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Opinion: I’m Not a Nepotism Hire if My Dad Doesn’t Like Me

Lately, it seems like we’ve all been hearing the term “nepo baby” a lot. I’m sure this sends to mind a lot of very specific images. Possibly images of the Barrymore family or the Hedren-Griffith-Johnson dynasty. Possibly it sends to mind images of a little fancy boy who had a butler as a child.

I’ll tell you what it sends to mind for me: Prejudice. Prejudice and ignorance against people you don’t know. “Nepo baby” should be a slur as far as I’m concerned. So, I’m here today to dispel some frankly hurtful rumors about nepotism, both in my own life and in the lives of others. You see, it’s really simple: I’m not a nepotism baby if my dad doesn’t like me. And trust me. He doesn’t. He tells me that often.

My name’s Dylan Bronson. And yes, I’ll rip off the bandaid, my Dad is Franklin Bronson, the founder and CEO of Bronson Financial Planning. Yes, that Bronson Financial Planning. The one you’ve read all those hit pieces about. First, let me say, none of them are true. People have wild imaginations. Just because one journalist takes a tumble from the fifty-second story, everybody wants to make a federal case about it. Except the Federal Government, thank God.

Let me be clear about a few things. YES, I work for the multi-million dollar company my father founded. YES, he bought me a Bugatti Noire as my company car. YES, it is technically my family’s name on the building…s. But he still hasn’t changed the company name to Bronson and Son. And that hurts me deeply.

Now people come up to me all the time and say, “Hey Dylan-” and I cut them off and tell them it’s “Mr. Bronson.” But then, when they say that, they ask: “Mr. Bronson, didn’t your Dad create a position at his company for you out of college?” While yes, it may be true that I am the first person to hold the title of Chief Officer of Employee Morale, it doesn’t mean anything. He doesn’t even tell me I’m doing a good job. I go through a lot of trouble planning parties and playing practical jokes to keep peoples’ spirits up. He just looks at me like I’m a waste of time.

I mean, yes, I did use the company credit card on a weekend in Vegas. Yes, I got married to a sex worker. Yes, I had a divorce from said sex worker. Yes, I put all the expenses from that on the company card. But it was a business expense. I was on that trip offering financial advice. That’s how Anastasia and I started talking in the first place. But Dad just looked at me like I was some kind of boob.

And I hear what people say behind my back. They say I’m “Kendall Roy-coded.” Well, maybe I am. But if I am, it’s because my Daddy hates me, not because I’m a drug addict who thinks things would be better if he was in charge. I’m a self-made man. I had all the odds against me.

My mother was middle class growing up. She can still remember what Wonder Bread tastes like!

They say life is easy if you start out privileged, but that privilege is worth nothing, because I’ve spent my whole life trying to prove to my Dad that I’m not just a worthless coke-head and sex freak so he’ll buy me that yacht. And to my colleagues, I say this: I work the same eight hours you do. I punch that card just like you. I’m more than just a nepo hire.

Now get back to work.