What the New York Times Got Wrong About Gen X

A new article tried to write our obituary. We're just getting started.

This past weekend, The New York Times ran an article in the Style Section (for some reason) called, “It’s the End of Work as We Knew It.”

In it, writer Steven Kurutz profiles a bunch of grumpy Gen X creatives—photographers, editors, designers, musicians—who’ve seen their industries collapse, their job titles disappear, and their careers slowly edged out by AI, influencers, and rapidly disappearing industries.

It’s a story about the quiet panic of reaching your 50s and realizing the thing you spent your life getting really good at is now completely irrelevant.

The story hit me like a gut-wrenching song by The Smiths.

Not just because I’m one of those people.

Not because nearly everyone I know is one of these people.

But also because, well, I wish I had written it first.

Damn you, Steven Kurutz.

But even as I hate-read the article, swigging a bottle of Pepto Bismol as I forwarded it to my friends with tearful emojis, I couldn’t help but notice something was missing.

Many of the people profiled in the article were thinking about this all wrong.

Yes, it’s deeply depressing to feel like your once-cool, semi-prestigious job has been outsourced to ChatGPT or, worse, a 22-year-old influencer filming content in front of a ring light in her bedroom.

Yes, it’s vaguely humiliating to be asked casually at a party, “So, what do you do for living?”

And suddenly not have the tidy answer you’ve been giving for years.

Or, if you’re like me, you launch into an origin story that nobody asked for, sounding like the guy in Springsteen’s “Glory Days.”

But the problem isn’t just that the world as we knew it is gone. It’s that we’re still acting like there’s one job out there, with a single title, waiting to rescue us.

That job does not exist. Trust me, I’ve checked.

Here’s the thing I keep telling my Gen X friends (and myself, in between doom-listens to Nirvana’s Nevermind):

Don’t look for a new job or a new career. Look for new income streams.

Sure, some people might have the time and resources to go back to school and get a degree in something completely new (therapy seems to be a popular choice). But most of us?

We’ve got kids in college.

Mortgages.

Aging parents.

A cat with kidney problems.

We’re not ready for a complete reboot—we’re updating the old software.

That means consulting.

Coaching.

Teaching.

Building.

Freelancing.

Producing.

Marketing.

Ghostwriting.

Creating and repurposing “content”—to use a millennial word I despise.

I’m no poster child for the new Gen X economy, but this week alone, I’m helping a CEO write an article, producing two podcasts, teaching a course on collaborating with AI, interviewing a B-list celebrity, and DJing an office party.

I’m not quite ready to quit everything and move to Portugal.

But between the long-term projects, the side hustles, the one-and-done power gigs, and the occasional “thank you, God” client, it adds up to something that looks and feels like a second career

At least until Elon Musk figures out how to fire me.

And that’s the mindshift we need to start owning.

The idea that being one thing isn’t the goal anymore.

In fact, it might be a liability.

The sooner we stop measuring our value by dated job titles or LinkedIn summaries, the better off we’ll be.

This is the advice I keep giving people when they call in a panic, hyperventilating, “There is just no work.”

I tell them: maybe that’s true. At least in the way you knew it from back in the day. Your job, your industry, your career path may be over, but that doesn’t mean you’re over.

The trick isn’t reinvention. That makes me want to take a nap.

The trick is resourcefulness. Figuring out what you already know how to do—and who might pay for a version of it in 2025.

To use another annoying millennial word: the trick is pivoting— again and again.

That’s the reality of the post-career career, your Third Act.

All you need is a spreadsheet.

Some imagination.

A Substack, a website, or social presence.

A few contacts.

And a willingness to step into the unknown.

The New York Times framed the current state of affairs as the “end of work as we knew it,” referencing R.E.M.’s apocalyptic anthem, “It’s the End of the World as We Know It.”

But they left off the most important part—the parentheses at the end (and I Feel Fine).

That’s the point.

When Douglas Coupland first coined the term Generation X in 1991, he was writing about a group of young people in flannels and Doc Martens shaped by uncertainty, cynicism, and the gnawing sense that the prosperity of previous decades wasn’t going to materialize.

The X referred to a generation that never liked labels or being defined. So why start now?

We were the latch key kids, built for figuring shit out as we go. For duct-taping together a life, making shit work, and finding meaning somewhere in the mess.

True, we’re not who we were in 1997—or even 2020. But we’re not done either.

Next time someone asks what you do, don’t panic. Don’t squirm.

Just smile and say:

“What don’t I do?”