Introducing the Poverty Elite

When I graduated college and I knew very little about my next steps. I had a signed lease for an apartment on Chicago's north side and a decent amount of my life's possessions (worth moving) in boxes. For graduation, I received a check from my dad with "Continued Support" written on the memo line.

After a brief gig in inside sales (cold calling is nobody's friend) and waiting tables (working 25 hours a week was unemployment in my book) I landed my current job. I work for an internationally renowned advertising group. We are a main subsidiary of one of the big four advertising holding companies. On paper, my gig is pretty fantastic. I assist in planning for consumer products for a multi-billion dollar company, I communicate with magazine reps coordinating book layouts and I enjoy a few perks along the way.

I also work two jobs to make up for my lack of salary.

I am part of a new group featured in a New York magazine article, Let Them Eat Crabcakes. Myself, and my co-workers, are part of the Poverty Elite. We are twenty-something college graduates jamming our closets with the best finds H&M offers us and the best sales Express can run while still rolling out profit. Our salaries are incredibly laughable, especially for this city. However, through our professional perks we rack up high lunch bills at Chicago's hottest spots, enjoy the benefits of regular facials, and (recently) saw Avatar the Thursday before its release.  Yes, I saw Avatar before John Mayer.  Unlike Mr. Mayer, I am somewhere around the poverty line.

We are not spoiled at our jobs by any means. My team alone supplies magazines with millions of dollars in spending...in one month. ONE scent strip in a certain woman's magazine can pay from my parent's house and my neighbor's. Myself and my team are immensely excited by our little perks. In the last month alone I shook hands with the fashion editor of a major Conde Nast beauty magazine, joked with a Hearst publisher over a fantastic lunch, and attempted to make ravioli from scratch at a cooking class with Meredith. I have connections with publishing houses and independent entrepreneurs. Most importantly, I have earned their respect.

So one day I will roll out of the poverty elite, ideally in a silver Audi, as I take that next big step in my career.  Until then, I will be waiting tables in downtown Chicago and scratching my head about my 11% tip from the French couple at table 55.