• Andrew Tsao transitioned from a six-figure tech job to being an artist in New York City.
• Medicaid and lifestyle changes helped him heal after the switch.
• Tsao's first art show, "The Art of Surrender," marks his farewell to NYC before returning to Taiwan.

It took Andrew Tsao a layoff from his six-figure tech job, Medicaid-subsidized therapy, and a psychedelic session to realize he wanted to be an artist in New York City. His first art show ended up as his goodbye letter to the city he called home for 13 years.

The 34-year-old artist and life coach, born in California and raised in Taiwan, is based in Brooklyn and recently finalized his first art exhibition, "The Art of Surrender." The collection, displayed in T.O.L.K. — a Bushwick café and art gallery in mid and late July — served as his final homage to the city, as he returned to Taiwan on August 5 to complete the military service required to retain his citizenship.

Since the opening, he has sold his first four pieces at his first art show, two for $500, with the help of the coffee shop's owners, who did not take a commission. He was able to hold the show under his planned budget.

Yet, it was just a year ago that he started calling himself a part-time artist. During his time in New York City, he has worked in B2B sales, held multiple tech jobs at startups, become a career and life coach, and found his passion for art. All the while, he has had to learn how to afford to practice art in one of the most expensive cities in the country after his income fell from six figures to under $25,000 when he left the corporate world.

Tsao is among the many New Yorkers who have adapted how they live to keep up with the city’s high cost of living. Business Insider has documented similar trade-offs throughout our Cost of the City series.

From a one-way ticket to a six-figure career

After graduating from the University of Southern California, Tsao moved to New York with a one-way ticket and no job lined up. He worked in B2B sales before transitioning into the tech industry, where he became a product manager, earning over $100,000 a year at a healthcare startup doing opioid addiction treatment.

Then came the pandemic. Although Tsao's company had gone fully remote a few months prior, he was laid off on May 15, 2020. Frustration with the layoff led to Tsao taking steps toward entrepreneurship. He began coaching early-stage founders and taught them how to build websites without coding.

The career change came at a financial cost: Tsao watched his annual income fall from six figures to less than $25,000. He had some money in his 401(k) and savings from his tech career, which he invested in opening his own business. Although he could move back in with his parents in Taiwan if things got worse, the loss of financial stability weighed on him and made him reassess his priorities.

"It is true that there are things that could feel more heavy," like paying bills, he said. "I was able to really be clear with myself of what I need to really feel joyful and safe."

Tsao found that while the city takes a lot, it offers a lot too

Tsao realized his priorities were to have a roof over his head and access to affordable food. The trade-offs he made included going out less often, cooking rather than ordering delivery or eating out, and choosing longer subway commutes over Uber rides.

"It actually did allow me to realize that there's a lot of things that are really beautiful in New York, even if you're not having as much disposable income," he said.

Tsao concluded that New York City can be unaffordable and affordable at the same time.

He exchanged pricey concerts for walks through Prospect Park, came up with creative date ideas, and took advantage of the Culture Pass, which gives New Yorkers free access to museums and libraries. He shifted from buying books from Amazon to discovering the Brooklyn Public Library, which became his favorite place to read and find books.

"I found creative ways to really enjoy living in New York City, especially Brooklyn, on a budget," he said.

During the pandemic, he moved into a two-bedroom apartment with in-unit laundry, which he split with his ex-girlfriend. By the time he moved out in June 2026, the rent was around $1,300 each. He temporarily stayed in a sublet until he moved to Taiwan.

Besides rent, he budgeted around $150 a month for groceries and kept his art-supply costs down. Most of his materials were donated by friends or found on Brooklyn patios. Yet, he did pay $12 per bottle of ink and about $38 for Posca markers.

Healthcare was one of the biggest shifts he experienced

As Tsao's income bracket fell, he was caught by something else — Medicaid. After qualifying for the federal program, he began to receive both emotional and physical treatment, which he would not have looked for when working in tech and paying for his own private health insurance.

Through Medicaid, he began seeing a social worker at Le Santé Health Center in Flatbush for weekly therapy sessions.

"I was trying to separate my identity and value from productivity, output, and how people perceived me," he said. "I would not have gotten therapy if I had not been on Medicaid."

He also began to receive Medicaid-subsidized physical therapy for chronic pain in his upper-right shoulder, which had developed in 2020 from a combination of leaning forward at his desk and recreational bouldering.

"From a health level, it was the most abundant I had ever felt," he said. "That was really one area that the change in affordability didn't make me feel more constrained. Actually, it made me feel like I had more options."

