How to Pitch Esses (and Everywhere Else)
A comprehensive guide to working as a contributor with our magazine
Before taking on the Senior Editor role at Esses, I spent a decade as a freelance journalist. It’s a job that is not for the faint of heart.
Don’t get me wrong, there are perks: no boss, flexible hours, the ability to chase the stories that interest you. But there are also, well, some downsides. Not having a steady income isn’t fun, and I do not miss the oh so many followup emails.
Something they don’t tell you when you decide to get into freelance journalism is that the job is as much sales as reporting. Because here’s the thing: you can’t write a story if you can’t get a pitch greenlit. So, here’s how to pitch Esses, and everywhere else too.
But first, three things…
Three Things:
READ: The Greatest Winter Olympics Story of All Time
E.M. Swift’s opus on the 1980’s Men’s U.S. Hockey Team, of Miracle on Ice fame, from the December 1980 double-issue of Sports Illustrated.
READ: Teenage Dreamer
Charley Locke is an expert at telling the stories of teenagers (and octagenarians) thoughtfully and seriously. So, we sent her to Las Vegas to understand the reality of being 17, a Ferrari driver, and the central cog in an international brand: Alba Inc.
LOOK: Cadillac F1’s Times Square Livery Launch
Our intrepid photo editor Hugh Brooks braved the cold and got the first look at Cadillac F1’s new livery. He captured it all for the Esses community.
This week, in Bahrain, we're getting our first look at every car on track. It's always an exciting moment, and doubly so given the brand-new 2026 regulations.
Something surprising came with the new car launch and a strong performance at the Barcelona Shakedown: a new favorite on the grid. According to Polymarket, Mercedes’ George Russell is the odds on favorite. Though, it seems, as usual, Max Verstappen’s chances are steadily rising…
How to Pitch Esses (and Everywhere Else)
Our Senior Editor’s definitive guide to getting your story into our magazine
by Joseph Bien-Kahn
It was somewhere around 2014 and I’d been striking out again and again. I was working at a cafe, whipping up sandwiches and lattes to make rent, and trying and failing to get published. I read vociferously and thought I had some good ideas, but nobody would even respond to my emails. Right around then, my good friend Rod Bastanmehr got a story on Vice.com. For someone who loved journalism and didn’t know anyone in the industry, it felt like seeing your buddy on the silver screen. I hit him up and asked his secret. He shared a pitch structure that changed my life.
That structure is:
- 2 sentence paragraph on who you are
- 3-5 sentences on what the story is.
- 2-3 sentences on why the story matters NOW
- 1-2 sentences on why you’re the person to tell it.
It seems simple, but adopting this basic structure raised my pitching success rate from right around 0 percent to nearly 50 percent right away. Unless I already know an editor, I still rarely deviate from it. Because it delivers everything an editor needs to get interested and everything they’ll then need to convince their bosses to let them assign the story.
Here’s an example of a real pitch that got picked up and a bit about why it worked:
Hey [Editor],
I’m a journalist based out in LA who writes for Wired, Playboy, and Vice. I’ve been dreaming of writing about Jax Taylor forever, and thought this pitch would be a great fit for Vulture:
Jax is the closest thing we have to a perfect reality tv star: compulsively anti-monogamous, seemingly unaware of cameras, lacking in basic self-control, and yet lovable. Last season, we saw him begin to wrestle with his reality TV mortality for the first time. As the bartender/model approaches 40 on screen, I want to talk with him, but also with the Vanderpump producers about finding Jax, with Andy Cohen about his impact on Bravo’s reality show world, and with some prominent JaxHeads about the essential elements of Mr. Taylor.
At a moment when TV is becoming increasingly darker, Bravo’s reality is a perfect chaser. But many of the shows are more balm than bath salts. Vanderpump remains a kinetic, nearly perfect show, because of the singular, accidental genius of Jax: a golden retriever who believes himself a pitbull.
I’d love to write about the beautiful/insane/increasingly introspective man as he approaches 40 and his marriage for Vulture.
Thank you for considering the pitch!
That first section is basically your CV. Say who you are and share any relevant links. No need to overcomplicate this — your clips will do the talking here. I always tell young journalists I’m speaking to that it’s worth pursuing that first BIG story, because it’ll be a calling card of sorts. It’s the link you’ll share in every pitch going forward; it’s proof that you can pull this off.
From there, we get into who Jax Taylor is and my angle. [Extra credit here if you can show your editor that you’ve already secured access or, even better, if there’s a quote you’ve already gotten that can enliven this section. You can pitch me a Michael Schumacher profile, but I’m only going to greenlight it if you can explain how you’re going to get a Michael Schumacher interview.] Crucially, this is also the section where you should showcase your writing style. Pitches should be fun to read. They should sound like you.
