maybe you're born a nepo baby. - by Cece Xie
Nepo baby (short for nepotism baby): a famous person who has at least one parent (or another close family member) who is a celebrity
I am not a nepo baby—unless the family trait that we’re talking about is “good at studying for and taking standardized tests”—but I spend a shocking amount of time trying to become one.
No, I don’t mean angling myself for adult adoption by a celeb or marrying into a famous clan. I mean playing catch-up in my own life when it comes to connections and opportunities. Because what really makes a nepo baby a nepo baby isn’t their relation to a famous person—it’s having access to a network that your parents (and maybe their parents and their parents) built up; it’s growing up subconsciously internalizing the invisible rules of Hollywood, or the art world, or whatever sphere you aspire towards. The best thing about being a nepo baby isn’t growing up fabulously wealthy beyond most people’s wildest dreams (although that part seems pretty great, ngl)—the best thing about being a nepo baby is the ability to move through the world with all of the doors already flung wide open for you. All you have to do is pick which one to step through.
In contrast, most of us are born into the world with the majority of doors closed to us. We’re sometimes in the same hallway as the nepo babies, sure, but outside of a few doors which our parents have broken through or had opened for them, most of the key people and strategies needed to open the doors are obscured. My parents were both scientists, which meant that while they were super helpful when I struggled in Chemistry or had to come up with a science fair project (a lot more help than many others get, for sure!), they couldn’t do much besides provide moral support as I searched and searched for the key to open the highly-compensated lawyer door (which I later learned was called biglaw by industry insiders).
Even now, as I consider potential career trajectories—author/freelance writer; TV screenwriter; career coach; tech policy advocate; freelance tech lawyer; everything, everywhere, all at once?—my parents primarily lend their support through encouraging words and the promise of a room to move back into if everything comes crashing down. These are still huge shows of support—don’t get me wrong—but they move the needle less than Reese Witherspoon calling up Mindy Kaling to say that her son, Deacon Phillippe, was interested in acting. (Deacon was then cast in two episodes of Never Have I Ever.)
Outside of the entertainment context, I was always a little jealous of the lowkey nepo babies in biglaw. I know that biglaw partners and federal judges aren’t exactly celebrities, but when you’re in law school or otherwise enmeshed in the insular legal world, they sure can feel that way. Being the child of a biglaw firm’s managing partner or D.C. Circuit judge? You’re lying to yourself if you think they wouldn’t near-automatically receive a biglaw offer. But even above that, the rolodex that their parents have built in the legal field is unimaginable. While a first-gen law school applicant googles qualifications to get hired as an ACLU attorney, a legal nepo baby’s parent already knows four ACLU attorneys, not to mention several senior leadership members.
So I wasn’t born a nepo baby, but that doesn’t mean I can’t become one. After all, the knee-jerk reaction to seeing a nepo baby achieve any level of success is to think, What do they have that I don’t?
And therein, my friends, lies the answer. You may be just as talented, just as hardworking, and just as sharp as the nepo baby—but the real thing that’s missing is their connections, their existence in a world with doors already open for them.
Which means it’s time to open some doors. And the most effective way of doing that, when you’re not a nepo baby, is by getting to know other people—i.e., networking. Your parents may not have a bajillion connections in the industry that you want to enter, but that doesn’t mean you can’t.
Will it be drudgery? Yes—I went through all of the Publishers Marketplace deals from November and December 2022 to find potential writing accountability partners. I forced myself to read through everything the same way that I would force myself to read through contracts for M&A due diligence. Will it be demoralizing? Yes—the majority of authors whom I emailed did not respond to me. I’m probably not cool enough for them; that’s okay. Will it make you question yourself? Also yes—for every good conversation with a writer or journalist, I’ve had a bad, gatekeep-y conversation which only heightened my sense of feeling like a child playing dress-up as a writer.
But will it pay off in the long run? Absolutely. As much as I attribute my finding a literary agent to connections (which is a self-minimizing and also unhelpful statement, I’ve realized), I neglect to mention how I befriended the wonderful person who would eventually introduce me to my agent in the first place. (I sent a cold email.) Partially because I don’t ever want to imply that our friendship is transactional; partially because I never saw my willingness to send cold emails as a characteristic worth talking about.
Except there is a certain superpower in reaching out to someone with nothing to offer that you know of and saying: Hey, I like what I know about you so far. I don’t know how I can support you in getting what you want in life, but if you’re open to it, I’m open to meeting and seeing where this all goes, too. And once every fifty emails, they reach back, and you wind up in places you’ve only ever dreamt about.
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Former contestants of Squid Game: The Challenge are looking to sue the production studios for negligence, workplace safety violations, and false pretenses. I was actually in the casting process for Squid Game: The Challenge last year before deciding to drop out in favor of (1) teaching my spring semester undergrad course and (2) getting to continue my AM/PM skincare routines. The casting representatives told me that they were striving to make the game as realistic as possible, which meant contestants couldn’t bring anything into the game apart from glasses/contacts and prescriptions. (Yes, that meant no moisturizer, no sunscreen, no acne patches.) So when the Rolling Stone article came out detailing how allegedly terrible the show conditions were, you bet I hung onto every word with a sordid interest that can only be borne from having felt like I narrowly escaped a shared bad fate. Allegations include the show being “the cruelest, meanest thing” a contestant has ever been through, the producers rigging games in favor of certain contestants (some of whom were TikTok or Instagram influencers), and at least ten people collapsing during “Red Light, Green Light” due to the temperature at the filming location being a whopping total of 14 degrees Fahrenheit (-10 degrees Celsius). The irony is not lost on me that despite the best of intentions and assurances, Squid Game: The Challenge may have been more like the fictional Squid Game, after all.
Etiquette rules make me feel safe in social situations, which is why I practically memorized Oops!: The Manners Guide for Girls in elementary school. The Cut published a list of their new rules of etiquette, which I enjoyed mulling over. They should be treated more as moments for reflection than hard-and-fast rules, of course, but I always find it helpful to periodically conduct an inquiry into my own internal sense of etiquette. Some faves: Never answer a compliment with a compliment; Never show that you’re impressed by anyone; and tip 20-25% now at restaurants.
I finally watched season 2 of The White Lotus and it made me more curious about working in TV than ever. Can I nepo baby my way into an introduction to Mike White? Only time (and a bajillion emails) will tell!
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