WORK • Tuesday Routine
MATT GROSS • vp, digital initiatives • Archetype
Neighborhood you work in: Wall Street
Neighborhood you live in: Boerum Hill
It’s Tuesday morning. What’s the scene at your workplace?
For years, I worked exclusively from home — a desk with a big monitor right next to my bed. My company was based primarily in Los Angeles and outside DC, so there was nowhere to go except, very occasionally, if I felt like it, a WeWork. But about a year ago, we bought an NYC-based media company, one that happened to have a ton of office space on the 26th floor of a tower right next to Bowling Green, so I started going there regularly — it’s two stops from home on the 4/5! The views are inspiring: New York Harbor, the Statue of Liberty, the canyon of skyscrapers up Broadway. And I even claimed for myself a proper office.
I’m the head of digital for Archetype, this weirdly sprawling media company, which means I’m responsible for figuring things out on the tech side, on the editorial side, and on the business side. It’s intersectionality, but for capitalism, yay! Mostly, that means I’m Slacking with colleagues around the country — writers, editors, marketers, finance folks, tech people — trying to answer their questions, make their lives easier, and keep this business organized and functional. Still, actual living human beings do pop by to say hi, sit on the couch, and chat. I love that.
What’s on the agenda for today?
We’re moving all our magazine subscription systems over to a constellation of software centered on Shopify, and it’s a huge project. For a lifelong journalist, all this is a bit of a turn, but I’ve always liked solving problems and making things work. And, after so many decades worrying about the words, the stories, and the headlines, it’s almost relaxing to focus solely on form and structure. Almost.
Because now, still, in the back of mind, is this personal newsletter I launched, called Trying! It’s an attempt to make myself write again, with essays and reportage on how to hold a grudge, the most important emoji, and, in general, the absurd, infuriating, Sisyphean experience that is life in modern-day America. And because I am a masochist, I’m writing this thing daily, including weekends, so a part of my brain is always trying to figure out what tomorrow’s email is going to be about. I don’t know how or when or why, but at some point this afternoon I decided — no, I realize — it’s going to be about the No Reservations Facebook page.
Any restaurant plans today, tonight, this weekend?
Just before I’m about to go home, I get a text from my friend Kevin asking me to meet him for a drink. I need to get back and cook dinner (a Moroccan chicken tagine) for my family, but Kevin lives in our Brooklyn neighborhood, so we go somewhere nearby: Anaïs, the newish wine bar from the owners of Rucola. Anaïs is going for a “literary Parisian” feel, and it’s getting there — it needs to be a bit more worn-in first — but that’s clearly ambiance for a pretentious snob like me. I drink the Martini Deluxe, Kevin has a glass of Champagne, and we talk about stories he wants me to write for the magazine he just joined. Wait, am I becoming a writer again?
How about a little leisure or culture this week?
Friday I’m meeting another old friend, Devra, for drinks — do we go to Public Records, which is super-hip but maybe too hip, or Mercado Central, the new Spanish-style standing wine bar? Saturday I’ll go bouldering at Movement Gowanus with The Brooklyn Teacups, the motley crew of climbers I’ve assembled over the past couple of years. Most likely we’ll grab brunch after, but I don’t know where — maybe Rana 15 for a huge Turkish spread. Sunday’s run day: I’ll meet early with my running crew, the Not Rockets, for 10+ miles that could take us all over Brooklyn or into Manhattan.
Next Saturday we’re going to see the annual musical at my daughter’s high school, LaGuardia — you know, the one from Fame, whose alumni include Timothée Chalamet and Nicki Minaj? These shows are stellar, just a bare step down from Broadway, and I’m surprised more NYC visitors and residents don’t buy tickets.
And somewhere in there, every single day, I’ll find time to write 2,000 words about… something. I’ll let you know on Monday, or you could always just subscribe.