I turned 35. And in New York City, that's a prison term for the single and upwardly mobile, a death sentence for someone in media. When the clock struck 12, albeit digital, I remember checking my ID several times to redo the math.
Read Whole Story
Young post-college women come to New York City to live the "dream," only to find out it's more of a pizza-and-scuzzy-guy-filled nightmare of long subway rides to low-paying (or no-paying) jobs.
Get top stories and blog posts emailed to me each day. Newsletters may offer personalized content or advertisements. Learn more.