EDITORIAL CONTENT FOR UNEMPLOYED MAGAZINE
I’m a contributer at Unemployed Mag. It’s a woman-led magazine started by Sophie Tabet and Cecile Winckler to address the vast amount of under-represented and unknown creative talent in the world. Unemployed is a niche publication gives young creatives a platform where they can exhibit their work. Scroll to read some of my contributions.
Feature 1
QUARANTINED, AND FOR HIRE
BY: MACKENZIE NIELSON
illustration by: juliette Seydoux
To whom it may concern;
I hope this letter finds you well in these strange and uncertain times. My name is Mackenzie, and I am interested in applying for, well, any position at your company.
Oh, your hiring is frozen? I’d like to apply anyway, so I can fulfill my three-applications-per-week unemployment claim requirement.
As the saying goes: dress for the job you want, not the job you have. Since I’ll take literally any job at this point, please just tell me how I should dress. I’m willing to abandon my current uniform of crumb-covered leggings and ex-boyfriend hoodie.
Perhaps now you’ve realized that I am unemployed and incredibly desperate. Like 15% of our country, I’ve been laid off from my previous role, and my president has recommended I consume bleach. I’m willing to drink the Kool-aid if it’s Jonestown-style. You go first, Mr. President.
You see? I am always open to suggestions and willing to help build upon the ideas of others.
My lack of current employment should not cause alarm, though, as these 58 days 13 hours 21 minutes and 47 seconds have allowed me to gain new, valuable skills that make me an ideal candidate in the workforce.
These skills include, but are not limited to:
Gaining the ability to recite every word of Fetch the Bolt Cutters with extreme exactitude
Executing a 1000-piece puzzle of “Expert” difficulty level in record-breaking 7hrs 13mins
Achieving 65% water consumption savings by limiting showers to once every three days
Growing body mass index by 3% through successful mitigation of physical activity and simultaneous increase in Doritos consumption
Becoming the mother to an indoor herb garden that put all other mothers (and gardens) to shame
Learning to eyeball 6ft distance with the precision of a measuring tape
Increasing number of Instagram followers in the male demographic as a result of late night DM-sliding
Quickly and efficiently contributing to economic stimulus by dispersing my $1,200 federal check to various local food and wine delivery services
Becoming an expert mediator of dog toy disputes between the world’s goodest boys masquerading as the world’s worstest
Negotiating high-level nourishment requests from cohabitation and becoming a home f*cking chef and real housewife of Nashville
I thank you greatly for your time and look forward to discussing how these new skills make me the perfect candidate for any role in your company. Seriously. I’ll take any role.
Sincerely,
Mackenzie Nielson
P.S.
Want to get in touch? Please don’t go to my website, as billing failed for my Squarespace subscription. Please don’t give me a call, as my cell phone has been disconnected. Email is also a no-go, as I cannot afford my internet. Perhaps try carrier pigeon? Be sure to sanitize it first. Thanks again.
Check out the live link here.
Feature 2
I COULD DIE, COULD YOU?
BY: MACKENZIE NIELSON
This is an ever-growing list of all the times this week when I’ve literally wanted to die. It’s only Tuesday, so you might as well start writing my eulogy because by Friday I’ll be gone.
Sunday, May 3
8:08pm
It’s Sunday night and I’m inebriated. Ok, that’s an understatement. I’m shit faced. I don’t think there are many rules in quarantine, yet my lack of sobriety leads to intense Sunday Scaries. I could die.
Monday, May 4
6:30am
Alarm clock. Monday morning. Not sure if I fell asleep or passed out, but if past is any indication, it’s the latter. I could die.
7:41am
Coffee maker is broken. Unsurprising since I’ve had it since college, and it came from my prehistoric grandmother’s basement. Anyway, I need coffee and I don’t have it. I could die.
1:37pm
Farfetch box of treasure delivered via USPS. I waved as my mailman walked out of my building. He didn’t see me, but the dude from 12C did. I pretended I didn’t see him seeing me. Fun game, but I could die.
11:03pm
I’ve almost made it through Monday with no other death prayers. Phew. I guess I’m alive.
Tuesday, May 5
9:00am
Time to get dressed. I changed from yesterday’s sweatpants into today’s which are special because they are new and have come from my USPS box of treasure. Today, I am alive.
9:32am
Cramps during a conference call with my mansplaining boss during which I resisted the urge to ask him if he could mansplain cramps to me, too. Zoom continues to become more and more painful, this time, literally. I could die.
10:30am
Conference call ends, soI rush to the bathroom to find that my new white sweatpants have gotten their first blood bath. 3 days early. I could die.
10:31am
I strip down and call my fiancé to bring me a towel. “Towels are dirty, remember?” Ok, new sweatpants? “Dirty. Where are your new ones?” Death and dying.
10:34am
Fear sets in. All comforts are soiled, and I can’t go to the laundromat. Safety-in-place in full effect. I should just die.
10:55am
I’ve quickly waddled to my closet. I’m some sort of mix between a penguin and Usain Bolt. This in-and-of-itself is a feat for which I should be proud, but I am full of shame and fearful of wearing real clothes. I could die.
11:01am
I’ve wiggled into a dress I’d normally reserve for rooftop season, but no rules in quarantine, remember? Does this make me look fat? No, I think it’s ok. Huh … Maybe I won’t die today.
11:03am
Back at my kitchen-desk and three minutes late for my next Zoom call. When I sit down, I hear a rip. I might not look fat in the dress, but I certainly am too fat for it. I could die.
12:01pm
Back to the closet for outfit #3. At this point, all things go. What little rules once existed are now completely forgotten. I’ve chosen a heavenly, gilded muumuu worthy of Pope Francis. I don’t know why I own this frock, but I might not die in it.
12:04pm
I head to the kitchen and pour myself a nice big coffee mug full of bottom shelf red wine. No one will know the difference. This is great. I’m definitely not gonna die.
12:30pm
I saddle up for my final conference call of the day. I flip on the camera and take a swig just as my co-worker says, “Oh, why’d you change outfits?”
I’m taken aback by his attention to detail, so I choke on my alcoholic elixir, spewing it across my screen and down the front of my dress.
“Is that…wine?” My fiancé calls from his makeshift desk in the living room.
12:31pm
It’s 5 o’clock in Hell, but it’s time to die on earth. Cheers.
Check out the live link here.