment, to working as a sales associate at the Gap.4 Throughout the first four years of the 2000s, there were similar stories of the mighty or the mere midlevel brought low, ejected from their office suites and forced to serve behind the counter at Starbucks.
Today, white-collar job insecurity is no longer a function of the business cycle—rising as the stock market falls and declining again when the numbers improve.5 Nor is it confined to a few volatile sectors like telecommunications or technology, or a few regions of the country like the rust belt or Silicon Valley. The economy may be looking up, the company may be raking in cash, and still the layoffs continue, like a perverse form of natural selection, weeding out the talented and successful as well as the mediocre. Since the midnineties, this perpetual winnowing process has been institutionalized under various euphemisms such as “downsizing,” “right-sizing,” “smart-sizing,” “restructuring,” and “de-layering”—to which we can now add the outsourcing of white-collar functions to cheaper labor markets overseas.
In the metaphor of the best-selling business book of the first few years of the twenty-first century, the “cheese”—meaning a stable, rewarding, job—has indeed been moved. A 2004 survey of executives found 95 percent expecting to move on, voluntarily or otherwise, from their current jobs, and 68 percent concerned about unexpected firings and layoffs.6 You don’t, in other words, have to lose a job to feel the anxiety and despair of the unemployed.
A second sign of trouble could be called “overemployment.” I knew, from my reading, that mid- and high-level corporate executives and professionals today often face the same punishing demands on their time as low-paid wage earners who must work two jobs in order to make ends meet. Economist Juliet Schor, who wrote The Overworked American, and business journalist Jill Andresky Fraser, author of White Collar Sweatshop, describe stressed-out white-collar employees who put in ten- to twelve-hour-long days at the office, continue to work on their laptops in the evening at home, and remain tethered to the office by cell phone even on vacations and holidays. “On Wall Street, for example,” Fraser reports, “it is common for a supervisor to instruct new hires to keep a spare set of clothes and toothbrush in the office for all those late night episodes when it just won’t make sense to head home for a quick snooze.”7 She quotes an Intel employee:
If you make the choice to have a home life, you will be ranked and rated at the bottom. I was willing to work the endless hours, come in on weekends, travel to the ends of the earth. I had no hobbies, no outside interests. If I wasn’t involved with the company, I wasn’t anything.8
Something, evidently, is going seriously wrong within a socioeconomic group I had indeed neglected as too comfortable and too powerful to merit my concern. Where I had imagined comfort, there is now growing distress, and I determined to investigate. I chose the same strategy I had employed in Nickel and Dimed: to enter this new world myself, as an undercover reporter, and see what I could learn about the problems first-hand. Were people being driven out of their corporate jobs? What did it take to find a new one? And, if things were as bad as some reports suggested, why was there so little protest?
The plan was straightforward enough: to find a job, a “good” job, which I defined minimally as a white-collar position that would provide health insurance and an income of about $50,000 a year, enough to land me solidly in the middle class. The job itself would give me a rare firsthand glimpse into the midlevel corporate world, and the effort to find it would of course place me among the most hard-pressed white-collar corporate workers—the ones who don’t have jobs.
Since I wanted to do this as anonymously as possible, certain areas of endeavor had to be excluded, such as higher education, publishing (magazines, newspapers, and books), and nonprofit liberal organizations. In any of these, I would have run the risk of being recognized and perhaps treated differently—more favorably, one hopes—than the average job seeker. But these restrictions did not significantly narrow the field, since of course most white-collar professionals work in other sectors of the for-profit, corporate world—from banking to business services, pharmaceuticals to finance.
The decision to enter corporate life—and an unfamiliar sector of it, at that—required that I abandon, or at least set aside, deeply embedded attitudes and views, including my longstanding critique of American corporations and the people who lead them. I had cut my teeth, as a fledgling investigative journalist in the seventies, on the corporations that were coming to dominate the health-care system: pharmaceutical companies, hospital chains, insurance companies. Then, sometime in the eighties, I shifted my attention to the treatment of blue-and pink-collar employees, blaming America’s intractable level of poverty—12.5 percent by the federal government’s official count, 25 percent by more up-to-date measures—on the chronically low wages offered to nonprofessional workers. In the last few years, I seized on the wave of financial scandals—from Enron through, at the time of this writing, HealthSouth and Hollingers International—as evidence of growing corruption within the corporate world, a pattern of internal looting without regard for employees, consumers, or even, in some cases, stockholders.
But for the purposes of this project, these criticisms and reservations had to be set aside or shoved as far back in my mind as possible. Like it or not, the corporation is the dominant unit of the global economy and the form of enterprise that our lives depend on in a day-to-day sense. I write this on an IBM laptop while sipping Lipton tea and wearing clothes from the Gap—all major firms or elements thereof. It’s corporations that make the planes run (though not necessarily on time), bring us (and increasingly grow) our food, and generally “make it happen.” I’d been on the outside of the corporate world, often complaining bitterly, and now I wanted in.
THIS WOULD NOT, I knew, be an altogether fair test of the job market, if only because I had some built-in disadvantages as a job seeker. For one thing, I am well into middle age, and since age discrimination is a recognized problem in the corporate world even at the tender age of forty, I was certainly vulnerable to it myself. This defect, however, is by no means unique to me. Many people—from displaced h
omemakers to downsized executives—now find themselves searching for jobs at an age that was once associated with a restful retirement.
Furthermore, I had the disadvantage of never having held a white-collar job with a corporation. My one professional-level office job, which lasted for about seven months, was in the public sector, at the New York City Bureau of the Budget. It had involved such typical white-collar activities as attending meetings, digesting reports, and writing memos; but that was a long time ago, before cell phones, PowerPoint, and e-mail. In the corporate world I now sought to enter, everything would be new to me: the standards of performance, the methods of evaluation, the lines and even the modes of communication. But I’m a quick study, as you have to be in journalism, and counted on this to get me by.
The first step was to acquire a new identity and personal history to go with it, meaning, in this case, a résumé. It is easier to change your identity than you might think. Go to Alavarado and Seventh Street in Los Angeles, for example, and you will be approached by men whispering, “ID, ID.” I, however, took the legal route, because I wanted my documents to be entirely in order when the job offers started coming in. My fear, perhaps exaggerated, was that my current name might be recognized, or would at least turn up an embarrassing abundance of Google entries. So in November 2003 I legally changed back to my maiden name, Barbara Alexander, and acquired a Social Security card to go with it.
As for the résumé: although it had to be faked, I wanted it as much as possible to represent my actual skills, which, I firmly believed, would enrich whatever company I went to work for. I am a writer—author of thousands of published articles and about twelve nonfiction books, counting the coauthored ones—and I know that “writing” translates, in the corporate world, into public relations or “communications” generally. Many journalism schools teach PR too, which may be fitting, since PR is really journalism’s evil twin. Whereas a journalist seeks the truth, a PR person may be called upon to disguise it or even to advance an untruth. If your employer, a pharmaceutical company, claims its new drug cures both cancer and erectile dysfunction, your job is to promote it, not to investigate the grounds for these claims.
