The End Of Ambition?

She was a famous writer at 23, an editor at 27 and founded a digital brand by 30. But when she finally got to the top, why did it all feel so... Empty?

- Sarah Raphael

I’ve the appropriate laughs, and next comes that loaded question: ‘So, what do you do?’ For the past 1O years, I’ve been confident of my answer: ‘I’m a journalist and an editor.’ This was predictably almost always followed up by ‘That’s interesting, who for?’, then I’d get to really flex, because I’ve been the bigwig editor at cutting-edge media companies, from fashion magazine i-D to Refinery29 for close to four years. What came with that was an enormous amount of social cachet, demonstrated through nodding heads and whispers of ‘cool’ and ‘wow’ when I told new acqaintances.

You see, that was the bulk of who I was in my twenties until I realised that I couldn’t keep up with the fiercely ambitious and successful person I’d created. After all, it’s a vast space between how things sound at a party and how they feel dayto-day. And, at the too-young age of 31, after I’d worked so hard to get to where I was, I realised I no longer wanted it.

Ambition is a powerful motivator: the founding principle of the American Dream, what men are expected to have in abundance, and women are expected to have in a fair dose — enough to be attractive, but not so ambitious that you don’t have time to get a wax.

I was raised on ambition, taught that professional success is not just desirable but existential. My dad moved to the UK from Egypt and, at 66, still works 7O hours a week. When he arrived in England, he stacked shelves and lived on cans of beans while he qualified as a doctor. This sort of story is common among immigrants, who often instil this work ethic into their children. ‘Do it until you fall down’ was the advice he gave me when I told him I found the pressures of my job too much. ‘If you’re comfortable, you’re failing’ was another mantra he passed down.