A new beginning in art, and a farewell to New York City

Tsao found that what he enjoyed about coaching was the emotional guidance he brought to it. In 2022, he replaced his technical, no-code coaching with coaching for executives and people in leadership roles — $200-$250, hour-long sessions — which were his main source of income.

"I realized I liked talking about those feelings more than I liked the technical coaching," he said.

Tsao realized he "also wanted to live" what he was coaching.

This realization, tied to his period of personal healing and one psychedelic session, led Tsao back to art. During that session, he began picking up art materials and rediscovered his love of painting. Afterward, he began using art materials he had received from friends and carving out time to create while supporting himself through coaching. His mixed-media abstract work featured in the exhibition explores ancestry, Eastern and Western identities, and connection to the self through ink, collage, crayons, and colored markers.

This shift is what led him to his first art exhibition and now to the send-off for the city he lived in for 13 years. He will miss the city's pizza and diversity, but most importantly the vibrance of its people — from buskers on the subway to dancers in Washington Square Park.

"I think about the New York that doesn't really relate to things with price," he said. "I definitely do think about the concerts I've been to, the food I've had, the encounters at that. But most importantly, the love letter is everything in between. It's for the little pockets of magic."

Pylon CEO Marty Kausas had to make a difficult choice: scale back token spending, or stomach a $1.4 million bill.

Kausas said that his AI software company was fast approaching 150 employees on its Anthropic plan earlier this month, a point where the bill would more than triple. That realization got Kausas to declare the era of unlimited spending over — and he decided to set ceilings for tokens, the units of data that determine how AI is priced, for some of his non-technical employees.

Pylon's VP of finance is now exploring "where we should set caps," Kausas said. "This is just the start."

Leaders like Kausas are weathering a massive workplace shift, as more workers learn to love improved AI tools. Over the past few months, usage has moved from something bosses felt they had to incentivize to something they had to limit, due to skyrocketing costs and the realization that unlimited spending didn't always yield meaningful results.

OpenAI CEO Sam Altman said earlier this month he was blown away by how fast the conversation around AI budgets had changed. At the beginning of the year, "people were totally happy with the amount they were spending," he said. Now, these costs are "a huge issue."

It's not just CEOs and CFOs navigating these new corporate dynamics. For rank-and-file software engineers, part of their job now involves advocating for the compute they need to succeed. Meanwhile, some managers have to barter for their team's tokens, pitching like "Shark Tank." And, to poach red-hot AI talent, hiring managers are guaranteeing candidates tokens to spend.

A cutthroat Hunger Games for AI compute is fast approaching, one where everyone — from the C-suite to junior developers — is a player.

Token-fever whiplash

Max Kan's official job title is "tokenomics analyst."

At the data provider SemiAnalysis, Kan helps build token models for hedge funds and hyperscalers. When I called Kan in May, he was bullish on the impact that deep token budgets could have on the workforce. "It's basically true for everyone that, if you have an employee that's making $100,000 a year, you can probably make them 2x more productive with $10,000 worth of tokens," he said.

Those were the days of tokenmaxxing, when companies sent their engineers diving into token pools like Scrooge McDuck. Companies encouraged token leaderboards, where those at the bottom of the rankings felt pressure to use more AI, and executives across a range of industries couldn't stop talking about it.

The word "tokens" was used in 129 earnings calls in Q2 of 2026, up from 57 calls the prior quarter, according to an analysis performed for Business Insider by business intelligence platform AlphaSense.

Within a matter of weeks, the belt-tightening began. Companies began putting AI budgets on a diet and setting token limits. Coinbase set a cap; so did Walmart. Amazon shut down its internal token leaderboard.

Kan still advocates for big per-engineer allowances — and wonders what workers will think of the rapid discourse shift. He worried that engineers would think: "My boss is adamantly pushing me to do one thing, then I did that thing, and now I'm getting yelled at because I did that thing too well."

"I would definitely feel confused and angry if I were an engineer in those positions," he said.

Leaders across industries — from financial giants like JPMorgan to media conglomerates like Disney — are working to develop cohesive, effective AI policies.

Some firms have always been anti-tokenmaxxing. The enterprise software company Pega is one of them. When I hopped on the phone in May with its CFO and COO, Ken Stillwell, he called the trend an "incredibly self-serving" narrative by the AI companies. His company didn't set numerical token caps, but it did throttle requests that would spend in excess.

When we spoke a month later, as the discourse shifted, Stillwell felt vindicated. "We're quite happy that we're one of many talking about this," he said.

AI spending also continues to soar

Technology and media companies spent an average of $66.29 per employee on AI in May, up from $58.84 in April, according to Ramp's AI Index.