This last bit is an important one, and often overlooked. Why is this a fit for the publication you’re pitching? Why now? And why are you the person to write it?
That last question could be a personal connection or an area of expertise, but it also could be as simple as access. At the time of pitching this, I was not a model/bartender wrestling with what the Big 4-0 would mean for how I viewed myself and the world. And, in this case, I didn’t yet have access either. But, I knew I could get it if Vulture gave me the greenlight, and had demonstrated that fact via my clips that I could tell the story entertainingly. For the editor, that was enough.
The point is: not every greenlit piece will check every box, but by seeing the boxes that need checking, you improve your chances. And then, just maybe, you’ll find yourself sitting at a West Hollywood bar for a very long lunch filled with increasingly unbelievable lies. Here’s the final product for those interested: https://www.vulture.com/2019/03/vanderpump-rules-jax-taylor-profile.html
What Makes An Esses Story?
Now that you know the structure, you just need to find the story. And here’s the other thing to remember: a subject and a story are not synonymous. Would I love a Lando Norris profile? Absolutely. But you pitching “I’d love to profile Lando Norris” is not going to get greenlit. Now, if you told me about your access, then I’m interested. And if you deliver a truly unique angle — one I haven’t read before that speaks to something more than motorsport — then you have a Esses story.
The more than motorsport aspect is essential when pitching Esses. Our beat is not racing; it’s everything that tangentially touches the track. That means a painter wrestling with the effect of a grand prix landing in his city or a concierge sharing war stories from Monaco GP week. Even our profiles of drivers have to say something more: Charley Locke’s Alba Larsen profile is about the costs, the thrills, and the infrastructure necessary to be a teenage phenom. Andy Cheng’s Yuki Tsunoda profile is about how a life abroad lets you find the beauty of your home.
An Esses story is global but never broad. We’re looking for specificity in both angle and language. To get a greenlight, you need to make sure your story says something current and revelatory. It has to feel lived-in.
So, don’t pitch a person or a subject; pitch a story. Why does it matter? Why now? And why is it right for Esses?
As someone who’s spent a decade in the freelancing trenches, I’ve tried my best to be the editor I always hoped to work for. That means I edit rigorously, but quickly. I send an email telling you that I got your draft and when I expect to have edits back to you. I try (and mostly succeed) in answering every pitch. Often, that answer is no. But I still remember the thrill of my first “no” — I was living in Oakland at the time and turned to my wife with a big smile. She thought I was a little crazy, but I said, “You don’t understand. They saw the pitch. They read it. They took the time to say it wasn’t a fit and why.” I’ll try to always do the same.
A Few Things I’ve Learned
Here are four things I wish I knew when I started freelancing.
Editors’ Inboxes Are Frightening
Just like so many others drawn to write for a living, I was convinced that there was an industry-wide conspiracy working to make sure I couldn’t get published. Every ghosting felt personal. Then, during my first (and only) office job, as a fellow at Wired, I peaked over my editor Peter Rubin’s shoulder and saw his inbox — there were about 200 new pitches that afternoon. That’s when I realized that it’s not personal. That’s also when I became the annoying freelancer who followed up after two days instead of two weeks. Can’t say I recommend that, but I figured: I’d rather be annoying than lost in an inbox.
Hold Onto Good Editors Like Gold
This industry is ruthless and even the best editors get laid off. You might think you’re a GQ or Wired or [Insert Publication Here] writer, but really, your editor is your lifeline at any publication. So, if they’re a person you enjoy working with, treat them well. File on time. Be polite. They might not be at that specific publication forever, but they’ll still take your emails at the next place.
File On Time and Be Nice
I didn’t go to Journalism School, so I learned everything through trial-and-error and the Longform Podcast (RIP!). One guest explained, “To make it in this industry, you have to be two of these three things: good, fast, or nice. The latter two are way more in your control.” It’s not rocket science, but people forget this: don’t be an asshole and hit your deadlines, and you’ll go far.
It’s Not Worth Being Treated Like Sh*t
This is the hardest lesson to learn. Life as a freelancer is an existence at the bottom of a totem pole. But at some point, you have to assert your humanity or risk going crazy. I had a story sit in limbo for two full years at a publication I loved. There would be months-long silences to followup emails. When a response would come, there was never an explanation for the delay. I finally asked for the kill fee. It was the best thing I ever did. The story eventually ran for Rolling Stone a few weeks later, but even if it hadn’t, letting it die at that first publication was the right call. I was worried asking for the kill fee would burn a bridge. It took awhile to realize, but there are some bridges you wouldn’t want to walk across again anyway.
