Origin Stories: How I got sucked into an MLM
Origin Stories: How I got sucked into an MLM
Part 1/3. The brief history of my time as a multi-level marketing distributor, and how it crashed and burned in a flaming ball of ash that almost cost us everything.
My issues with money were ingrained from childhood. But there was another major adulthood experience that introduced several facets of an unhealthy relationship to money and stuff, and that was after I joined an MLM in 2011.
The Balance (Money) defines multi-level marketing (MLM) as “a company that sells products through a network of independent distributors, who are rewarded both for sales and for recruiting more distributors.”
If you’ve never dipped your toe in, I’m sure you know of someone who has. Or, you’ve at least heard of companies like Mary Kay, Avon, Herbalife, The Body Shop, Amway, Pure Romance, about the LuLaRoe scandal (maybe),
and the list goes on.I’m also certain, if you’ve heard of even a few of these, that you’re aware of MLMs often being called pyramid schemes. Investopedia describes a pyramid scheme as “a sketchy…business model, where a few top-level members recruit newer members. Those members pay upfront costs up the chain to those who enrolled them.” Furthermore, Investopedia added:
A pyramid scheme is a fraudulent and unsustainable investment pitch that relies on promising unrealistic returns from imaginary investments. The early investors actually get paid those big returns, which leads them to recommend the scheme to others. Investors' returns are paid out of the new money flowing in. Eventually, no new investors can be found and the pyramid collapses.
In a variation of the pyramid scheme, investors at each level charge initiation fees that are paid by the next layer of investors. A portion of those fees is paid on to those in the top layers of the pyramid. Eventually, no one is left to recruit. The pyramid collapses.
Although MLMs aren’t automatically considered pyramid schemes in the eyes of the Federal Trade Commission (FTC), the label is often interchangeably used by any given person.
Information about MLMs is widely available now, with plenty of websites,
individuals in forums, and more on social media sharing “horror” stories and offering warnings to potential victims—recruits and customers, alike. But still, somehow, these companies remain. SkinProsac adds to the definitive breadth by stating, “While this business strategy may not appear to be problematic at first, there are several reasons why MLM businesses are considered controversial. Predatory recruiting techniques and unpaid labor of its sales representatives are two of the most common causes. As previously stated, MLM businesses are hierarchical, so if a sales representative at the bottom of the hierarchy makes a sale, everyone above them also earns a portion of the income. MLM sales representatives are not paid hourly but receive structured commissions at all levels.”Formerly (arguably) “legit” companies like Maskcara—now called Seint—didn’t earn a profit on their own. So, they transitioned to an MLM to cut costs and increase the likeliness of becoming profitable. By becoming an MLM, they essentially get people (distributors) to not only advertise for them for free, but the distributors pay the company for products (inventory) which then inflates their profit margin. Distributors then must do the leg-work (make the sales) of those products to recover their costs while the company’s sales numbers reflect an artificial inflation due to distributor investment.
Besides the risk to the company’s reputation, it’s a lower-risk move for the company itself, laying the bulk of risk on the distributor who sinks money into said company, which couldn’t float the running cost of business without the distributor.
But, these exploitative companies can only go so far before they run out of potential customers and recruits.
Over the years, I’ve shared a little bit about my attempt at career-building as a Mary Kay distributor. Of course, it crashed and burned. But not because “I didn’t work hard enough” or because “I wasn’t good enough at it.”
It crashed and burned because the business model doesn’t work for the bulk of people. The MLM type doesn’t necessarily matter here, although ones in the health arena tend to fare best. Only around 1% of distributors actually earn a profit, and only 0.5% "admitted" they made a salary of $100,000 or more .
I’ve always been naive. I’ve always trusted people for what they tell me, especially in my younger years.
I was a prime target and market for MLMs: A newlywed, (roughly five months) pregnant plus already having a toddler, and unemployed. I went from being fully independent for years—almost two years of that time being a single mom—only to get written off the work schedule after I informed management of my (second) pregnancy.
Running out of my own saved-up money, I was terrified to ask my new husband to pay for things like makeup and skincare for me. I assumed too much. (This is a common problem for me.) I assumed he preferred my made-up face, like my only worth was allowing him to potentially be envied for marrying a space-filling “trophy wife.” For the longest time, I didn’t understand my value to Brian, nor what Brian actually saw in me. I assumed my value to him was in the way I looked because that’s all that was ever positively said of me by partners before him.
For years, Brian said he’s always known who I am, and that he loves me as I am. But, for some reason, it was the one sentence I didn’t trust from the one person I should trust. It didn’t truly register with me until after a decade of marriage.
But, Brian was and is a simple man—he doesn’t need or care to have much. Face cleanser? That’s what the shampoo run-off from his head was for…. (I’ve since remedied this.)
I shared my insecurities of being a burdensome partner with a friend at the time. She said that one of her friends was in a somewhat similar situation (only without kids), and she signed up as a Mary Kay distributor just to get good (subjective) skincare and makeup, discounted. That seemed perfect.
She gave me her friend’s contact info. The friend said she “got out of it” (I’m annoyed that no red flags erupted from that), but she gave me the phone number of her former Director/upline.
