The Shadowy Industry That Shaped American Work

The Atlantic

21-05-2025

A few years ago, a cheeky meme made the rounds on the internet—a snappy rejoinder to a question about dream jobs: 'I do not dream of labor.'
The witticism, sometimes misattributed to James Baldwin, began to spread a few months into the coronavirus pandemic, as the shock of mass layoffs started to give way to broader dissatisfaction with work. Before long, an untethering from office culture, combined with the security of a tight labor market, led many workers to quit their 9-to-5 jobs. Nobody, Kim Kardashian declared, wanted to work anymore—but that wasn't exactly true. More plausibly, the "Great Resignation" marked a shift—perhaps a permanent one—in when, where, and how people wanted to work.
Moments of cultural change present openings for cons. Early in the pandemic, the number of multi-level-marketing schemes (or MLMs) exploded online. Such enterprises invite non-salaried workers to sell goods and then also earn commissions by recruiting more salespeople; the Federal Trade Commission has over the years outlined subtle legal differences between MLMs and pyramid schemes. As millions of Americans lost or quit jobs, MLM advocates on the internet made an enticing pitch: Work as we knew it wasn't cutting it anymore; other options were out there. Framing the chance to hawk leggings or makeup or 'mentorship' as an opportunity that could yield flexible income and a sense of community, they promised a kind of life that was too good to be true.
A few years ago, the journalist Bridget Read started looking into the outfits behind such appeals. Initially, by her own account, Read couldn't really understand how MLMs worked. But some big questions stuck with her—among them, why exactly they were legal. She lays out what she's learned in her engaging new book, Little Bosses Everywhere: How the Pyramid Scheme Shaped America, which exposes some awkward truths about the nature of American work. Weaving in sympathetic portrayals of women who lost money and friends after working with MLM schemes, she recasts them as victims of a multigenerational swindle.
MLM participants surely drive their friends and family crazy with their hard sells; they are also, in Read's telling, marks. She cites a 2011 analysis that found that 99 percent of participants in one MLM lost money, and she exhaustively catalogs the predations of the sector writ large. Read writes with scorn about the industry's early architects, who made outrageous health claims and touted their companies' 'profits pyramid,' and about right-wing opportunists who expanded MLMs' power and reach—especially the founders of Amway, a massive company with connections to Ronald Reagan and Donald Trump. But she never disparages her sources, whose stories of drained bank accounts and dashed dreams she portrays only with empathy. She threads the tale of a pseudonymous Mary Kay seller, a military veteran struggling to make ends meet, throughout the book. The woman loses more than $75,000. These vignettes keep the human toll of the schemes top of mind.
Read's indictment of MLM outfits is predictable enough, but her research also reveals how much corporate America has in common with this shady economy, which has long been dismissed as a kooky sideshow. Corporations have borrowed from the methods of MLM companies—hiring large, contingent workforces; pushing employees to think like entrepreneurs; and lobbying hard for friendlier regulations. MLMs turn out to be more closely aligned with the center of corporate life (and political power) than many people might like to think.
A key innovation of the industry was to rely on a fleet of temporary workers. During the Great Depression, when Franklin D. Roosevelt's administration was expanding the social safety net and implementing muscular work protections, an organization then called the National Association of Direct Selling Companies agitated for a carve-out that would designate salespeople as 'independent contractors' rather than employees. Historically, such contractors had occupied a tiny niche, but in a time of expanding regulation, classifying workers in this way became a handy loophole. This category later set the template for tech start-ups, including Uber and DoorDash, that challenged traditional full-time employers. As of July 2023, about 4 percent of the American workforce had temporary jobs as their main or only role, and an additional 7.4 percent of Americans were independent contractors, according to a survey from the Bureau of Labor Statistics. That percentage may seem small, but it encompasses millions of workers and outnumbers many sectors of employment; other surveys find that tens of millions of Americans do such work for supplemental income too. As Read writes, 'The part-time, low-paid work that direct selling pioneered' now 'defines our current labor market rather than covers its gaps.'
The low quality of many legitimate jobs has long provided cover for shadier schemes. Squint, and an MLM racket doesn't look all that different from the work of an influencer or telemarketer or door-to-door-salesman. If a major indictment of MLMs is that many of their contractors don't seem to actually sell much at all, well—the same could be said of many other jobs today. And the gig economy isn't walled off from the rest: Many Americans still have full-time, union-eligible jobs, but a lot of them dip into temporary or part-time work to make ends meet. The Mary Kay annual meeting features a special cheering moment for teachers who sell makeup on the side.
Many of the messages that MLMs adopt to reel in workers rely on a central contradiction, criticizing the corporate grind while extolling the free market. Amway recruiters, for one, have explicitly used anti-establishment language in their pitch: When you're working a 9-to-5, you are in the 'rut,' but when you break free and set your own hours, you are living 'the dream.' In fact, you are often forsaking security for precarity—or worse. As Read and others have written, the opportunity quickly becomes a disaster for all but a very lucky few. MLMs and their boosters deny that the companies are pyramid-shaped—Amway, according to one hagiographer, is shaped more like 'a flower.' But each, in Read's telling, also takes the form of a fun-house mirror.
Throughout the history of MLMs, contractions and collapses in the broader economy have been good for them. Direct selling was hailed as 'counter-cyclical' and 'depression-proof' during the 1930s, Read notes. In the 1970s, widespread white-collar layoffs and looming stagflation presented another opening. 'In the direct selling business hard times are good times,' the founders of Amway wrote in a 1974 edition of their corporate magazine. In more recent decades, the sector's free-market ethos dovetailed with new cultural moods: MLMs both shaped and reinforced the values of the greed-is-good 1980s, as well as the self-help-obsessed aughts and the 'grindset' ethos that followed the 2008 recession. Seizing opportunities to grow businesses is, of course, what companies have always done. But this industry seized them to advance practices that flirted with, and sometimes qualified as, outright fraud.
Read ably explains why these businesses have appealed to generations of underpaid and insecure American workers, and she argues that it's not greed or stupidity that drives people (especially women juggling family responsibilities) into the arms of the schemes but the decline of middle-class stability. MLM opportunities promise what American jobs used to: security, freedom, dignity. Those promises have consistently failed to materialize. But the fact that so many are desperate to get in on the schemes each year is not a credit to the broader job market. A person well served by the economy is unlikely to salivate at the prospect of making extra cash by pushing lipsticks on the side. Today, many workers at more conventional jobs face the havoc of just-in-time scheduling and inconsistent shifts; these employees seek out more flexible arrangements in spite of their downsides.
In Read's telling, MLMs are a toxin masquerading as a cure. Among their many ruses is their insistence on a message of empowerment: that participants are 'bosses' or 'owners.' What makes this easier to pull off is the fact that MLM outfits don't have the kind of central, visible leader the public associates with many higher-profile schemes—no Sam Bankman-Fried or Bernie Madoff or Elizabeth Holmes. Read names the leaders who benefit, and in doing so, she delivers a damning portrait of those who take advantage—and she humanizes the people they rip off. Investigating an industry notorious for doublespeak and euphemism, she calls things what they are.