When I walk onto the thirty-second floor of SPP Tower Monday morning, after a weekend of recounting my trip to Park Slope over and over again to Leila and Willow and shoveling turkey and cranberry sauce sandwiches down my throat, I’m not sure what to expect.
Loretta’s staff-wide email went out this morning, as expected. To my surprise, it was much more emotional than I had given her credit for. I could practically hear her erratic sniffling through the lettering on the page.
Dear Vinyl family,
It is with great sadness and chagrin that I must inform you that as of today, I am stepping down as editor in chief of Vinyl magazine, effective immediately. This brand has been my home for over a decade and working here has taught me everything I know about being a good writer, editor, and peer. I am so proud of all the work we have accomplished together, from our coverage of the 2016 election to our trend reporting during New York Fashion Week. Since its conception, Vinyl has always been the premier destination for women’s culture content. I have no doubt that this will continue under the leadership of my successor, Jade Aki. She has an exquisite vision for the digital site, and I am comforted by the fact that I will be leaving my beloved in very good, finely manicured hands.
It was such an honor to work with each and every one of you. I have no doubt that I am better for knowing you, learning from you, and growing alongside you. I can’t wait to watch as every single of one of you steps into the limelight and changes the earth’s gravitational pull, one groundbreaking piece of journalism at a time.
Good-bye for now, my kitties! Please do stay in touch.
Ms. Loretta James
So that’s it then. Just like that, an era ends. And while I have yet to receive an email from Margaret Hader informing me my services are no longer needed and that I can collect my things and be gone by the end of the day, I have no doubt there’s one sitting in her drafts, just waiting to be sent. But I’ve come prepared, armed with two giant tote bags and a stack of thank-you notes. I plan to write every single person on staff a handwritten goodbye note, with my personal email attached. If I’m going out, I’m going out in style. I refuse to burn a single bridge.
I’ll miss Saffron, of course. But I know we’ll stay in touch. They’ve transcended work-friend status. We’ve become forever friends, and we’ll continue to thrive outside the confines of SPP’s ceiling-to-floor windows. We’ll be just fine.
Honestly, I’m looking forward to having a little bit of time to refocus my thoughts and figure out what I actually want to do with my life.
Well, I know some things: I want to write for a publication that cares about its content, not just its clicks. And I want to be with someone who cares about me—all of me—not just what I can do for their career. And for the first time, I don’t think that’s too much to ask. I’m putting myself, my physical and mental health, first. Like Loretta said, I can’t serve others if I don’t serve myself first, right?
I refuse to settle.
But the industry is fundamentally flawed. Every single media company is struggling to figure out how to make money off clicks and clicks alone. Is it selling ad space? Running branded content alongside its daily features? Throwing sponsored events? No one has the answers, but everyone’s vying for solutions, fighting each other for the best resources and personnel in order to ensure their survival. Print magazines are as good as extinct; newspapers are growing archaic. Online portals are pivoting to video, then podcasts, then newsletters—all to no avail.
So, instead, they’re forced to lay people off. To freeze hiring. To acquire smaller companies or let larger conglomerates acquire them. To unionize in fear of being let go after years of humble service, just like Beth. We keep fighting yet feeding off one another, consuming each of us whole, until there are no individual brand identities. We’ll all just become one big internet black hole.
But then what becomes of the reader? Surely that big black hole will swallow the reader alive. There’s no shot they stand of staying alive navigating the ether, all alone. How will they learn to insert a tampon or register to vote? Where will they get their information, curate their taste, and formulate their opinions? What becomes of integrity, of free will?
The truth is, for far too long, the reader has been standing on a chipped star, one that’s slowly burning out and dying. If they don’t venture out, in search of a whole new universe, they’re headed for an inevitable collision.
I want to offer them refuge. I want to come up with the solution, to protect them by giving them a space in my shuttle. I just have to figure out where I’ll get my fuel.
Now that money is no longer an issue (Leila says business is good, and I choose to believe her), I think I’ll take some time to really put more thought into the content I’m curating. For the first time in six months, I can really sit down and write a meaningful discourse for NoorYorkCity. I’ll freelance to make ends meet, pitching stories that are timely and potent. In fact, Saffron already said I can pitch them whenever an idea comes to mind.
So I guess Beth was right. I will be okay. I am more than where I work.
The first thing I hear is the sound of laughter and shouting, followed by vintage Britney Spears.
When I turn the corner, I find the entirety of Vinyl’s Digital team clinking red SOLO cups filled with black coffee and mimosas and munching on bagels and lox as “Lucky” blares in the background.
