The last living staff editor
Melinda discusses getting laid off and the future of the media industry.
One day, I might tell my children of a time when there were media websites, and that I was one of the people who worked at them. And that there were people before me, who invented these kind of websites and magazines, who got in the room early, and made me want to be there, too. I’ll show them yellowed print pages with a mildewy smell, I’ll comb through dead links for fossilized round ups and reported articles and personal essays and opinion pieces and reviews and photographs and illustrations. I’ll try to explain what it was like before the meteor struck.
Except, the confusing part of the story is that I wasn’t there before the meteor struck. I’ve only heard about what it was like before the compounding mass extinction event — an obsession with social media and the pivot to video, private equity buying up sites and slashing budgets, the fallout of the pandemic and diminishing attention spans, a fiery torrent of false starts and false hopes. It’s no secret that the digital and print media landscape has been forgotten by most Americans, who are fine with letting the industry die a slow and disregarded death. But it’s the natural inclination of a writer to be charmed by a story, and so I ran towards ecological devastation, hoping I could be of some use.
By the time I graduated college, I knew I was picking over the bones of someone else’s leftovers. Still, my peers and I came hungry and happy to have a seat at the table. We were excited to be a part of something we’d heard so much about, a world that was fun and strange and fast and important. Four years later, and nearly ninety days out from being laid off from my position as an editor at a major website, can you believe I’m still just glad to have been in the room?
Dozens of times a year, I hear from high schoolers, college students, or even writers over a decade older than me who want to talk to me about my job and the journalism industry. They want to know how they can do what I did, if there’s some secret they’re missing. I always take their calls. I tell them that I was very lucky. I’ve had great editors and teachers and mentors and peers who cheered me on and took me seriously when they didn’t have to, people who helped me develop my writing and editing and believed in my work and who I could be. Not everyone gets so lucky, and I am sad to see the doorframe narrow so soon after I crossed the threshold. But also, I always say that you have to really want it — that the practice of writing and then making your writing and yourself known is a job that nobody can do for you.
I am still very lucky, but admittedly, I didn’t want it the same way I once did by the time I found myself on the chopping block. Some time in the last year or so, I became burnt out and jaded and bored, on a level not dissimilar to the way people sometimes confuse a heart attack for indigestion. Since I was unceremoniously booted from the company Slack, I no longer wake up in a cold sweat, and I am slowly but surely losing the urge to throw my laptop or myself out the window. Until it happened, I didn’t realize how badly I needed time to reset and survey the barren land, before thinking of setting out again.
Like any good journalist, I’ve been making calls and taking meetings. Here’s what I’ve learned:
Almost everyone is absolutely miserable, more so than I had previously realized. There are only three or four places people really want to work, and a shrinking, decent few other newsrooms that continue to stoke interest. Everything else is just a way to get paid too little for being stretched so thin, all for the sake of keeping some skin in the game. There is a worrying shortage of good editors. The gutting of crucial roles in fact checking, audience, and knowledge-specific journalism has been detrimental to giving readers what they want and need. The continual overlooking of fledgling workers, coupled with a need to stick to the status quo, has created an insular echo chamber that nobody can stand the sound of. The people who run media companies are cowering in the shadow of our current administration. They are content to dole out hostilities to their employees, thoughtful people who hesitate to fan the flames of discourse real or imagined for the corporation’s clicks and ad cents. Everyone is leaving or thinking about leaving, if they haven’t already been shown the door.
Of course, none of these are new facts. But it is sobering to hear now that I’m on the outside, for a little bit or maybe forever. My next full-time role might be in media, because I am a masochist, but it also very well may not be. A writing career tends to be at odds with many of the things I also love, such as expensive beauty products and expensive sandwiches and expensive vacations. I have “transferable skills” that make me eligible for a wide variety of marketing, public relations, and other adjacent jobs, so why not try and move on now? During the four years I spent at my previous job, many of my friends have been through three or four editorial sites, or ditched the industry altogether. I don’t blame them. In the time I spent at that job, I could’ve gotten another degree or tried something else. But that’s not what I wanted, and I’m really good at getting what I want.
I’ve been relatively successful in a short amount of time. Everywhere I go, people tell me that I’m a star, that they’re not worried about me. I know they’re right, and that I’m really good at what I do. But I also understand the reality of the situation. Everywhere, very smart people are being hung out to dry. This is amplified in certain contexts. When you are young and a woman and Black and talented, people will wring everything out of you just to see if they can. People of color are bearing the brunt of a stomach-turning pendulum swing, in an industry that has become increasingly every man for himself.
It is possible that I am part of the last wave of people to hold a staff editor position. There is no map of the path I was afforded, only an old history scrawled out in hearsay. It is my hope that I am wrong about this — after all, the writing was on the wall when I entered the industry, and still I succeeded. But as full-time positions become even more scarce and would-be mentors continue to get laid off, it’s clear that the party’s probably over. The room that the hopeful person on the other end of the phone is asking about doesn’t exist anymore. It hasn’t for some time. So, I try to be honest with them. You really have to want it. You owe it to yourself to try. But you have to know there’s still time to stop yourself from being romanced by the idea of things that happened before you, things that could happen for you but likely will not now, even with relentless work and edge and serendipitous circumstance.
