From her Ottawa home, Kaitlin sat in front of her computer in 2015, intently taking notes as she watched her webinar instructor list a number of medical conditions on a whiteboard. Thyroid disease. Polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS). Crohn’s disease. Autism. High blood pressure. Kaitlin and the seven other participants, all watching over Skype, hurriedly jotted down the ailments. The instructor assigned each attendee five of the conditions she'd listed, then asked the participants to research their symptoms and report back at the next meeting.

Kaitlin, 36, already knew the symptoms for PCOS: that’s why she was part of the webinar in the first place. When Kaitlin started gaining weight after her diagnosis, she’d vented to a close friend about the self-consciousness that accompanied her extra pounds. Try Plexus, he suggested. It had helped his wife, who’d lost 10 pounds thanks to the weight-loss shake—a powdered supplement made from fiber, minerals, and caffeine that claims to help with digestion. The supplement, sold from a private rep, cost Kaitlin $69.95 a month; once she added in a probiotic, a carb blocker (a type of supplement that claims to stop carb digestion), and a few other Plexus products, all recommended by her sales rep, Kaitlin’s monthly cost rose to over $200.

There was a way she could offset the cost, though. If she sold the products herself, she’d earn credits for her own Plexus order, and potentially make a profit. So she signed up as a Plexus rep, which led her to the Skype training seminar—and her instructor’s homework. While the official Plexus manual didn’t tell reps to specifically target friends and acquaintances with health problems, “it got around hush-hush,” Kaitlin says. “It was something that people knew, but didn't talk about.”

At her next Plexus webinar, after Kaitlin and her fellow participants shared what they'd discovered about the various ailments assigned by their instructor, they realized that—surprise—many have similar symptoms. A lot of exhaustion, “low energy, brain fog, or aches and pains,” Kaitlin says. Keep a list of these symptoms handy, the instructor encouraged them. It would help the reps market to the widest possible audience. And since Plexus products aren’t FDA-approved, as long as the reps didn’t promise that Plexus could cure or help with any particular disease, they’d keep Plexus out of murky legal waters. If they focused on the symptoms, not the condition, they’d be safe. (Supplement manufacturers are technically required to prove to the FDA that their claims are true, according to an FDA spokesperson—but are not required to submit that proof before bringing a product to market.)

“My job was to get people talking about their health troubles, and get them to try Plexus."

“The idea was like this: Everybody in your entire life would be healthier and feel better if they started taking Plexus,” Kaitlin says. “My job as a Plexus ambassador was to get people talking about their health troubles, and try to get them to try Plexus.” But “you had to sell the product vaguely,” Kaitlin says.

So she turned to social media, where she could sell the products and keep an eye out for acquaintances who might be suffering from (and posting about) things like “brain fog” and “low energy.” And Facebook allowed her to show off her healthy lifestyle, thanks to her daily supplements. “I made a lot of cringe-worthy Facebook posts for a few months,” she recalls. “We were encouraged to make at least one Plexus post a day, and one ‘real’ post to prevent our social circle from unfollowing us. So post a pic of your kid or your dog, or being out at dinner—and then do a Plexus post.”

Direct sales or multi-level-marketing companies (MLMs) are built on relationships: The whole idea is that someone is going to be more swayed by a personal recommendation over a cold sales pitch. One of the first steps for a new direct sales rep is to list all the family, friends, acquaintances, and colleagues they could sell their product to. In the '50s and '60s, reaching out to these connections meant women would invite their neighbors to their homes to gamely try out, and hopefully buy, lipsticks or Tupperware.

This content is imported from Instagram. You may be able to find the same content in another format, or you may be able to find more information, at their web site.

These companies also skew female: While the exact number of women involved in direct sales is unknown, about one in seven U.S. households include someone involved in direct sales, and 92 percent of in-home sales parties are thrown by women. Historically, MLMs have pitched themselves as a path to financial independence for women. Working for a direct sales company is a way to run your own businesses, you’re told. You’ll earn money selling the products, but you’ll earn even more by enlisting other sales reps. Fifty-five years after Mary Kay Ash founded her direct sales makeup line, this idea still appeals to those who want to bring in income but also stay home with their kids, even though earning much money in a MLM is highly unlikely. (Research published by critics of the direct-sales industry found that up to 99 percent of reps don’t earn any income at all.)



