I work in marketing

Dear Crew,

There's this question that comes up almost every time: "So, what do you do for a living?"

I used to try to answer honestly. I'd say that I studied philosophy and economics. Or that I'm an author. Or that I lead workshops. Or that I offer coaching.

Depending on the situation, a brief interrogation would follow. “What kind of books?” “Can you make a living from that?” “And what do you actually do for a living?”

At some point, it dawned on me: Most people don't want a detailed answer at all. They just want a label.

So I came up with a standard answer: “I work in marketing for an online platform.” Which is true, after all.

Interestingly, that's usually when the conversation ends. Everyone is satisfied. No one asks any further questions. It's wonderful.

That always makes me smile a little. Because I still remember very well the time I met my boyfriend’s friends. I politely answered the usual questions. Then came the response: “Oh, that’s too bad that you’re working in marketing with your degree.”

Back then, it took me by surprise. Today, I'd just smile.

Because this statement says less about marketing than it does about our perceptions of professions. As if there were professions that are important—and others that are somehow second-best.

Yet marketing is everywhere. Not just in advertising. But in language. In stories. In images. In political campaigns. In books. In museums. In the question of which stories are told—and which ones never get a chance to be heard.

When marketing is done well, we often don't even notice it. It works. It connects. It makes things visible. Or invisible.

Today, I'm incredibly grateful for everything I learned there. Not because I ever wanted to become a marketing expert, but because I'm building my own world today.

I know how stories work. How design provides context. How to explain something without diminishing it.

I learned all of this, among other things, during my years in marketing.

Actually, I've noticed something. We often downplay professions as soon as we don't understand them.

Marketing. Sales. Customer Service. Administration. Housework. Art.

Every profession is familiar with these phrases. “I could do that, too.” “It’s just…”

And it is precisely in this little word— “only”— that the knowledge of an entire profession vanishes.

So I'm trying something different. When I meet someone whose work I'm not familiar with, I ask, "What fascinates you about it?" Or, "What do people often fail to see in your work?"

Almost always, this leads to a completely new conversation—one that sparks curiosity.

Because behind every job there is a person. With skills. With stories. With a perspective on the world.

And sometimes, it is precisely this curiosity that makes a greater difference than any clever answer.

With love and curiosity,
Jeannette