Daniel's been thinking about the moment someone at a dinner party says "so, what do you do?" and you're between gigs. The pause that follows. The fumble. The urge to say something that isn't a lie but isn't a confession either. He's spent ten years freelancing, working in-house, and sitting in the gaps between those things, and he's noticed the question lands harder for men. So his form of revolution, as he puts it, is trolling. He wants a toolkit: creative, euphemistic, passable-but-confusing ways to describe being between projects.
And he's right that the question is doing something other than what it pretends to do. Nobody actually needs to know your job title to make small talk. They're sorting you. Status, stability, which shelf to put you on.
It's the adult version of "what's your major."
Which was the young adult version of "what are you going to be when you grow up." The question has been chasing us since childhood. And for men, the wrong answer carries a particular sting.
So today we're building Daniel's arsenal. And maybe yours.
Let's start with why this question hits like it does. Because if you don't understand the mechanism, you can't troll it properly. And trolling, done right, is a precision instrument.
I'd argue it's more like a smoke bomb. But go on.
The "what do you do" script is a social sorting mechanism. It's not about your job. It's a proxy for three things: can you provide, are you stable, and do you belong in this room. When you have a clean answer, you slot into the conversation and everyone relaxes. When you don't, you create what the sociologists call role ambiguity. The other person doesn't know how to categorize you, and that discomfort is contagious.
So the awkward pause isn't your awkwardness. It's theirs. They asked a question expecting a label and you handed them a cloud.
And for men, the script has teeth. Traditional masculinity ties worth to provision. It's not just that you don't have a job. It's that you're failing at the one thing you're supposed to be. Unemployment for men consistently correlates with higher rates of depression and shame than for women, even controlling for income loss. The Journal of Health and Social Behavior has published on this for decades. The financial gap is real, but the identity gap is what does the psychological damage.
So when Daniel says trolling is his revolution, he's not just being funny. He's refusing to participate in a script that's rigged against anyone between things.
That's the part most people miss. A confusing answer isn't a dodge. It's a counter-move. You're saying, I see the game, I'm not playing by your rules, and I'm going to make that visible.
And the beauty is, the other person can't get angry. Because you didn't insult them. You just gave them an answer that doesn't compute.
Now let's get into the craft. How do you actually pull this off?
I want to map the spectrum first. Because there's a difference between a euphemism and a troll, and you need to know which tool you're reaching for.
The euphemism spectrum runs from corporate-safe to absurd. At the safe end, you've got "between engagements," "consulting," "on a sabbatical." These are the answers that let everyone pretend nothing is wrong.
"Consulting" is the classic. It's the Swiss Army knife of unemployment euphemisms. Sounds professional, implies income, and nobody ever asks what you consult about.
Because asking would be rude. And that's the mechanism. Vagueness works because it gives the asker a hook they can grab or drop. If they're curious, they can ask a follow-up. If they're uncomfortable, they can nod and move on. You've given them an exit ramp.
But the exit ramp is also your shield. The vaguer you are, the less they can interrogate you.
Right. Then you move along the spectrum. "On a sabbatical" implies you earned the break, that there's a job waiting on the other side. "Between opportunities" is the LinkedIn version, which somehow sounds more desperate than just saying you're unemployed.
"Between opportunities" sounds like you're standing in a hallway waiting for a door to open. It's the corporate version of "I'm fine" when you're not fine.
The absurd end is where it gets fun. "Professional gap-year enthusiast." "In a period of strategic rest." These are answers that sound almost real but tip over into self-parody.
"Strategic rest" is my favorite. It reframes doing nothing as a military maneuver.
And that's where the trolling techniques come in. Daniel asked for creative ways to describe being between projects, and I think there are three distinct moves.
Walk me through them.
First, the Literalist. You answer the question as if it were asked by someone who's never heard of jobs. "I'm a full-time human being." "I'm in the business of being me." The humor comes from taking the question at face value instead of reading the social subtext.
"What do you do?" "I breathe. I eat. I sleep. Sometimes I read." It forces them to either laugh or explain what they actually meant, which is that they wanted to know how you make money.
And making them explain the real question is a small victory. You've exposed the script.
The second move?
The Over-Share. You give an answer that's technically about your situation but so personal or philosophical that it derails the conversation. "I'm exploring my relationship with time." "I'm in a deep-dive on my own psychology." These sound like you're either on a spiritual journey or about to start a cult.
"I'm exploring my relationship with time" is wonderful because it's almost certainly true, but nobody wants to follow up on it. What do you even ask? "How's that going?"
And if they do ask, you can go deeper. "Well, I've been reading a lot about temporal perception. Did you know that when you're not on a schedule, time moves differently?" Now they're trapped in a conversation about the philosophy of time when they just wanted to know if you're employed.
The third move?