But just as our online communities are replacing real-life connections, the MLM model has also moved into our feeds. To appeal to online friends and acquaintances, reps for weight loss MLM companies like Shakeology and Herbalife won’t just directly pitch their companies’ shakes or soup mixes; they’ll also share various aspect of their lives to show the success of their products. These online overtures vary wildly, from messages from connections you haven’t spoken in years (“Hey girl! How are you?? Have you heard about Skinny Body?”) to Facebook Live videos that resemble QVC shows, to catalog-quality Instagram photos. (Currently, Facebook is a far more popular sales ground, but many reps are also using Instagram too.) The most successful MLM agents have an artful take: They’re cheery women who simply appear to be living—and documenting—their best lives, all while using whatever they’re selling. This approach often works much better than reps who cold message their network out of the blue. (One rep called that strategy “disgusting—like you’re trying to get to third base right away.”)

Reps' acquaintances can’t be sure whether they’re seen as a friend or a mark.

And since a lot of what’s on the direct-sales lineup these days falls under the general umbrella of health and wellness—essential oils, supplements, weight-loss shakes, skin-firming body wraps—our social feeds reflect more salespeople showcasing their active lifestyles and taut bodies.



Katelyn Bednarczyk, a 27-year-old nurse practitioner in Chicago, started selling Herbalife products during graduate school. She was told “to portray my life like a reality TV star on social media,” she says. “Show your every move, and always incorporate Herbalife in to it.” That led to her buying Herbalife-branded clothing and water bottles to pose with, plus stripping down to her underwear to show off her weight loss. “You don't realize who can see that, and who can show your boss at your workplace until you're called in the office and advised that ‘probably isn't a good idea,’” she says.



“We teach them how to authentically connect with people—not in an icky way,” says Kristina Swift, vice president of sales for weight-loss brand Isagenix, which encourages its reps to post pictures of themselves working out or having healthy snacks. “When they're clearly living the life they want to live, it might take time, but eventually their friends will say, ‘I want some of that. I want to feel that.’ ”

Accompanying the pressure to show your “best life” is the pressure to keep up your personal brand. Lindsey Wheeler, a stay-at-home-mom in her forties who lives outside Seattle, was one of the first sales reps for LuLaRoe, a clothing line known for its boldly printed workout leggings. (The company is currently facing at least a dozen lawsuits, some alleging that it’s a pyramid scheme, which LuLaRoe denies.) Lindsey realized the potential of Facebook early on. “I thought, ‘Hey, this is a tool,” she says. “If I don’t put something out there, I've lost that opportunity. I have five minutes; I can take a pictures.” She enlisted her 4-year-old daughter to help by teaching her to use her iPhone. “Tap Mommy’s face,” she’d say, while the camera focused.

As more direct sales reps market to both friends and “friends” via social media, a digital tangle has emerged: Reps might blend into acquaintances’ networks as just another personality, while those acquaintances can’t be sure whether they’re seen as a friend or a mark. When Los Angeles-based writer Andie Huber was unknowingly added to a nutrition-themed Facebook group by a friend, Andie stuck around because she felt awkward leaving. But she soon got sucked in, as the Isagenix sales reps kept posting “before” and “after” shots of a woman named Amber. She looks amazing, Andie thought, and bought a batch of shakes from her friend.

Instead of turning into Amber, Andie just felt hungry, and too tired to exercise. Who was this Amber, she wondered, and did she only rely on the shakes? Andie's friend admitted that Amber also ran five miles a day. “I felt like I was lied to make money,” Andie says. “It felt dirty.”



“I felt like I was lied to make money. It felt dirty."

This contentious atmosphere has led to an inevitable backlash. Now there’s even a Facebook support group for former MLM-ers, called “Sounds Like MLM But OK,” with almost 63,000 members. Its guidelines read: We want this to be a safe and fun place to discuss and learn about multilevel marketing companies (MLM's) and their poor business structure, obnoxious marketing practices, and all around awful nature. This is also a place to vent about your #bossbabe "friends" you haven't talked to since 5th grade but have a wonderful opportunity for you!

One of the members posted a screenshot of an essential oils sales rep preying on a worried mom: Hey Lady, I saw your post about your son’s condition and I was just wondering if you had ever thought about essential oils? It might help him calm down if you have to give him shots! Let me know if you’re interested!

The mom’s reply: Hey Girl, I saw this text and wondered if you had ever considered eating my entire ass. Fuck off.

