I spent most of my youth decrying the sexist, classist institution of marriage, but once I needed health insurance and a larger tax return, I was more than happy to let my financially successful partner of six years put a ring on it. It’s a dog-eat-dog capitalist society out there, and I respect anyone who figures out a way to survive—even if that means buying into the systems we criticize.
In some ways, my marriage is an imperfect metaphor for the culture war taking place on the streets of San Francisco. I’m a would-be “starving” artist inspired by rage at income inequality, and he’s a well-meaning nerd who reminds me of every main character on Silicon Valley.
But we need each other. He stops me from getting too caught up in how things should be. I keep him from getting too comfortable in his bubble.
We met almost a decade ago at a college orientation. He told me about his dream of working for a Fortune 500 company, and I told him I was going to be the senator who finances universal health care by taxing the rich. Despite our differences, we became a couple before classes even started.
But we weren’t always going to be able to indulge in late-night talks about economics and Karl Marx. After we graduated from college and got married, the tension between his practicality and my idealism took on real-world consequences.
When we first moved to the Bay Area, he worked for a lending company that specialized in refinancing student loans. At first, he loved the company’s mission because he believed it helped people like him lower their debt.
My partner looked around, horrified, and whispered, “You’re embarrassing me.”
“So they help anyone lower their payments?” I asked one night over dinner. “What about someone living in their parent’s basement delivering pizzas while they go to grad school?”
“Maybe, but they mostly work with doctors, lawyers, MBAs — people who basically have no defaults,” he said. “They have to make money.”
“OK, so they’re not actually solving the problem,” I placed my fork on the table and raised my eyebrows for dramatic effect. “Saying they are is just a PR strategy.”
“Do we have to criticize literally everything?” he asked.
“Duh,” I said with a smile.
We’d get frustrated, but we were always able to laugh about it.
Eventually, we were on the same page. “I hate it there,” he told me almost every day when he got home. The company pushed him to work long hours under unreasonable deadlines. “It’d be worth it if they were actually doing something good,” he said. “But really they just help rich people keep more of their money.”
It would have been music to my ears, but I hated seeing him miserable.
Despite our intense differences, we fit tradition.
I was thrilled when he left that company, even though it was to work for another big corporation. I was reluctant to visit his new office, but he was enthusiastic and begged me to take advantage of the catered meal while meeting his coworkers.
In line for Kobe beef and sesame chicken, I loudly proclaimed,“All this free dinner bullshit does is give corporations a write-off while discouraging their employees from spending money in the local communities.”
I then proceeded to load up my plate with the free food.
My partner looked around, horrified, and whispered, “You’re embarrassing me.”
After we sat down, shooting each other pointed glances, his boss joined us. “What do you think about the fact that the company gives you guys all this food, and there are starving people literally sleeping in your doorway?” I asked her. Tact has never been my strong suit.
“It’s awful!” she said, continuing on to say how she hated the wastefulness and wished there were a better way to offset it — one that would benefit those in need.
Once we got home, we discussed a gentler approach to getting to know his boss. We both agreed we had underestimated both her open-mindedness and awareness of the relationship between the tech-world invaders and the locals of the Bay Area.
Despite our intense differences, we fit tradition—on paper.
My partner will always be the breadwinner in our relationship, because he genuinely enjoys creating data models to predict the price of milk. Without his support — emotional and financial — I would not have time to work on political campaigns or create my own art. While I believe there should be government services that allow people to pursue these endeavors without fear of homelessness, I will accept the love of my life as my social safety net in the meantime.
He might have learned to see the world differently through my critical eyes, but he’s given me a much more important gift—I’ve learned to accept the world as it is before I set out to change it.
Hey! The Bold Italic recently launched a podcast, This Is Your Life in Silicon Valley. Check out the full season or listen to the episode below featuring former SF mayoral candidate and writer Broke-Ass Stuart. More coming soon, so stay tuned!
