After a few months of job hunting, I drastically reduced my time on TikTok and Instagram. LinkedIn became my preferred social media app, less for entertainment and more for anything that looked like it might turn into a paycheck. A couple of weeks ago, I stepped away from the search and fired up Threads, hoping to find something lighter.
I didn’t. Instead, I stumbled upon a job posting that was trending for all of the wrong reasons.
The post sought a remote full-time creative strategist to join a Charlotte-based baby product retailer. The role sits at the content, branding, and social media crossroads, word to Bone Thugs-N-Harmony. “You need to be sharp, fast, and actually understand what makes people stop scrolling and buy,” the since-deleted post read. “This is . . . not a sit-back-and-brainstorm role.”
At face value, it read like a dope opportunity for someone willing to roll up their sleeves and market the hell out of some burping cushions. That is, until you consider the proposed salary: $55,000. Yes, 55,000 American dollars. For a mid-to-senior level marketing gig. Yikes. Talk about a recession indicator.
Threads tore it to shreds. And I understood the outrage. Some called the poster—who happened to be a Black woman—exploitative. Others said the salary was fair for some regions. One of my former colleagues jumped in with constructive criticism, suggesting that the startup biz owner reconfigure the role into a fractional executive or part-time contracted gig. And then, of course, there were jokes, with people mocking the post with a flood of quips and ridiculous pseudo-listings. (One of my faves: “Hey Congress, there’s a creative strategist role available since you don’t seem to want to do your current job.”)
I hated to see a Black woman dogpiled while major corporations are out here lowballing employees worse than Facebook Marketplace negotiations. But she stood on (small) business. She said she made the same salary after getting her master’s degree and insisted lots of people would happily take the role, benefits and all, with room to grow. Her inbox, she added, was already full. Anyone who disapproved was free to get the hell on and keep scrolling.
Once I was done procrastinating, I got reflective. It’s been more than six months since I’ve had a full-time role. Should I be laughing a little less and tweaking my resume to drop into this business owner’s DMs? Is it time to start considering jobs like this for less than half of what I used to make? Is this what my search has come to?
This time last year, I wouldn’t have even entertained the idea. I would’ve ki-ki’d, shaken my head, maybe forwarded the thread to a group chat, and kept it moving. But somewhere between week eight and week twenty-something of job hunting, those same dealbreakers get fuzzy, especially as bills stack and the fridge gets less crowded.
It’s not always a conscious shift. You don’t sit down and decide to lower your standards. It happens gradually. A listing you would’ve ignored starts to feel worth a second look. A salary that once felt disrespectful starts to feel doable after some lifestyle adjustments. But there’s a cost to that mental shift. You’re not just reevaluating the jobs you’re willing to take; you’re reevaluating yourself.
I recently interviewed for a junior temp role. I was overqualified, and I could feel it in real time. Now I’m waiting on a decision, my pride hanging in the balance. The question that lingers is whether I’m being flexible—or just lowballing my damn self.