While some users have become more actively vocal about wanting to be left alone by MLM reps, many of those reps maintain they’re just trying to do their jobs. Nashville-based Cheurice Prince sells Younique Cosmetics, a brand that touts its “in-house scientific team” and the research that informs its products. (“Our goal is to provide healthy, clean, and pure cosmetics,” the site reads.) It also describes itself as “the first direct sales company to market and sell almost exclusively through the use of social media.” If someone on her feed posted about landing a new job, Cheurice says, the likes would roll in. “People are like, ‘Yay!’ ” she says. “But if you say you launched your own business through a MLM, you’ll get like three likes, because there’s this stigma.”



Some of Cheurice’s college friends unfollowed her when she started selling Younique Cosmetics. (She currently has over 11,000 Facebook followers.) That was hard, says Cheurice, who calls herself #makeupmama, and often makes videos to help sell Younique—but she kept up her posts, showing other women how she manages to integrate mascara and concealer in her hectic life with her husband and kids.



She’ll occasionally pull her family in front of the camera with her. “My husband will hop on a live video and let me do his makeup,” she says. “It's like the Kardashians. You love them or you hate them, but you can't stop watching. They do such a good job of sharing their life.”

This content is imported from Instagram. You may be able to find the same content in another format, or you may be able to find more information, at their web site.

Then a friend posted an essay in her feed, written by Andie Huber, the Los Angeles writer unwittingly drawn into the nutrition Facebook group, called “If Another Mom Tries to Sell Me Something on Facebook, I’m Going to Lose It.” It said, in part: “To people pushing product on Facebook, you read it here: enough. If you want to be my friend then don’t sell me something. And if you think I need an energy boost or an eye cream or sparkly bracelet, then buy it for me because that’s what friends do, not the other way around.”

After Cheurice read Andie's essay, she made a different style of video. In it, she's barely wearing makeup and has wrapped a towel around her wet hair. "I had to delete a friend yesterday," she says to the camera, her Southern-accented voice quavering. "And I hate how much it's bothered me, but I'm going to share this, okay? She shared an article about how much she hates moms on Facebook selling stuff, and it crushed me...We're moms selling things on Facebook because sometimes it's our only choice." Cheurice's eyes are wet with tears as she talks about how she only made $500 in 2017—after subtracting daycare costs—from her full-time teaching job. Then she segues into how passionate she is about Younique. "I'm not selling you poop in a pretty little package," she says. "I'm selling you something that I love."

“Do not go on Facebook and try to make me feel bad about what I do,” she concludes. “Don’t, okay? Because I’m supporting my family the best way I know how.” The video got 2.2 million views and over 2,000 comments, most of them encouraging Cheurice to “Preach it sista!!” or calling her beautiful. One woman wrote, “You look like Mila Kunez (or however you spell that)!!” Cheurice is proud that she spoke out, and isn’t about to stop selling Younique. “You have to push through those emotional moments and see the big picture,” she says.

Some MLM-ers have found that their sales gigs are impacting not just far-flung connections, but their closest relationships.



After selling—and posting about—Herbalife for a few months, Katelyn B.'s family expressed concerns that the products were made from harmful ingredients. They didn’t want her using them, or convincing other people to use them. Her boyfriend thought she spent too much time posting on social media; he didn’t think the products worked, either, and refused to try them. They began to fight more frequently.

The disapproval from Katelyn B.’s partner and family impacted how she ran her business. “I felt ashamed and embarrassed anytime I had to make a post for Herbalife,” she says. “Even at work, when people asked me how it was going, or they noticed my posts, I cringed.” (She and her boyfriend eventually broke up, a split she attributes in part to her direct-sales job. But she didn’t quit selling Herbalife until her taxes showed her that her side gig actually cost her $2,000.)



“I felt ashamed and embarrassed anytime I had to make a post for Herbalife."

Over her year and a half as a Plexus sales rep, Kaitlin experienced similarly fraught interactions. Her parents and her best friend refused to buy the products. Her siblings were “horrified,” she says. “I had a massive fight with my brother. My sister kept trying to make me see the light about MLMs, and we stopped talking.” She alienated coworkers, too, as she realized that some co-workers were actively avoiding her. Despite all of this, her last-straw moment echoes Katelyn B.’s: Kaitlin finally quit when she realized Plexus had cost her almost $6,000.

She still hasn’t widely spread the news that she’s no longer an MLM-er, though. “I'm at a place now where I'm getting comfortable telling people I quit,” she says. “But I still feel awkward. How do I say to people I approached previously: Hey, don't worry, I'm not going to try and sell you stuff?”

Illustrated by Michelle Mruk • Animated by Hayeon Kim