I stand back, taking in the scene. They appear to be celebrating the announcement of Loretta’s departure, as if she had waved the white flag of surrender and the war were finally won. Vinyl Digital is victorious, once and for all. Jade Aki actually defeated all her enemies.
Seb spots me hiding in the corner and runs up to me, cheeks flushed from the alcohol.
“Did you hear? Ding-dong, the bitch is dead!” he declares cheerfully, grabbing my hand and pulling me into the group. Lola offers me a smile and a hit of her vape, but I politely decline.
I take a seat next to Saffron, who gives my shoulder a squeeze to let me know they’re here if I need anything before joining in on the fun. I sink into their desk chair and listen as they chatter away with excitement about what their jobs will look like now that they’re the only Vinyl editors on staff.
“I bet we’ll all be given raises,” Gwen says. “How could we not? We’ll be pulling double the weight.”
“Or even promotions,” Crystal adds. “I mean, think about it. If I was the Digital Fashion editor, and there was a Print Fashion editor, but now I’m absorbing her writers and publishing all the content she normally did, I’m basically two people in one body! How does that not make me the senior Fashion editor, at the very least?”
“You don’t manage anyone,” Alex says curtly.
Crystal rolls her eyes. “Whatever,” she says. “The title is symbolic.”
Everyone starts talking on top of one another again, trying to envision what an editorial restructure and a magazine run entirely by Jade would look like. Would we swap out all our marquee photographers for young, queer, up-and-comers? Maybe we’d finally stop partnering with old haute couture fashion houses and collaborate with designers who are passionate about sustainability and inclusion, like Jeremy Scott or Patrick Church. As my coworkers hypothesize, I zone out while staring at the padlock on Loretta’s door.
It occurs to me that Loretta never told me what I should do with all her things. I think about the framed photo of Sarah she has sitting on her desk. Should I box it all up and ship it to her town house in Park Slope? Should I donate what’s left of her overflowing comp table to charity or my local homeless shelter? Or should I leave it all to be turned in with my security badge?
“What was that?” Alex asks.
Oops. I didn’t realize I had been speaking out loud that entire time.
“Sorry, I was trying to figure out what I should do with all the shit left behind in Loretta’s office.”
Lola snorts.
“Who the fuck cares? Loretta’s an elitist reptile who never gave a single shit about a single person in this office.” She exhales, blowing out a thick cloud of smoke. “God, it feels good to be able to say that out loud.”
“That’s not true. She cared about me. And the magazine.”
“Don’t be such an idiot, Noora,” Seb says. “It’s not cute. Loretta used you just like she used everyone else. Stop defending her! There’s no need to give two shits about her opinion. Don’t wish her well! Be like me. I hope she gets hit by the L train! Or gets bitten by a rat and contracts some new strain of the bubonic plague!”
“Seb,” Saffron interrupts, narrowing their eyes. “Too soon. Too far.”
I sit in silence and watch the team crack up over Seb’s machinations, before moving on to gossiping about members of the Print team’s layoff announcements and job searches. They whisper and gasp in a repetitive pattern, as if tossing a ball back and forth, spreading rumors instead of kindness.
I can’t believe this is the group of people I once idolized, the “good guys” I wanted so badly to be a part of. I guess you can’t really be a hero without making a caricature of the villain. Most people aren’t “good” or “bad,” “woke” or “bigoted.” The majority of us just exist in a gray area, trying to make the right decisions and to cover our tracks when we make the wrong ones. It’s survival of the fittest, really. And sometimes, the most socially aware can be the most problematic of them all.
“Well, I’m going to go pack up my things.” I say, interrupting their celebratory chugging competition. “I’ll be at my desk if anyone needs me until the end of the day.”
“And where exactly do you think you’re going?” Kelsea asks, emerging from behind me. She’s dressed in a long Canada Goose jacket and a cashmere beanie with a pom-pom sprouting from the top like a sunflower. If I were a betting man, I’d wager it’s made of real fur.
“If Loretta’s out, that means there’s no room for me here anymore.”
Kelsea rolls her eyes and gestures for me to walk with her.
“Well, do you have a minute before your big concession speech? Because Jade wants a minute alone with you.”
I raise my eyebrows, and she shrugs. We continue to inch toward Jade’s office.
“If I had to guess, she wants you to pass on a message to Loretta? Maybe you can kindly tell her where she can stick it,” she says with a defiant smirk.
“Sure, Kelsea,” I say, smiling. She clearly has no idea corporate offered Loretta the opportunity to stay on and that Jade was handed her job on a platter. It feels nice to know something she doesn’t, for a change. “I bet that’s it.”
We arrive at Jade’s door. Kelsea knocks slowly then leans her ear against the door.
