I’ve never had a problem with people asking me whether or not I have children. That’s an innocent question.

But when I answer “no”, that’s not an invitation for a follow-up question. It’s a signal to change the subject.

But this douchebag wasn’t taking the clues.

👉 The suburbs aren’t as safe as you think they are.

👉 The louder they scream “this isn’t a pyramid scheme”, the taller the pyramid.

And now — the story behind why this advice matters. 👇

But first…

For the next few weeks, I’ll be sharing snippets from my new weekly newsletter that teaches you how to write killer stories that outlast the noise. Go subscribe, dammit!

You’ve probably heard a stat before, nodded, and then completely forgotten it five minutes later. It’s not because you’re a bad listener — it’s because human brains suck at remembering numbers.

Here’s the science-lite reason: 

Our working memory isn’t wired for calculation. We’re wired for comparisons (and, of course, stories.) 

Numbers on their own feel abstract. But the second you tie them to something visual, emotional, or relatable, the brain latches on like tequila to regret.

It’s called “humanizing data”. And it’s a nifty little trick.

In last week’s issue of Drunk Writing Advice, we tackled the critical task of dressing up naked numbers with shit that will actually stick with your reader. 👇

Back to the douchebag…

He was a neighbor of mine who happened to be sitting next to me at our swanky suburban clubhouse. And for him, the boundaries of polite society were about as tangible as Bigfoot.

I had just told him that I didn’t have any children, and he was determined to know the reason. He was entitled to know the reason.

But the reason was hugely personal, and I wasn’t going to get into a revealing discussion with this asshole, so I blew off the question.

He pressed.

I should have just thrown up the finger and walked away. Or told him how intrusive and inappropriate his line of questioning was. But I could already see the drama unfolding—

So I swallowed my outrage, and just lied. “I’m focused on my career,” I said, hoping that would be the end of it.

Nope.

His reply was the most shocking question anyone has ever asked me:

“So what do you do? Sell sex toys?”

I couldn’t even process that sentence before he was reaching into his pocket, and pulling out his wife’s Pure Romance business card, telling me all about how she’s been able to have an incredible career selling –ahem– marital aids, while simultaneously raising their three kids.

If my career was keeping me from having kids, joining his wife’s sex toy pyramid scheme downline was, of course, the solution I had been seeking. He was just so thankful he was there that day to intervene and save me.

Finally, he leaned in for the kicker:

“You know, if you wait too much longer to have kids, they might come out retarded.”

Before moving to the suburbs, I had truly never given any thought to MLMs (multi-level-marketing companies), which I will henceforth refer to as pyramid schemes, because despite the tiny loopholes that allow them to operate legally, they should be called out for what they really are.

Back in Facebook’s glory days, I recall seeing wives of colleagues, girls who bullied me in high school, and distant relatives, hawking essential oils, “pink drinks”, and diet pills. 

But I scrolled right by.

For as long as I could remember, there had been Mary Kay ladies. It all seemed harmless, if not just a little sad.

And as a city girl with a big career, no one ever tried to sell me shit, or recruit me into their downline. I never got a “hey hun” DM. So I was completely blind to the lion’s den I was walking into.

When I arrived to the suburbs in 2016, every bored housewife in the neighborhood smelled fresh meat — and lunged in for the kill.

At first I thought, “Wow, everyone is so friendly!”

It had taken me years to make friends in New York, but in the ‘burbs, I was instantly invited to coffee dates, happy hours, and house parties.

But it soon became clear that I was just a walking dollar-sign in their eyes.

I was chatting with a new neighbor:

Then there was the flirty blonde at the bar:

And if they weren’t trying to recruit me into their pyramid scheme, it’s because they just assumed I was already in one.

At the time, my business was a little complicated to explain to those who weren’t familiar with the ins and outs of commercial real estate development, and I didn’t want to bore people, so I remained vague when talking about work.

At first, I thought the situation was comically outrageous. I would laugh about it with my husband, assuming these women were just Stepford Wives with embarrassing hobbies.

But the more exposure I had to the cult of suburban pyramid schemes, the more sinister they revealed themselves to be.

These were real people losing real money, or getting rich by victimizing others.

👉 The woman who invited me to her Scentsy party?

I learned she had given up her real business, a bridal boutique she had owned for over a decade, to pour all of her money into the pyramid scheme.

👉 The “buttery soft” blonde?

She was recruited to sell ugly leggings by her “mentor” while hospitalized for an eating disorder, and was encouraged to tell people that LuLaRoe was what gave her the strength to recover.

If you were successful, and actually made money, you did it by scamming your friends and family into buying bullshit “opportunities”. But most were just victims, having their savings bled dry while being love-bombed and manipulated by their upline.

This was some seriously sick shit.

And it wasn’t just the people who were problematic — it was the products themselves.

🙄 Belly wraps that will eliminate your pregnancy pooch by somehow burning fat… from the outside?

🙄 Supplements that will magically wash away your “toxins” (hello, explosive diarrhea). 

🙄 Essential oils that will cure your cancer. Stop that pesky chemo! A dab of frankincense oil is sure to shrink your tumor. 🤦

My curiosity about the cultish world I had been thrust into led me down some research rabbit holes.

Why was this shit so prevalent? How were these companies allowed to victimize people, and make such ridiculous claims about their products? And what was attracting people to this madness?

I soon discovered an online movement committed to combatting the destruction these pyramid schemes were causing in their communities.

There were guides for how to get family members out, links to income reports from the companies themselves (proving that less than 1% of the sellers ever turned a profit), and a massive library of horror stories from thousands of pyramid scheme victims.

I felt motivated to contribute to this cause.

And one of the biggest areas these anti-pyramid scheme soldiers needed help with was responding to the training the companies gave their sellers to defend their disgusting business model.

Lines like:

If you’re reading this newsletter, chances are, you’re a pretty savvy businessperson, so you can easily refute those claims.

But most people dealing with this in their families and communities didn’t have a business background. So I decided to give them one. 👇

I crafted this little infographic, dropped it into an anti-MLM Facebook group, and went to bed.

I woke up to thousands of comments. Then I started seeing it pop up all over the internet. It was the first time I ever went viral.

You might say that this infographic was an early version of Drunk Business Advice.

I just hope it helped at least one person escape the clutches of whatever pyramid scheme was stealing their life.

But the guy who tried to recruit me into his wife’s Pure Romance downline by telling me my future kids were going to be retarded?

He can go f*ck himself.

Cheers! 🍻

-Kristin

P.S. — If you enjoyed today’s issue, and want a behind-the-scenes look at how I craft Drunk Business Advice every week, don’t forget to subscribe to Drunk WRITING Advice!