It’s pretty safe to say that no one likes being ripped off, and everyone wants to be rich. Unfortunately, those two things are often in direct contradiction. A lot of people who try to get rich end up getting ripped off, and a lot of people get rich by ripping off other people.
Praise capitalism! A system that exists to make a handful of people extremely wealthy and to make the vast majority of people live with varying degrees of suffering. It’s gross, it’s ugly, it’s the American way!
Nothing quite embodies this dichotomy quite like a good old multi-level marketing (MLM) scheme. These are sometimes called pyramid schemes (not because the people involved in them make so much money that they frequently take trips to Egypt, but because they are scams with a large group of people on the bottom working to make money that mostly goes to a small group of people at the top).
Many of the most popular MLMs are aimed at women. And why not? In the USA, being a woman is tough. You already don’t earn as much as your male counterparts, and God help you if you have a kid or, worse, kids. Society is simply not set up to help you in any way.
Thankfully, we have MLMs to fill the gaps.
People who get into MLMs are lured by the promise of a lucrative and fun part-time job or side hustle, as well as the dream of being their own boss.
MLMs are capitalism’s way of saying, “We won’t give you affordable child care or paid maternity leave, but if you fill your garage with boxes of essential oils, it’ll somehow all work out.”
Thus, I am predicting what 2026 will look like for you based on your favorite MLM. If you've ever bought leggings from LuLaRoe, laundry detergent from Amway, wax melts from Scency, knives from Cutco, or blue eyeshadow from Mary Kay, the future awaits.
LuLaRoe
You’re fun. Maybe not at parties, but definitely at your house. You sing to your dog, have a wooden sign on your porch that reads “Lake Life” even though you live nowhere near a body of water, you keep a bottle of Poo~Pourri next to every toilet and a little one in your purse, the home you own was built before 2010, you drive a 2019 Kia Forte with a bumper sticker that reads “Dog Mom” even though you have two kids. You’re white. Obviously. Your husband is white. Your children are white. Almost everyone you see in your daily life is white. But that’s okay, because you “don’t see color” and “it doesn’t matter if someone is purple, blue, or green.” When asked about politics, you usually say something like, “I’m too busy for politics” or sometimes even, “I’m socially liberal and fiscally conservative” if you’re feeling sophisticated. You’re vaguely aware of racism, but you assume it’s getting better, not worse. You are all for diversity, yet feel kind of weird about trans girls playing sports. You vote solidly Democratic, so you’re doing your part to fight fascism, although you think that might be too strong a word. Bottom line: You’re living the American Dream with a mug that reads, “A day without coffee is like… Just kidding. I have no idea,” and a No Soliciting sign on your door. Your 2026 is going to be much the same as your 2025. Unless something really bad happens. You know, to you.
Amway
You don’t like Trump. You didn’t like Biden. You didn’t like Obama, either. Actually, you can’t think of a single president that you’ve ever approved of. What have any of them ever done for you, anyway? You hate your job, you resent your spouse, you barely talk to your family. It occurs to you that maybe you’re depressed, but that sounds so dramatic. You’re just in a slump is all. Happens to everybody. Maybe a bigger TV will help. Or maybe some marijuana. It’s legal now and you’ve always meant to try it. Then again, you aren’t a kid anymore. You’re getting old. Older every day. And you’re so tired. A good night’s sleep could fix you, but you can’t seem to ever make that happen. Sometimes you feel your soul floating up to the ceiling and you can watch yourself from above. There you are shuffling down your hallway in socks you’ve been wearing for the past two days. There you are sitting at your dining room table checking work emails on your laptop. There you are ordering DoorDash again. This can’t be it, right? There’s got to be something coming. You can feel it, like static electricity in the air. You can taste it, even: slightly metallic. All you know is that whatever it is, you’ve been waiting for it all of your life.
Scentsy
Ahhhh. Smell that? That’s the smell of fascism. Or maybe it’s cat pee. Either way, it smells terrible, and you’ve got a problem on your hands. You had a dream that J.D. Vance was coming over for dinner with his wife and children, though in the dream, his wife and children were all just gradually smaller versions of him. You fear your house won’t be nice enough to host the Vice President of the United States of America, so you’ve been cleaning all day. You’re currently in a liminal state where you’re not sure if you’re actually cleaning or just dreaming about cleaning. Ammonia from the glass cleaner you use to clean everything, even the toilet, is filling your lungs. “This proves that I’m alive,” you think, “or at least awake.” You notice an odor in the air. Something is burning. Were you making a pie for the Vance family? You open the oven door, and smoke billows out. It’s not a pie. It’s a scorched sheet cake decorated in red, white, and blue icing with one of those edible images in the middle. It’s that meme picture of J.D. Vance. “Oh my god, what have I done?” you whisper. You put on a pair of oven mitts, grab the cake, and head for the back door. There’s at least a foot of snow on the ground. You hurl the blackened cake into the yard where it lands in a steaming pile. It looks like 2026 is going to be a confusing, surreal year.
Cutco
The United States has become a Spirit Halloween store where every day is Oct. 30. People are rushing in at the last minute to get something, anything, they can cobble together and call a costume. Most of the merchandise is on the floor at this point. There’s a tangle of red clown wigs, a knocked-over display of plastic grim reaper scythes, rubber monster masks that smell like someone else’s halitosis. People are frantic and grumpy because they know this place isn’t going to be around forever and they’re running out of time. Ever since Trump demolished the White House’s East Wing, everything has felt more ephemeral, less stable. And we’re only a year into this presidency! So you might as well get your fun where you can find it. Hell, wear a clown costume to work tomorrow. Don’t say a thing about it. Keep your coworkers guessing. Maybe you’ll even get to go talk to the HR lady whose name you do not know, but who you’re very fond of because she keeps those little quarter-sized Snickers in an open dish on her desk and no matter how many you take, she doesn’t mention it. You need more people like that in your life. People who give you what you want and expect nothing in return. Otherwise, you’re going to have to just start stealing stuff. And that’s not really your personality. You’re more of a “can I borrow that?” type of person. If they never ask for it back, that’s on them. Maybe you can parlay this clown thing into a part-time gig. Children’s birthday parties. Corporate events. Murder for hire. In 2026, you’re going to make it. No matter what.
Mary Kay
Remember when Aretha Franklin sang, “We’re going riding on the freeway of love in my pink Cadillac?” The video was filmed in Detroit in 1985. There’s even a special guest appearance by the giant Uniroyal tire by I-94. Is it ironic that the music video is black and white? Not a pink car to be seen. The first lyric of that song is, “Knew you'd be a vision in white.” Is this song about a religious experience? The next lyric clarifies that, yes, it is: “How'd you get your pants so tight?” Clearly, the “you” in this song is an angel in tight white jeans. “Jump in, it ain't no sin,” Franklin sings. “Take a ride in my machine.” Would you do it? Would you take that ride? Or would you live the rest of your life telling the story about how you almost got to drive around Detroit with Aretha Franklin in a pink Cadillac? I see a road trip in your future. I see a Big Gulp full of diet Mountain Dew in the cup holder, an open bag of Sour Patch Kids, and another of Peanut M&Ms on the passenger seat. Unless, of course, that seat is occupied by a very special friend, if you know what I mean. And if you don’t know, I mean a dog. Unless wherever you’re going doesn’t allow dogs. Then a human is allowed, if you must. For you, 2026 is going to be a year of invitations and dares. Take them. Or some of them, anyway. Make good choices. “Drop the pedal and go, go, go.”