How to Get Free Money And Still Be Broke

by Lilit Marcus

Journalism is the perfect job for being both rich and poor at the same time. The pay, of course, will make you poor. But the perks occasionally make you feel like you’re rich: free front-row tickets to events you’re covering, free lunches at nice hotels with publicists who are trying to suck up to you, and, greatest of all, swag bags. These bags are handed out to members of the fourth estate as freely as quinoa-cacao bars in a Tribeca kindergarten.

Recently, I attended a launch party for a new product. There was free champagne, a cute male publicist pretending to give a shit about me as we made small talk over mini grilled cheese sandwiches, and — holy of holies — an enormous gift bag. I tried to look blasé when I accepted it. Once I was safely on the subway home, though, I dived in.

Some gift bags are deceptive. They look plump in all the right places, but open them up and they’re a neon-blue tote bag emblazoned with the name of a brand you don’t want to be associated with and a USB with photos of that brand’s latest offering. This one, though, was a beauty. An expensive-smelling scented candle. A set of embossed gift tags for the hypothetical presents I was hypothetically going to give people someday. And a $100 gift certificate for a design store I’d never heard of.

When I got home, I Googled the design store’s website. It was gorgeous. It was also full of things that my shiny new gift certificate couldn’t pay for a third of: sumptuous hand-dyed blankets started at $500, while the least-bespoke set of two highball glasses ran for $350. I checked for a Sale section. There wasn’t one.

Few things will remind you of your station in life more quickly than a $100 gift card for a store where things begin at $300. It is a beautifully gift wrapped slap in the face. If you ever think that you are glamorous or that you live one of those elegant New York City lives that you used to dream about, a $100 gift certificate to a design store that has been featured in Vogue will knock you right back down to the un-air-conditioned walkup in Brooklyn where you belong.

After a few weeks of feeling sorry for myself, I had a few beers and decided that I wasn’t going to let the design store shame me. I browsed each section separately — unsurprisingly, it didn’t have a “sort by price” button — until I found the perfect object: a black “embossed Crocodile” pencil cup. It cost $85. With tax and shipping it came to $104.

Now, the pencil cup has a place of honor on my crowded cubicle, and it serves as a handy metaphor for the poor-passing-as-rich reporter life. It’s the kind of job where you keep track of which PR firms threw which events so you know exactly how often you can get away with wearing the same Anthropologie dress again and where your $85 pencil case is full of Bic pens with chewed-up caps. But you never know what tomorrow’s gift bag might hold.

Lilit Marcus is a New York City-based writer and tea addict. Her first book, Save The Assistants, was published by Hyperion. You can also look for her work in Conde Nast Traveler, the Wall Street Journal, and Cosmopolitan. Her sister says she dresses like a librarian. Follow her on Twitter @lilitmarcus.

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