As for my next trick? I still love writing and editing. I still want to be writing and editing, despite what I know now. Despite everything, nothing can change that I am compelled to do good work with smart people, and that I will search for another room and another room and another room, even if I don’t know what those places look like yet. Even if it looks different than before, even if I do other work to do this work, I will be in the room. I’m ready to feel inspired and creative again, and I’ll be around, because I don’t know another way to be.
So, I’m open for business. I’m interested in anything you might want to throw my way, but specifically in full-time or freelance writing, editing, copywriting work, creative consulting, and all other related gigs. If you’d like to talk or be a part of where the wind takes me, you can reach me at melindafakuade@gmail.com.
Platforms like Substack feel like an oasis in the desert at a time like this. Jury’s still out on whether it’s all a mirage or not, but Lilly and I have big plans for This Is Why!. We hope you’ll support our editorial work here, before the next meteor comes along. —MF
Mama let’s research
Find further reading and resources on this week’s topic below!
“The Adults In The Room” by Megan Greenwell - Deadspin — A classic banger. I read it a few times a year and it always holds up. The new idiots in charge scrubbed it from the site last year, but it still shows up on my end. Anyway, I’m linking to the text on Megan Greenwell’s personal site so you don’t have to give the company any money.
“Ten Years In A Crumbling Industry” by
- — On life moments before the meteor: “It felt, to quote Tony Soprano in the pilot episode, like it was ‘good to be in something from the ground floor.’ But the best is over.”“Welcome To The ‘Mask-Off Era” by Jemima Kelly - Financial Times — The first third of 2025, summarized.
“Media’s Unspoken ‘Talent’ Hierarchy” by
- annotations — The new roadmap for a chance at survival, for better or worse:“They command significant social-media followings due to their wit, expertise, authority, and/or ability to look good on camera. They know how to get attention. They are adept at cultivating a cult of personality; in an unstable job market, the upside of having parasocial followers may finally outweigh the drawbacks. They may still write magazine features—quaint!—but, really, the big prize nowadays is getting their own podcast or YouTube show or TikTok series or advice column, with a six-figure salary to boot.”
- - — A fantastic essay on continuing to identify as a writer in the age of artificial intelligence, even when the practice feels unrewarding or difficult.
- — — Brief musings on the devaluation of writers and critics, and on Graydon Carter’s new memoir When The Going Was Good, which I’m excited to read.
Hunter-gatherer corner
What we’ve read and DMed each other about lately — our internet bounty is below!
Bad Behavior by Mary Gaitskill — Melinda recently lent me her copy of Bad Behavior, my first foray into Gaitskill, and I read it in about a day and a half. Gaitskill tapped into a feeling of social isolation that I had previously associated so much with the digital age, and though it made me feel incredibly lonely, I also couldn’t stop reading it. — LM
credit: mr.joshua / @pants on X
Why Not?
Why Not? is our biweekly list of recommendations. Think recipes, gift guides, podcasts, clothes, and anything we consider to be generally chic. Have a suggestion? Let us know!
Lotus Towels - Matouk — Now, this really boils down to a dumb purchase that changed my life. For Valentine’s Day this year, my husband and I decided that instead of getting each other gifts, we’d just decide on a household item we wanted to upgrade and purchase it jointly. We chose towels since, frankly, the only towels we’ve owned since we moved in together was hand-me-downs from his parents — so we were in dire need of a new set. These are extremely plush and make me feel like I’m a millionaire about to jet off to my summer home. If you are ready to splurge, I highly recommend. — LM
Whole Fish with Lime Salsa Verde by Melissa Clark - NY Times Cooking — There’s few things I love more than forcing Mike to split a whole roasted branzino with me on a summer night. The idea of making a whole fish by myself always felt daunting, but it’s actually stupidly easy. I made us each a whole black bass using this recipe and added diced avocado to the salsa they suggested, and we devoured it. If you do decide to go forth and try this recipe for yourself, make sure to watch the video that comes with it — if only to appreciate the bizarre animation and overall weird vibe. — LM
Spicy Chicken + Cucumber Celery Ranch Salad - — This was a comforting midweek meal. I made it with herbed mashed potatoes on the side, and the trifecta is definitely entering our regular rotation. —MF
The strawberry shortcake matcha at Blank Street Coffee — Guys, they got me. Just trust me, okay? It’s perfect. The fact that this flavor is seasonal is already upsetting to me. (Even more upsetting is the PBJ flavor. It is so, so bad. Do not get it. Do not stray from God’s light when He has given us strawberry shortcake matcha.) I don’t remember the last time a bevvy had me in a headlock like this. —MF
If you liked this issue, jump over the moon! Tell us your thoughts in the comments or on Instagram (@lilly_milman | @melindafakuade), and share it with your unemployed friend on a random Tuesday (we all know someone who’s been recently laid off, don’t we?)