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What Does it Mean to “Make It” in San Francisco?

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North Beach, San Francisco. Photo by Joseph Barrientos.

More than once I’ve said, “When I have a washer and dryer in-unit, that’s when I’ll know I’ve made it.” Such milestones are often ones of our own making. It’s certainly true in San Francisco, where time is money and every second counts. A genuine Broke-Ass knows the value of a dollar. When people from elsewhere ask why I live here, voices quaking with doubt, my feelings divide. I could cite any reason—perfect weather, rampant gayety, stunning natural beauty—yet still remain guilty of asking myself that same question. Underneath our California, laid-back, tie-dyed point of view runs a current of chronic dread. 

It is an anxiety every other San Franciscan feels to some degree, and one the wealthy can afford to suppress. So, what does it look like to “make it” in San Francisco? Most importantly, how can you tell you’re on the right track? 

Making it in San Francisco means being resourceful. 

Ask the people who live here and you’ll discover that success in San Francisco looks different to everybody. I thank my lucky stars just for fast hot water and good shower pressure. But to many, simply residing within the city means they’ve made it. Whether you’re subletting someone else’s apartment, crashing on a friend’s floor, renting a room in a hippie flophouse, answering an ad for roommates, taking over the lease, qualified for an SRO or considering another strategy, finding a home is the first hurdle. Whatever it looks like, landing a place to live is a cause for celebration.

As commodities like health insurance become rare luxuries, the privileges of Medi-Cal and EBT become commodities. My mother raised three kids on welfare and food stamps while my father was in prison. However you finesse the system to get your foot in the door is totally fair in my book. Hell, if your finances are unaffected either way, why not use your pal’s address to apply for CalFresh? Tell Medi-Cal you’ll update your address once you acquire stable housing. You aren’t lying. Go ahead, I support you.

It means busting your ass time and again.

So you got yourself a San Francisco address. Great job! Speaking of, do you have a job? Can you get one relatively quick? Say you’ve been here awhile. What if for one reason or another, you lose your income? Can you be jobless and still “make it?” 

Since my partner did have a job lined up, and we pooled our savings, in 2019, I moved here without one. I went from jobless to employed in two weeks because one of my fields, the cannabis industry, was still booming. Back then, one job did the trick. Six years later, the average Broke-Ass needs at least two to hold down the fort.

“…and they were roommates!”

Your prospective landlord would love to know you’re employed when they view your application. If you’re looking for work, they’ll want bank statements with account balances at least triple the cost due at move-in. I lived with a friend when I first moved here in 2011. Renting off-lease gets you around credit checks, but leaves you with no recourse for mistreatment by your landlord. In my experience, moving with a partner is worlds easier than going it alone. Different advantages and detriments apply to every lifestyle. 

If you can make it here without gainful employment, you are financing your lifestyle in a different way than most. My customer service jobs didn’t furnish trips to Berlin or Puerto Vallarta, they did not offer paid time off. Before COVID tanked their industry, I envied my friends in tech (the “good ones”). Now most are perfectly qualified experts drowning in an oversaturated job market. Since 2020, for many, “making it” here has simply meant holding on.

Can you still “make it” if you’re struggling in San Francisco? 

At times I find myself contending with a version of me I invented to impress friends back home. He’s thinner and more muscular, has a writerly job (barista, bartender), can ride his bike without vomiting. This chic, hip clone gets laid more often and wears interesting outfits to underground events known only through word-of-mouth. Most importantly, he’s accomplished something I’m struggling to achieve. This asshole has a book deal and teaching contract both set to kick off in the fall, when he can leave the service industry behind forever. 

That’s what my finish line looks like. At the moment, I’m not the one who will cross it. But I can’t beat myself up hoping to punch my flesh into the shape of him. My trajectory won’t look like the relatively unchallenged ascent I imagined while in the safe embrace of grad school. It’ll look like reheated soup and applying for EBT, like asking the wise for advice over beers at Phone Booth. I choose to believe the struggle is essential to the act of becoming. It got me this far. Surprisingly, accepting there are trials on either side of the finish line moves you one step closer to crossing it. 

If you, like me, are fighting to make ends meet, it does not mean you failed or that you no longer deserve to live here. The city’s economy is easy to conflate with San Francisco itself, but the city wants you here. If the job market spits you out, clean yourself up, polish your résumé, and jump back in. Whether you “make it” here depends on how you define “make” and “it.” Some days it’s a raise or even the dream job. Others, it’s managing to feed yourself and do the dishes. Either way, whether you’re a work-in-progress or not, if you love it here, San Francisco will love you back. But it’ll make you work for it. 

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Jake Warren

Jake Warren

Gay nonfiction writer and pragmatic editor belonging to the Prairie Band Potawatomi Nation. Service industry veteran, incurable night owl, aspiring professor.