{"id":6431,"date":"2016-04-25T22:49:20","date_gmt":"2016-04-25T17:19:20","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/13.201.39.237\/?p=6431"},"modified":"2016-04-25T22:49:20","modified_gmt":"2016-04-25T17:19:20","slug":"confessions-of-a-lifestyle-journalist","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/13.207.105.184\/?p=6431","title":{"rendered":"Dine at Taj By Day, Worry about Rent at Night: Confessions of a Lifestyle Journalist"},"content":{"rendered":"\nI’<\/span>m in an Ola Micro on my way to interview<\/a> the new head chef of a major five-star property \u2013 you know the type, with custom A4 stationery paper to wrap their fish en papillote and iPads for menus. The cheapest thing on the menu in front of me cost \u20b91,800; I had just over \u20b93,500 in my account, and days to go before the end of the month. Luckily, I can drink a caprioska on the house, since I\u2019m a guest of the in-house PR executive, and of course I\u2019ll be talking about the restaurant in my article.\n\nYes, I\u2019m a lifestyle journalist and this paradox \u2013 straddling (the much-maligned term) \u201curban poverty<\/a>\u201d and access to serious power and money \u2013 is a trademark of my life. My job is to attend glitzy events and eat expensive food that costs more per plate than the articles that I get paid to write (after sending out multiple passive aggressive reminder mails).\n\nHow did I end up here? To be honest, I still haven\u2019t figured it out yet.\n\nIt\u2019s a world I entered when I had just completed my masters and my two-bit internship<\/a> with a publishing house when I saw the freelance opening. I did mention in my cover letter that I wanted to focus on music, but when you dangle the \u20b94 per word carrot in front of a newly minted literature graduate, journalistic beats usually go duck themselves. \u201cEven Hunter S Thompson diversified, I\u2019m sure,\u201d an aspiring influencer friend told me recently. \u201cYou eat at the Taj at least once a month. Check your privilege<\/a> and stop whining!\u201d\n\nIt\u2019s like any other job really\u2026 except I rub shoulders with the actual one per cent Bernie Sanders\u2019 campaign is about, without actually belonging in their preferred social circles<\/a>. I don\u2019t mind it, but I\u2019m constantly aware of this Jekyll-and-Hyde dilemma. Like right now, as we join the chef at his Italian fine diner, he asks us to lunch \u2013 a \u20b92,400-a-plate tortellini for some crummy article I\u2019ll write using an online thesaurus. As we sit down, I get an alert on my phone reminding me that my five-figure credit card bill is overdue.\n\n

No matter how many glitzy soirees I go to, courtesy my indulgent editor, it doesn\u2019t really translate into any real dough.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n\nAs I finish up the interview, I get a call from my editor. \u201cHi! Listen I\u2019m invited to dinner at XYZ Pavilion Royale (or Grand, or SuperSized, whatever five star properties suffering from penis envy call themselves), they are hosting some food writers and some really cool food historians at dinner. I won\u2019t be able to make it. Why don\u2019t you go?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe\u2019ll write about this right?\u201d\n\n\u201cIf you want to, sure. But go have fun, eat, socialise. It is an eight-course Lombard meal, you\u2019ll love it.\u201d\n\nDo I want to go hang out with posh, food connoisseurs while the entire country disintegrates and the world around me grapples with a deadly virus<\/a>? No. Do I have to do it? Yes. I get paid by the word. I imagine a table full of jet-setting, bruschetta-lovers in their mid-40s who can name a wine by its province, who are expecting my Max Mara-clad editor, but instead will find me \u2013 a freelancer in six-year-old denims, who just bought a second-hand microwave that only re-heats.\n\nNo matter how many glitzy soirees I go to, courtesy my indulgent editor, it doesn\u2019t really translate into any real dough. I\u2019m not broke like I don\u2019t know where my next meal is coming from. But then there\u2019s rent<\/a>, electricity, internet, Uber, fresh underwear, Metro smart card, groceries, gym fees, phone bill, a new vacuum for mom. And Chef Alberto\u2019s pasta doesn\u2019t fix any of these issues.\n\nI\u2019m not the only freelancer<\/a> caught in the crosshairs of capitalism. At media tables, I run into food writers, bloggers or influencers attempting to be a part of a lifestyle that\u2019ll never be theirs. And then there is the question of what we are all personally interested in. I am certain we all feel the dissonance keenly \u2013 especially as the world around us erupts in protests against CAA<\/a>.\n\n

Deep down, I am a bleeding heart liberal, but on the surface I am what everyone derisively labels \u201ca champagne leftist\u201d.<\/p><\/blockquote> \n\nI get a WhatsApp message from a friend: \u201cHey. we\u2019re headed to the protests towards the South Cross today. You wanna come?\u201d I want to go, but I have the eight-course Lombard meal and sparkling conversation to make. It\u2019s a strange, contradictory existence at times, but those bills won\u2019t pay themselves.\n\nI fire up the best distraction there is. Tinder<\/a>. Message from Danny: \u201cHey it\u2019s Danny. Remember we met at Mallika Tshering\u2019s Bhutanese food pop-up? How you been?\u201d This dude owns two gastro clubs, why is he DM-ing me? A hookup or a review? Probably the latter, because all the women on his Instagram are over six feet and look gluten-allergic. In the last few months, I\u2019ve matched with enough brewery boys to know they don\u2019t want to get with a random 5\u20196\u201d freelancer with body dysmorphia.\n\nThe next morning, I find myself at another hotel, brunching with my editor and her designer friend, whose summer line-up I have to cover. The woman at the door had stopped me with a polite smile, wondering what business I had inside. I don\u2019t mind; I wouldn\u2019t let me in if I was her either. As the two chat about the designer\u2019s sustainable fashion<\/a> line, my thoughts are hovering over the \u20b9375 I paid to get to the hotel. Should I ask my editor when my payment is coming through? Is it in bad taste to talk about freelance paychecks in front of a \u20b91,400 black rice salad?\n\nAnother ping: \u201cHey, we\u2019re protesting near the HHI grounds. Come if you can?\u201d\n\n\u201cSee you there,\u201d I write back. Yeah\u2026 I\u2019m probably gonna miss my deadlines<\/a>. This contradiction between my two lives is so incongruous. It is also exhausting, and I am aware that I am in the thick of a vicious circle. Deep down, I am a bleeding heart liberal, but on the surface I am what everyone derisively labels \u201ca champagne leftist\u201d. But I have no option but to live with it \u2013 women don\u2019t live by fresh air alone. My paycheck should be in soon, but I\u2019ll only be left with 20 per cent after I\u2019m done with my bills and rent. I get another message while waiting for the metro. Tinder Danny. \u201cHey, all set for the review on Tuesday! See you soon!\u201d For now, the choice is clear: Bleeding heart will have to wait.\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

As a lifestyle journalist, I rub shoulders with the one per cent, without actually belonging in their preferred social circles. 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