“J, I have Noora here for you.”
“Great, send her in!” Jade calls from inside.
Kelsea turns to me and flips her hair off from her shoulders.
“Good luck!”
I’ve never been in Jade’s office before, but it’s exactly what I’d expect. It’s smaller than Loretta’s and doesn’t have a single window. In fact, it’s more like a glorified closet space with a few cabinets, a desk, and a rolling chair. I’m sure she’s just itching to get her hands on Loretta’s kingdom. The walls are covered with framed Basquiat prints, and there’s a thick, red Supreme sticker on the back of her laptop. Instead of a second desk chair, she opted for a plush green couch. On second thought, I think it’s actually the color jade.
“Hey, Noora! Or should, I say C. Bates?”
She playfully nudges my arm, and I breathe out a sigh of relief. In all the excitement, I had totally forgotten about my column. Of course, this is what Jade wants to talk to me about.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. I had made an agreement with Loretta that I wouldn’t do any writing for the Digital team and didn’t want to break my promise to her. I was afraid of losing my job. But Saffron and I are tight, and when they needed a writer in a crunch, I didn’t want to let them down. It was never my intention to lie to you or anyone else on the team. I never expected the article to get picked up, and it all spun out of control.”
I finish my rant and catch my breath as Jade watches me. She’s practically licking her lips in anticipation of jumping in.
“Girl, why didn’t you just tell me? I totally admire your guts. You remind me of a young me, except much more badass. Did anyone ever tell you I started as Loretta’s assistant?”
I nod slowly, curious as to what she’s getting at.
“I know what a royal pain in the ass she can be. She’s basically Hitler in a skirt. But she’s gone now, and I’m going to take care of you. I think you’ve got real talent, Noora. And I’m so impressed with your dedication to inclusive, diverse, intersectional storytelling. It really shines through in your work. Thank you for your service!”
My body stings at the insensitive Hitler reference, but I brush it off.
“Wow, thank you,” I say, taken aback. “I mean, you’re welcome.”
“Which is why I’d like to offer you a full-time position here on the Vinyl Digital team, as the new associate Features editor. You’d be responsible for overseeing a handful of staff writers and writing one to two op-eds a week. You’ll also be working closely with our Wellness, Politics, and Fashion editors on profiles and editorial shoots. What do you say?”
I can’t believe this is actually happening to me.
I’ve spent years dreaming of this exact moment, and now that I’m in it, it feels like I’m wearing someone else’s skin.
“I-I’d like that very much,” I reply, my voice quivering.
I’ll have to call Leila right away to give her the news. Then Maman and Baba in Dubai. Jade claps with delight.
“Amazing! The next step will be bringing HR in to negotiate the official offer, but there were a few things I wanted to discuss with you first. I’d love for your Beauty Politics to remain an official Vinyl series, with you as the face behind it. That would mean coming out to the world as C. Bates, perhaps even doing a bit of press to explain Loretta was never behind the writing to begin with. I know that may seem daunting to you, or perhaps a little awkward, but I can ask Daniel to work with you on the prep so you aren’t surprised by any of the questions that come up. Obviously, a little Loretta-bashing is okay, but too much will be total overkill. Use your better judgment.”
“I, um—”
“There’s one other thing I wanted to talk to you about. Now, I’m sure you’re already aware of this, but you would be our only Middle Eastern editor on staff. In the coming year, I’d love for Vinyl to really lean into identity storytelling so we’re at the forefront of every social justice conversation happening in the media landscape. So, with that being said, how do you feel about playing up your heritage for the column? Would you feel comfortable wearing a hijab in your author photo? I think it could be really controversial, great for driving traffic. You’d inspire so many hate-clicks!”
My jaw drops.
There it is.
There’s the truth. The truth behind all the hashtags and viral videos.
Jade doesn’t care about inclusive storytelling any more than Loretta did. She cares about starting controversy. She isn’t interested in what I have to say as a writer; she only seeks to tokenize me.
My identity is just another commodity that can be packaged, repurposed, and used to drive traffic.
The Digital team is no better than the Print team. How profoundly disappointing.
I don’t even take a beat to think.
“Jade, thank you so much for your offer,” I wrinkle my nose. “But unfortunately, I’m going to decline.”
“What? Why?” Jade jumps out of her seat in a panic. “Was it the Loretta-bashing thing? Because I was only half serious about her being Hitler!”
I stand up to meet her at eye level. As I do, my remaining anxiety melts off my body, down my legs, and into the floor. I feel calm and levelheaded for the first time in months.
I am wielding my own power.
“Respectfully, a hijab is not a prop. And neither am I.”