Layoff-Proof

Just saw a post of a girl who looked like she woke up inside a ring light.

Flawless.

Lashes for days.

Hair like she was kissed by angels and curled by interns from a shampoo commercial.

And the caption?

“Sharing my secrets with sales leaders in the hotel industry to help them become layoff-proof!”

Ma’am.

I just found a Cheerio in my hoodie that I didn’t eat this morning.

The only “secret” I’m sharing today is that my fridge light is the most stable leadership I’ve had in 2025.

You look like you dream in Canva templates.

I look like I’ve been emotionally waterboarded by applicant tracking systems and haven’t seen a PTO request since 2019.

Layoff-proof?

What is this—Hogwarts?

My current career strategy is whispering “please God, not again” every time the phone rings with an unknown number and hoping it’s not a recruiter asking me to do an unpaid case study “just for fun.”

You’re out here sipping champagne in a silk blouse talking about “income-proofing your future” and I’m over here calculating how many items I need to return to Target to keep my Wi-Fi on.

Also: Why is your hair already curled in the before photo?

When I wake up, I look like a Roomba dragged me across a shag carpet during a thunderstorm.

If I’m lucky, I get one eyebrow to cooperate by lunch.

Meanwhile, you’ve got cheekbones that can cut glass and a skincare routine with its own LLC.

But sure, let’s hear how to be layoff-proof by manifesting with exfoliation and talking to hotel VPs like it’s a TED Talk sponsored by dry shampoo.

Girl, the last time I tried to be “layoff-proof,” I took on five roles for one paycheck, managed morale and the Keurig machine, and still got ghosted with a two-sentence email that started with “As you know, times are challenging…”

Please.

The only thing I’m “proofing” these days is my bread, and even that’s collapsing under pressure.

You know what’s really layoff-proof?

Inheritance.

Marrying someone named Chad who “owns a few car washes.”

Becoming a corporate golden retriever who says things like “love the synergy here” with a straight face.

But for the rest of us?

We’re riding vibes, caffeine, and 2 a.m. existential scrolls through job boards that say things like “Entry Level: Must Have 12 Years of C-suite Experience and be fluent in three dialects of Excel.”

So yeah—congrats on your polished post and perfectly airbrushed tips.

Meanwhile, some of us are out here raw-dogging capitalism with a broken Keurig and a dream.

Keep shining.

Keep filtering.

And if your secrets ever include a 401(k), dental, and a manager who doesn’t communicate exclusively in cryptic Slack emojis…

Let me know.

Until then, I’ll be over here—sharing my own secrets:

Step one—don’t cry on Zoom.

Step two—cry near Zoom, just in case.