![]() “I meticulously noted their preferences and tried to keep things interesting,” she writes, “a box of clementines one week, bags of cheddar popcorn the next.” Later Wiener wonders if they wanted her more for her gender than for her humanist perspective.īefore long they realize Wiener isn’t doing that much, and they fire her. As it turned out, her job was mostly to order snacks for the four men. Looking for something more, in early 2013 she joined the small staff (one, plus three founders) of a New York–based ebooks start-up for $20 an hour-bargain basement wages for tech, a raise for Wiener. ![]() When the book begins, she is a flunky in literary New York, one of the “expendable,” “nervous,” and “very broke” assistants, stuck competing with interns who are literally cheaper than a dime a dozen, since they are not paid at all. ![]() Uncanny Valley is Wiener’s account of her short career in tech. As Anna Wiener puts it in her new book Uncanny Valley, selling out is “our generation’s premier aspiration, the best way to get paid.” It’s not selling out, it’s “cashing in,” and who can blame anyone for that? ![]()
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