“Who gives a fuck? If you don’t have to put up with working at Amazon, do you really need to make Amazon money?”

That’s the million-dollar question. “My husband was horrified by what this bag cost,” Sally told me last week about the Marc Jacobs hobo she pulled the trigger on after weeks of contemplation. “But when you work at Amazon, you have to give yourself a present now and then.” Every Amazon woman I know has an equally high-achieving spouse, and also every one of us is outearning that spouse by a lot, just because of the batshit stock. John has never shown the slightest macho insecurity over it. Neither have most of the husbands; they’re evolved and smart enough to just feel lucky. But what’s too hard to explain to them is that we don’t feel overpaid. Amazon could be depositing a million dollars a month into my checking account and I would think, Yes, this seems about right, given the fear and the chaos and the ugly surroundings and the endlessly escalating demands and the way no one ever says thanks.