The Couples Embracing the DINK Label

Natalie and Keldon Fischer have no debt other than the mortgage from their Seattle condo, where they live with their Pomeranian, Noble. They each have six-figure salaries and hefty savings accounts. Last year, they traveled nearly every other month, including to Italy, Mexico, Thailand and Finland.

“I really enjoy being a DINK,” says Keldon, a 30-year-old software engineer.

DINK, of course, stands for “dual income, no kids.” It isn’t new slang, but suddenly, vocal DINKs are everywhere as more couples like the Fischers not only embrace the label but boldly let their DINK flags fly.

“Being DINKs means we just have a lot of freedom, time and money,” says Natalie Fischer, 25, a full-time content creator. She’s open to having children, but is first focused on building a net worth of $1 million by age 30. “I know that once I have a kid I will have to assume a lot of the caregiving responsibility and work less.”

Videos touting the DINK lifestyle now rack up millions of views on TikTok and Instagram. Most feature married couples sending the message that they don’t have kids yet (so stop asking), possibly never will, and life is fantastic, thank you very much.

Life as ‘DINKWADs’

The lexicon has ballooned to include DINKWADs (DINKs with a dog), SINKs (single-income, no kids). Some DINKs prefer “DINO,” for dual-income, no offspring.

There is even DINKY—for dual income, no kids, yet.

The public pronouncements represent a shift, says Zachary P. Neal, a psychology professor at Michigan State University who studies child-free adults. Though not all DINKs are strictly child-free, as some may have kids later, he says there is overlap in the groups.

“It has been for a very long time a sort of stigmatised category,” says Neal. “There are all sorts of stereotypes—things like…they’re self-absorbed, they have no stake in the future, they’re too focused on their career.”

But these days, DINKs are leaning into the label, thanks in part to the snowball effect of social media, Neal says, where DINKs are finding safety in numbers. “As some people start to openly identify as child-free, it creates an environment more open and welcoming.”

In a 2021 Pew Research Center survey, 44% of non-parents ages 18 to 49 said they were not likely to have kids ever, up 7% since 2018. Reasons included economic obstacles, concerns about the state of the world and simply not wanting to. And many young adults who do want children are having them later in life than previous generations.

The recent vocal DINK-dom is also generating backlash.

On social media, parents argue they do much of what DINKs do, just with kids in tow. Internet commentators and comedians are using DINKs as material.

“Childless couples are even more annoying than the imaginary children they complain about not even having,” said Lewis Spears, an Australian comedian. “They don’t seem to do anything with their free time except make videos about how much free time they have.”

‘We go where the wind blows’

Brenton and Mirlanda Beaufils, both in their 30s, have been together for over a decade, and say that they’re often questioned about whether they plan to have children.

But they are not ready to give up the flexibility of the DINK lifestyle.

On a trip to Las Vegas, for instance, they partied poolside, dined at the renowned Nobu restaurant, visited casinos and totally lost track of time and went to bed after 5 a.m.

And when Brenton, who is 32 and works in property management, was offered a new job that started in two weeks in another city, the couple made the move—from Boston to Dallas—happen in one week.

“We go where the wind blows,” says Mirlanda, a 30-year-old real-estate agent. “We love that about our relationship.”

In Dallas, they’re closer to Mirlanda’s sisters, including Preciana Prinstil, 29, who often jokingly wonders when Mirlanda will give her children some cousins.

“I want her to feel the love of kids and how they bring joy,” says Prinstil. “Even though they can be a headache.”

Others in the couples’ orbit are also curious. Mirlanda, who wants to be a mom one day, but isn’t in a rush, has a stock retort. “I’m like, ‘Oh, you guys ready to babysit for us? If you can’t answer that question, then stop.’ ”

Free to give mom a car

When Norelle Marquez was younger, she imagined having children at around age 24 or 25. But lately, the 26-year-old hasn’t seen them in her future.

Norelle, a professional photographer, and her husband Robert Marquez, a 28-year-old Marine Corps service member, have no debt, and stick to a firm budget for their Dallas household. “It’s fairly easy being DINKs,” says Robert.

Norelle appreciates that DINK life allows her to provide for family, including her mother, who raised her and her brother as a single parent. She has given her mother a new washer and dryer, house floors, an almost new Toyota RAV4 and more.

The couple posted a video on TikTok about the benefits and quirks of being DINKs, such as, “When we tell people we’re going to Disneyland on vacation, they think we’re weirdos.” It drew nearly 4,000 commenters, including some critics, but many declaring themselves DINKs.

“That TikTok has solidified my feelings about being a DINK and knowing that it’s OK,” says Norelle. “Family doesn’t have to be bloodline,” Robert adds.

Ultimately, whether to have children is a decision that can evolve, says Holly Hummer, a Harvard University Ph.D. candidate who studies women without children.