The Redirect. You answer briefly and immediately flip the question back. "I'm between adventures, but tell me about your quarterly targets." You've acknowledged their question and then made them the subject.
That one requires confidence. If you hesitate, it reads as defensive. But if you deliver it smoothly, you've taken control of the conversation.
And that's the whole point. All of these techniques are about control. The question is a power move, whether the asker realizes it or not. They're asking you to justify your existence in terms they understand. A confusing answer flips the power dynamic.
Now, Daniel specifically asked for the sweet spot: answers that sound passable enough to avoid follow-up but are so odd they linger. What would you put in that category?
"Freelance opportunity architect." That's my top pick. It sounds like a real job title, probably because it contains the word "architect," which people have been bolting onto everything for the last decade. But it means nothing. You architect opportunities. For whom? For what? Nobody knows.
It's the job title equivalent of a stock photo. Looks professional, contains no information.
"I'm in a transitional life phase" is another one. It's true, but the phrasing is so formal it sounds like you're describing a software upgrade. "Transitional life phase" is what you'd call it in a quarterly report to shareholders.
And "self-directed sabbatical" is passable but makes people wonder. Who directed it? You? That's just called not working.
It implies structure and intention where there might be neither.
What about the non-answer? The art of saying "none of your business" without actually saying it.
That's about delivery. The words matter, but the tone matters more. "I'm between things" with a smile and a slight shrug works because you've signaled that this is a normal state, not a crisis. "I'm taking a break from the rat race" works if you say it like you've already won.
The rat race line is interesting because it implies you chose to leave, not that you were forced out. It reframes unemployment as a decision.
And that reframing is the whole ballgame. The person asking doesn't know if you quit, got fired, or are taking time off. If you act like it's a choice, they'll often accept that framing.
The key is confidence. If you deliver "I'm between things" like an apology, they'll treat it as a tragedy. If you deliver it like a status update, they'll treat it as normal.
There's a Reddit thread about this, actually. People sharing their creative unemployment answers. One person said they told people they were "a freelance problem solver" and got three job offers from people who thought it sounded useful.
That's the accidental side hustle problem. You invent a fake job title and someone wants to hire you for it.
Which is a nice problem to have, I suppose. But it does raise the question of what happens after the troll lands.
That's the part I want to dig into. Because it's not just about the line. It's about what happens after.
The knock-on effect. When you troll the "what do you do" question, you're not just deflecting. You're exposing the absurdity of the script. The asker's reaction tells you a lot about them.
If they laugh, they get it. If they look confused and change the subject, they were just running the script and don't know what to do when it breaks. If they push for a real answer, they're either genuinely interested or they're the kind of person who can't tolerate ambiguity.
And that last group is the dangerous one. The person who won't let it go. "No, but what do you actually do?" They need the label. They can't proceed without it.
Those are the people who ask what your salary is next.
Probably. But here's the thing about trolling as a strategy. It's not just a defense mechanism. It's a philosophical stance. It says "I am not my job." And that aligns with a broader cultural shift. The anti-work movement, the great resignation, the whole conversation about whether tying identity to employment is healthy.
Though Daniel's trolling is personal, not political. He's not trying to change the system. He's just refusing to be categorized by it.
And that distinction matters. The anti-work movement wants to tear down the structure. Daniel just wants to be annoying at a dinner party.
There's something almost noble about that. Small-scale resistance. One confusing answer at a time.
But there's a social risk. Trolling can backfire. If you're at a professional event, or meeting your partner's parents, or talking to someone who might actually be useful to your career, the confusing answer can cost you.
The line between playful and dismissive is thin. "I'm a professional gap-year enthusiast" is funny the first time. The fifth time, it sounds like you're avoiding the question because you're ashamed.
And that's the irony. The trolling is supposed to signal confidence, but if you do it too much, it signals the opposite. It reads as a wall.
So when do you deploy the troll, and when do you give a straight answer?
Job interviews, obviously straight. Family, probably straight, unless your family has a sense of humor. Professional networking, straight with a light touch. But casual social situations, parties, strangers on planes, that's where the troll shines.
The stranger on a plane is the ideal target. You'll never see them again. You can tell them you're a time explorer and let them sit with that for the remaining four hours of the flight.
"Time explorer" is good. I'd put that in the Over-Share category with a dash of Literalist.
And the deeper insight, I think, is that the best responses are the ones that invite a real conversation. Not just a scripted exchange.
That's the counterintuitive part. A confusing answer can lead to a more honest conversation than a straight one. If you say "I'm a software engineer," the conversation goes one way. If you say "I'm between things, and honestly it's been weirdly productive," you've opened a door.
The troll creates a moment of genuine connection. Or at least, a moment of honesty. The other person has to decide whether to engage with the real you or retreat to the script.
And most people, given the choice, will engage. Because the script is boring. Everyone's tired of asking "what do you do" and getting a job title. A weird answer is a gift.
