Capitalism, Bohemia, and the Myth of the Personal Brand — Amanda Layman

I’ve spent the better part of my adult life engaged in a confusing tango with capitalism. As a twentysomething college girl living la vie boheme in an infested downtown Kenosha apartment smoking joints out a wintry window, I only needed to care enough about my $225 portion of rent, my drinking money, and whatever other paltry bills I was dealing with at the time. As a waitress, cash was easy to come by — a little short? Pick up a shift or two. Accidentally blew the rent money on rounds at the bar? Pay late, it’ll be fine. They weren’t about to evict me when entire stairs were missing in the hallway and my neighbors had bedbugs and some of the other tenants were literal criminals (ask me about what allegedly happened in the basement laundry room of that building. Actually, don’t). Peak boho era. Vegas trip, 2007ish? Life was simple then. I’m sure I’m exaggerating. I’m sure I had stressors that felt very real and very grown up and very serious. But money didn’t matter much to me. I assum

I’ve spent the better part of my adult life engaged in a confusing tango with capitalism. As a twentysomething college girl living la vie boheme in an infested downtown Kenosha apartment smoking joints out a wintry window, I only needed to care enough about my $225 portion of rent, my drinking money, and whatever other paltry bills I was dealing with at the time. As a waitress, cash was easy to come by — a little short? Pick up a shift or two. Accidentally blew the rent money on rounds at the bar? Pay late, it’ll be fine. They weren’t about to evict me when entire stairs were missing in the ha