“We’re all sort of a SINK or a DINK for a portion of our lives,” she says.

There has rarely, if ever, been so much tech talent available in the job market. Yet many tech companies say good help is hard to find.

What gives?

U.S. colleges more than doubled the number of computer-science degrees awarded from 2013 to 2022, according to federal data. Then came round after round of layoffs at Google, Meta, Amazon, and others.

The Bureau of Labor Statistics predicts businesses will employ 6% fewer computer programmers in 2034 than they did last year.

All of this should, in theory, mean there is an ample supply of eager, capable engineers ready for hire.

But in their feverish pursuit of artificial-intelligence supremacy, employers say there aren’t enough people with the most in-demand skills. The few perceived as AI savants can command multimillion-dollar pay packages. On a second tier of AI savvy, workers can rake in close to $1 million a year .

Landing a job is tough for most everyone else.

Frustrated job seekers contend businesses could expand the AI talent pipeline with a little imagination. The argument is companies should accept that relatively few people have AI-specific experience because the technology is so new. They ought to focus on identifying candidates with transferable skills and let those people learn on the job.

Often, though, companies seem to hold out for dream candidates with deep backgrounds in machine learning. Many AI-related roles go unfilled for weeks or months—or get taken off job boards only to be reposted soon after.

Playing a different game

It is difficult to define what makes an AI all-star, but I’m sorry to report that it’s probably not whatever you’re doing.

Maybe you’re learning how to work more efficiently with the aid of ChatGPT and its robotic brethren. Perhaps you’re taking one of those innumerable AI certificate courses.

You might as well be playing pickup basketball at your local YMCA in hopes of being signed by the Los Angeles Lakers. The AI minds that companies truly covet are almost as rare as professional athletes.

“We’re talking about hundreds of people in the world, at the most,” says Cristóbal Valenzuela, chief executive of Runway, which makes AI image and video tools.

He describes it like this: Picture an AI model as a machine with 1,000 dials. The goal is to train the machine to detect patterns and predict outcomes. To do this, you have to feed it reams of data and know which dials to adjust—and by how much.

The universe of people with the right touch is confined to those with uncanny intuition, genius-level smarts or the foresight (possibly luck) to go into AI many years ago, before it was all the rage.

As a venture-backed startup with about 120 employees, Runway doesn’t necessarily vie with Silicon Valley giants for the AI job market’s version of LeBron James. But when I spoke with Valenzuela recently, his company was advertising base salaries of up to $440,000 for an engineering manager and $490,000 for a director of machine learning.

A job listing like one of these might attract 2,000 applicants in a week, Valenzuela says, and there is a decent chance he won’t pick any of them. A lot of people who claim to be AI literate merely produce “workslop”—generic, low-quality material. He spends a lot of time reading academic journals and browsing GitHub portfolios, and recruiting people whose work impresses him.

In addition to an uncommon skill set, companies trying to win in the hypercompetitive AI arena are scouting for commitment bordering on fanaticism .

Daniel Park is seeking three new members for his nine-person startup. He says he will wait a year or longer if that’s what it takes to fill roles with advertised base salaries of up to $500,000.

He’s looking for “prodigies” willing to work seven days a week. Much of the team lives together in a six-bedroom house in San Francisco.

If this sounds like a lonely existence, Park’s team members may be able to solve their own problem. His company, Pickle, aims to develop personalised AI companions akin to Tony Stark’s Jarvis in “Iron Man.”

Overlooked

James Strawn wasn’t an AI early adopter, and the father of two teenagers doesn’t want to sacrifice his personal life for a job. He is beginning to wonder whether there is still a place for people like him in the tech sector.

He was laid off over the summer after 25 years at Adobe , where he was a senior software quality-assurance engineer. Strawn, 55, started as a contractor and recalls his hiring as a leap of faith by the company.

He had been an artist and graphic designer. The managers who interviewed him figured he could use that background to help make Illustrator and other Adobe software more user-friendly.

Looking for work now, he doesn’t see the same willingness by companies to take a chance on someone whose résumé isn’t a perfect match to the job description. He’s had one interview since his layoff.

“I always thought my years of experience at a high-profile company would at least be enough to get me interviews where I could explain how I could contribute,” says Strawn, who is taking foundational AI courses. “It’s just not like that.”

The trouble for people starting out in AI—whether recent grads or job switchers like Strawn—is that companies see them as a dime a dozen.

“There’s this AI arms race, and the fact of the matter is entry-level people aren’t going to help you win it,” says Matt Massucci, CEO of the tech recruiting firm Hirewell. “There’s this concept of the 10x engineer—the one engineer who can do the work of 10. That’s what companies are really leaning into and paying for.”

He adds that companies can automate some low-level engineering tasks, which frees up more money to throw at high-end talent.

It’s a dynamic that creates a few handsomely paid haves and a lot more have-nots.