Nicole Qualtieri Refuses to Join Another Cult
Unless she's the leader of it. Who the hell made her Editor-in-Chief, anyway?
Would it be strange to start this off with the fact that I spent the first eight years of my life living in a cult in northwestern Ohio?
Really, I prefer to call it a commune as the noun ‘cult’ denotes practices such as weird rituals, white togas, and rampant ‘adult’ behavior. I’ve heard whispers of terrible things that went on in that place, but for what it’s worth, my childhood lived in the bucolic.
I was surrounded by dozens of adults and children who knew me. This freed up my boundaries. Those boundaries stretched over acres and acres. A very feral childhood freedom was the norm — not the exception.
The cult was an extension of an international non-denominational evangelist church, where my parents met in 1983. We moved a lot, as part of the church. I went to three elementary schools, two middle schools, and two high schools. We moved my junior year from Columbus, Ohio, to Denver, CO, in 2000. My dad had passed from cancer the year before.
You develop a veneer of transient resilience when your roots are so short you carry them with you, hidden somewhere within the calloused soles of your feet. My main survival skills lived in the ability to make community wherever I landed, to seek out the ‘commune’ of humanity in any space, place, or setting.
The two main skills you are forced into are dogged observation and the necessity of being gregarious. You learn to make fun of yourself first and disarm everyone around you.
When you disarm people, you find yourself carrying the sword.
Over my ten years in hunting media, I worked for and with some of the most innovative brands and personalities one could muster up (ZPZ Productions, MeatEater, Remi Warren’s Apex Predator, Randy Newberg, Backcountry Hunters & Anglers, GearJunkie). In such hallowed halls, observation and a sponge-like exterior can actually get you pretty damn far.
Your roots begin to grow out from your feet for the first time. You realize that perhaps you have some staying power.
If you take a more nomadic route in an industry over time, you get exposed to its vulnerable underbelly. The vulnerable underbelly of any industry, really, is that humans are fallible. There are plenty of cults of personality in the outdoor space, and I want to be clear that a personality doesn’t have to hold an individual or an influencer at the top of the pyramid.
Cults of personality also exist as brand missions that require die-hardism, non-profits that demand groupthink, and the casual inner circles within professions that are cut off until you’re finally onside. You can make assumptions about these sentences from where I’ve worked, but please understand that this is not a pejorative effort, a lambasting, or a pointing of the finger at any one person or brand.
Why? It’s human nature to want to be a part of a team with like-minded goals, values, and ways of being in the world. I spent my first two and a half decades devoted to team sports. It’s a powerful feeling when it’s right. On the other hand, you can also find yourself on the outside looking in at a team where everyone else fits, but somehow, you know you never will. Part of growing up, I think, is learning not to take that personally.
I’ll add that, across my ten years in the outdoor industry, each job prepared me with gifts I’d never return. And I did find spaces where I was integral.
While working on MeatEater for ZPZ Productions, I received the equivalent of a graduate education in front-facing hunting communications from one of the best in the business. I also laughed more in that office than any other, with some of the best people than you can imagine.
Working at BHA showed me what the grassroots community can do for conservation movements. We collectively unseated a frickin’ congressman.
GearJunkie made me the writer that I am, because of the mentorship and friendship of people like Sean McCoy and Adam Ruggiero. I am endlessly proud of the passion Rachelle Schrute now brings to that role.
And then there are people like Randy Newberg. He remains a stalwart of mentorship and generosity with a positive influence that can’t be understated across both hunting education and conservation leadership.
Since I first sidled up to my desk at ZPZ Productions on December 1, 2014, I’ve paid close attention. Prevailing winds caressed my cheeks, and I took note. I found myself in places and conversations I didn’t expect to be in, with a network of industry folks that blossomed around me like balsamroot on the hills each spring. My two pillars of observation and community didn’t slow down; I kept these ears open. I kept making friends. I cared, deeply. Sometimes, that translated into conflict.
So be it. I had no skin in the game in being a firebrand or an instigator. I just call things as I see them. I did my best to be fair, measured, and open-hearted in those moments. So I’ll do the same here and call the following into bold letters:
I never wanted to be an Editor-in-Chief.
It’s a job I wouldn’t apply for in the traditional media industry. Too much answering to higher-ups and their monetary agendas, all the babysitting of people likely burnt out because of pace. I like to write, for one, and I like to edit, but running a team? It didn’t seem like my thing. To find myself in this seat with journalists that I think are more talented, educated, and even more experienced than I am feels fantastical. It’s an honor, and it’s also confusing in the best way.
This isn’t a group of people who came together because the money is green and growing on trees. We decided to work together because we checked up on each other, found that we shared similar experiences and goals, and decided to act on making our worlds a little better, together. If the work we do scratches the itch we all have to write fun stories, and that’s all it does, I believe we’d collectively see that as a win.
But I have a feeling this could be bigger than that. The energy of our team’s communications lives on the David side of the Goliath myth. It’s Campbellian. We’ve answered the call to adventure; we are preparing to cross the threshold.
For now, we polish stones for our sling. We all make our livings elsewhere, like most creatives in this field. The Westrn is currently fed by a hunger for something more storied, something tangible, something with purpose. I’ll say this: it’s much easier to do it together. And it’s a lot more fun.
Can we turn this into something bigger? It’s up to us, your willingness to support our writing, and perhaps a little magic along the way.
Time will tell. So will we.
This concludes our series of introductions to the editorial team. Find Katie, Maggie, Gabby, and Kestrel by clicking on their names.
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