As defined by Epixel, an upline is “an individual who brings … a new distributor into an MLM company. The upline is also referred to as their sponsor. The sponsor who got them into the business will be their immediate upline, and their sponsor’s upline will also be a part of the new distributor.”
The Director (a recruiter with, now, 10 or more active—purchasing at a set dollar-amount—recruits on their team qualifies to become a Sales Director in Mary Kay)
was a high-energy woman with a southern twang in her voice. She lived in Orlando, about two and a half hours from our home at the time. Half-listening as my oldest was a fearless toddler, she rattled on about the company and the products. I told her I just wanted discounted products, but she kept saying how important it was that a stay-at-home wife and mother has her own income. (I mean, that’s true, but an MLM isn’t the way.) And that, sure, I could start just wanting products “at cost” (bullshit), but I could “make some serious money” if I made it to her level and beyond.She countered all my hesitations—counters I’d later learned were scripted and used by all the uplines to increase sales and recruit signups. But I stood firm: I just wanted the discount.
The price of the initial kit was reasonable, so I followed her instructions, signed up online, and paid for it myself.
About two weeks later, the kit arrived. I was incredibly underwhelmed and upset with myself for not reading more before ordering. I spent the hundred dollars—plenty of makeup and skincare from a drugstore at the time. I received a pretty, black and cream, plastic-coated, argyle-patterned bag filled with just enough samples and a couple of full-size products, designed to throw an in-person “party”—an exhibit of products structured to sell products and entice attendees to join the MLM “under me” as fresh recruits. Before calling my new upline to complain, I decided to try the products, and tested a couple of samples of foundation. They were so much better than anything I’d ever tried before—you know, St. Ives Apricot Scrub (which no one should use), Noxema products (I had dry skin and no acne issues, so it worsened my existing dryness and eczema…). And I was using the Covergirl makeup designed for acne-control (seriously, I had no idea what I was doing).
I excitedly gushed to Brian about the Mary Kay products. He said, “Get what you need, babe. I’m glad you found something you like.”
Now, I realize that his kindness and encouragement became a self-forced motivator—in addition to finally obtaining skin that felt good to be in—that led to my later obsession with making a career as a Mary Kay distributor work. (But, really, my true obsession was with healthy, comfortable skin—I just didn’t know it yet.)
I called my upline, and told her the great news. Of course, she went on and on about how I could bring this joy to other people. But I disregarded that and asked for help in ordering products online because when I went to order what I liked by myself, there was no discount available.
She then told me that I would need to essentially get my order up to $800 retail on the first order to receive the 50% discount. That means I would have to spend $400 at least every 3 months to continue receiving 50% off. (This cost is now, currently, $225, according to the Mary Kay (FAQs) website.)
My heart fell into my stomach.
I still get hung up on things like this, unfortunately. My lovely Autistic brain leans towards seeing through decisions I’ve made, even at extensive risk to myself (and apparently to my family’s bank account).
At the time, I saw it as already being out $100. I didn’t have the over $400 required to get the first order. I had to ask Brian for that, but to what end? Let’s ‘invest’ four-hundred dollars into three years worth of personal products where I’d end up having to throw most out before the third year would be reached because whatever’s left over would go bad?
Without missing a beat, my upline said she would come to St. Petersburg to help me throw my “first party” with family and friends. She encouraged me to order products with that initial $800-retail investment with them in mind. “Think about their skin types, their skin tones—order products for the people you already know! People you know will buy from you because they love you!” (Red Flag Number… 16, maybe?) Her reasoning was that you sell products that people can take home that day. If there’s a barrier of potential weeks to even months until the customer can receive their product, they’re less likely to buy. (I mean, she’s not wrong. But she was absolutely motivated by her bottom line. Plus, if the people did “love me so much,” they’d wait for their product orders, wouldn’t they?)
As a former company vice president, I understood the inventory logic, but I didn’t absorb the devious context.
So, I did what she suggested. I sent the invites out. My four invitees came: My sister-in-law, my two bridesmaids, and my father-in-law’s wife—the only women I talked to at the time.
The director arrived in her women’s, pencil-skirt suit and six-inch heels with hot pink undersides. Her hair was perfectly curled at the lower half (not like my messy, natural hair which I scrunched with water to activate my frizzy curls). She had more makeup on her face than I’d ever seen in real life before. I felt intimidated. Was I expected to dress like that and put all that effort in? I mean, I can’t do that…. I don’t want to do that.
She took my Mary Kay kit and laid out my coffee table with a setting for each of my guests.
Cutting to the chase, she spent most of the time trying to get them to “join my team.” Everyone said no, but she countered each of their reasons why they said they couldn’t with the fluffiest language I’d ever heard. My heart pounded.
My mother-in-law was the only person who bought something—she liked the mascara. That was it. I’d purchased over $400 worth of products based on these women, and none of them wanted it.
I was angry. But instead of directing my anger toward the company and my upline’s predatory behavior, I blamed myself and was upset with my guests for not supporting me. I didn’t dress up enough. I didn’t say or do enough. Of course they don’t want this! I didn’t do anything! I didn’t try hard enough. I don’t know what I’m doing yet. But I’ll get good at this.