It's a story. And people like stories more than they like job titles.
Now, there's a comparison to make here. The freelancer who says "I'm between projects" versus the one who says "I'm a consultant." Same situation, different framing. How do they land in different contexts?
"Between projects" implies momentum. You're a person who does projects, and right now you're between them. It's the freelancer's version of "I'm on a break." It works in creative fields where project-based work is normal.
But in a corporate setting, "between projects" can sound like you're idle. "Consultant" sounds like you're working. Same reality, opposite signals.
The consultant framing is the more aggressive play. You're not between anything. You're a consultant. The implication is that you're always working, or at least always available to work.
And "consultant" has the added benefit of being vague enough that nobody can pin you down. Consulting on what? Business. Strategy. Things. It's the perfect euphemism because it's simultaneously specific and meaningless.
But the troll goes further. "Consultant" is a euphemism. "Freelance opportunity architect" is a troll. The difference is the wink.
The euphemism wants to pass. The troll wants to be noticed.
And Daniel's revolution is about being noticed. About making the other person aware that they asked a weird question.
Which brings us to the broader shift. Work is becoming more fluid. Gigs, remote work, AI changing what jobs even exist. The question "what do you do" might become obsolete.
Or it might become more important. When work is fluid, the label becomes the anchor. People cling to it harder.
That's a grim thought. The more unstable work becomes, the more desperately people want to ask about it.
It's like asking about the weather during a hurricane. You know the answer is bad, but you ask anyway because you don't know what else to say.
So the toolkit Daniel's asking for isn't just for fun. It's a survival mechanism for a world where the old scripts are breaking down.
And until the question dies, we all need a script.
Hilbert: Eighteen months. That's how long I was between projects in the late nineties.
That's a long stretch.
Hilbert: My answer was "freelance consultant in organizational dynamics." Technically true. I was consulting myself on how to organize my day. Most days the answer was "poorly."
That's the most honest fake job title I've ever heard.
Hilbert: The one that worked best was "I'm in a period of professional recalibration." Used it so often people started asking me for advice on recalibration. Like it was a service. I'd sit there and nod and say "recalibration is a process, not an event." They'd write it down.
You accidentally invented a coaching practice.
Hilbert: Made forty dollars once. A man in my building gave me forty dollars to tell him how to recalibrate. I told him to take a nap and update his resume. He said it was the best career advice he'd ever gotten.
The nap is underrated as a professional development tool.
Hilbert: The other one I used was "gentleman of leisure." Told that to a neighbor. He took it as an insult. Thought I was saying he was a gentleman of leisure. I was just trying to sound fancy.
The phrase has a built-in ambiguity. It sounds like a compliment or a confession depending on the tone.
Hilbert: I said it with a smile. He said "I work very hard, actually." Then he stopped talking to me.
So the gentleman of leisure line has a body count.
Hilbert: The recalibration thing, though. That one stuck. People would see me in the hallway and ask how the recalibration was going. Like I was a machine being tuned. I'd say "we're making progress" and they'd nod like I'd said something profound.
You became the building's in-house philosopher.
Hilbert: I became the building's in-house unemployed man with a good vocabulary.
That's the same thing, depending on the building.
Hilbert: The question I have is, if I'd said "I'm a freelance opportunity architect," would that have worked as well? Or is it too obviously a joke?
It depends on the delivery. "Opportunity architect" is so overbuilt that it almost dares the listener to call it out. But if you say it flat, with no wink, a surprising number of people will accept it.
Hilbert: Because they don't want to admit they don't know what it means.
The vaguer the title, the more the listener fills in the blanks with their own assumptions.
Hilbert: It's a mirror. They see what they want to see.
That's the whole mechanism. The confusing answer works because the other person does the work of making it make sense.
Hilbert: I should have charged more than forty dollars.
The one thing I'd take from this: the question "what do you do" is not about you. It's about the asker's need to sort you. And once you see that, the question loses its power. You can answer it however you want.
The best answers are the ones that make the asker aware of the script without making them feel stupid. You're not attacking them. You're just declining to play a game they didn't know they were playing.
Which leaves the open question: is trolling the best way to handle this, or is there a more honest approach that doesn't require performance?
I think the honest approach and the troll approach converge more than people expect. "I'm between things, and it's actually been good for me" is honest and disarming. It's not a performance. It's just the truth delivered without shame.
As work keeps fragmenting, the question might finally die. Or it might mutate into something worse. "What's your portfolio?" "What's your brand?"
We'll need new answers for those too. But that's a future episode.
Thanks to Hilbert Flumingtop for producing, and for the forty-dollar recalibration consultation.
This has been My Weird Prompts. If you've got your own between-projects line, email the show at show at my weird prompts dot com. We might read the best ones on air.
We'll be back soon. Until then, I'm in a period of professional recalibration.
We all are, Corn. We all are.