I took it as a challenge instead of the glaring warning it actually was.
I spent weeks researching skincare, skin types, skin problems and potential solutions, and makeup. I researched the best uses of the products, and created friendly, self-guided catalogues to share the information (I’ve always been a better writer and designer than a speaker). Then, I excitedly sent them to my director. Eventually, she called and said I was spending my time on things that didn’t matter and wouldn’t help. “Don’t try to reinvent the wheel. Use what others built already, because it works.” (Sure, for the top 0.5 to 1%, it works.)
She said I needed to make phone calls to everyone I know, and ask them for the contacts of everyone they know, and so on. I needed to “book parties” left and right.
The wind left my sails. I was having a baby within the next 6 weeks. I had a full-time supervision-needing toddler. My husband worked full-time at an office. I loathe forced socializing with strangers. And, regardless, even then I didn’t have the stamina to do parties and socialize with strangers at night. (how I didn’t know I wasn’t neurotypical is beyond me—nighttime is my social recovery time.) So, if I was ever going to get anywhere with it, we’d have to get a babysitter for me to do this during the daytime.
And, if any of the parties looked like my first one, I’d never make up even a simple return on my then $500 investment….
In my mind, that was it. It was over, just like that.
I hated phone calls anyhow, so I just ignored the upline’s. I had the baby, and eventually, her calls stopped. I used the products I already bought for myself out of the initial inventory purchase.
Then, one day, I ran out of face moisturizer. I had no more money of my own. My face grew tighter-feeling, redder, irritated, and sprouted several dry patches and angry bumps all over. The oily/combination skin type moisturizer wasn’t enough. I was beyond embarrassed and extremely uncomfortable in my own skin. I eventually got up the nerve to ask Brian for a credit or debit card, but I recall making it about being able to buy groceries “and things,” afraid that making it about my skin’s health would seem stupid to him. He had this, Oh my god, I can’t believe I never thought about giving you access to money look on his face, followed by an, “I’m sorry I didn’t think about that, babe.” (Communication was not our forte.)
After staring at the seemingly endless aisles of products at the drugstore, I couldn’t decide what was best. I was panicked. I had an infant and a toddler, and my skin felt and looked like it was cracking off.
I settled on a Eucerin product, which didn’t function well under makeup (which I felt like I needed due to my skin’s redness and constant texture at the time). So, I went back and tried to find something that would.
After my kids allowed me about 10 minutes of browsing before the baby required a feeding (my second was the hungriest baby, and now the hungriest preteen…), I left, flustered, unable to find a suitable moisturizer for my angry skin.
I returned home, fed the baby, and went online to just price out some Mary Kay products while the kids slept. But as I added what I needed to my cart, I ran into the same problem I did several months earlier: The discount no longer applied. And in addition to shipping charges, I’d still have to pay full price, which was more than I’d ever spent on care products—heck, even with the 50% discount, the products cost more than I was used to spending.
I was so emotionally rundown, I cried at Brian’s computer.
Instead of resting or cleaning while my kids napped, I decided to text every woman I could think of and let them know that I was putting in a Mary Kay order, and just directly asked if they needed anything, and included a link to my Mary Kay page. Then, I went about cleaning. I checked my phone probably two hours later, and had almost $300 retail in sales (plus lots of “How are you?” texts to respond to). Something about this simple win was so encouraging. I hadn’t earned my own money in about 8 months at that point, and with just 15 minutes of effort, I “profited” $150.
That was the dopamine hit that started everything.
From that experience, I could’ve pocketed the knowledge that when I do something out of genuine curiosity and directness over blind lust for money or power (or whatever offers the highest return for reaching the lowest depths of myself) that what I’m aiming for is more likely to come to fruition. People can tell whether you’re desperate or casually asking a question. Most people can tell when you ask loaded questions, even reading between the lines of a text message.
But, no. Instead, I viewed it as my only option as a young mom of two extraordinarily high-maintenance children under 3 years old. I didn’t have the stamina (nor knowledge of my neurodivergence and chronic illnesses) to be a parent and work a regular job. I didn’t have the access to earn enough to even pay for childcare for two, and justify working without returning to my traveling sales job—which would equal me rarely seeing my family.
I viewed the Mary Kay “opportunity” as a ready-to-go product, already offering everything I needed to get started.
After talking to Brian that evening, I think my confidence in the day’s sales, plus my enthusiasm, and him seeing his depressed-with-being-a-stay-at-home-parent wife finally experiencing joy made it a still complicated, yet worth-saying-yes to situation.
And that’s where it all began: The beginning that almost cost my family everything.
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Part 2 of this MLM series is available now.
(Forum) Stop MLM schemes from draining your friends dry, Reddit, r/antiMLM
What’s the saddest MLM horror story you’ve had?, Reddit, r/antiMLM
These Anti MLM Communities Are Saving People, Owner’s Magazine
Why the MLM industry is dying out (and why that’s good news for us all), Talented Ladies Club
19 Amazing MLM Statistics You Should Read in 2023, Jobs In Marketing
Mary Kay Pyramid, Pink Truth