Ara Kharazian, its lead economist, told Business Insider he expected this metric to keep rising, but he spotted early signs of tightening, such as increased use of model routers, which can help better manage costs.

Some companies aren't cutting AI budgets just yet, but they are thinking critically about head count. For instance, MindFort, a Y Combinator-backed AI startup, has six employees. Its CEO, Brandon Veiseh, said the company would've needed 20 employees pre-AI to reach its current scale. Where have those funds gone? Tokens.

"We have to weigh our token-to-people ratio," Veiseh said. "It's not something we think is particularly comfortable or a great feeling to say."

Even though token costs are expected to come down as AI companies like Google increasingly compete on price by offering smaller, more efficient models, these sorts of tradeoffs aren't likely to go away. Often, the cheaper a resource is, the more of it is consumed.

For now, companies are thinking more critically and sometimes taking strategic steps back — but they're hesitant to move too quickly. Kausas, Pylon's CEO, said he wants to prioritize making sure there's a return on investment — and avoid engineer backlash.

"If we told engineers that they were not allowed to use AI products, they would not work here," he said. "It would feel like you were in the Stone Age."

Dawn of the token Hunger Games?

As engineers increasingly learn they might have to battle for their token allocation, team infighting could grow.

Some have compared this to a survival-of-the-fittest scenario. "Coding is now cockroach protein bars and we're all fighting for crumbs," said one coder on X, comparing the dynamic to "The Hunger Games."

Developers are also asking more about tokens during job interviews. Kausas said that applicants had asked him about budgets. AI advisor and AWS alum Allie K. Miller had heard of interviewees getting into the nitty-gritty: "What tier of model will I have access to? Do you have partnerships with AI labs that get us relatively early access?"

It's a sign of a new era where tokens — or at least the number workers want — aren't guaranteed.

Max Christoff, the CTO of legal tech company Everlaw, made the case for giving engineers token caps, but letting them negotiate for bigger budgets. He compared it to using cellular data before unlimited plans. Sometimes you need to spend big on the data, but other times you mindlessly scroll, not realizing how much you're wasting. Christoff wanted all of the former and none of the latter.

"We want to make it easy to ask for more if you can actually use it," Christoff said.

If a company doesn't set token caps, it may also set model restrictions. Russ Fradin, the founder of Larridin, a platform for tracking AI use, was emphatic. "Of course, they will limit who gets to use these tools. It's not even a question," he said.

Fradin compared allocating model access to taking a trip on the company dime. Many are allowed to book an economy flight, but few — if any — are allowed to charter a jet, he said. Access to cutting-edge AI models may be equivalent to the private jet: so expensive that only a few all-stars can do it.

Engineers have good reason to fight for their tokens. Having limited AI access could hurt them in the long run, leaving them less skilled or less marketable in future job searches.

Brock Simon advised companies on AI for Bain & Company before he founded his own startup, Native. He watched as some companies were slow to adopt the technology or restricted access to specific tools and agents, leaving their employees behind the curve.

"It really hurt some people's careers," he said.

Bernie Sinclaire calls herself a "mommunist."

For nearly two years, the 38-year-old has raised kids with her best friend in their shared Manhattan apartment — and she couldn't recommend the setup more. She and Anabelle Gonzalez, 39, have a household rhythm: they trade off chores, cooking, and doing crafts with their elementary-age children. Better yet, the pair splits bills in one of America's most expensive cities.

"We'll be laughing on the couch, playing with our kids, and dinner is made, and the kitchen is cleaned," Sinclaire told Business Insider. "It's been mind-blowing to be able to just sit and talk. That was not something that I experienced when I was in a relationship, and it was not something I was able to enjoy as much when I was a single mother."

In a city where paychecks are stretched thin and monthly daycare costs rival rent expenses, New Yorkers are pinching pennies. A recent report from the Mayor's Office found that it costs the average family $159,000 to live and raise children in the five boroughs, and that's just for basics like housing and healthcare. Sixty-two percent of all residents — and the vast majority of single-parent households — don't earn enough to meet their cost-of-living threshold. It's hardest for mothers, who are often paid less than men and shoulder more childcare responsibilities.

New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani took office with a mandate to make the city more affordable. He has announced a plan for universal childcare for toddlers and preschoolers, which builds on the existing NYC Public School free 3-K program. Other proposals aim to lower the cost of apartments, buses, and food. It's a big task, especially as the city's housing demand continues to outpace supply.

To make ends meet, Sinclaire and Gonzalez became a dual-income household with a combined $200,000 — and really fun wallpaper.

"This is not the Mojo Dojo Casa House," Sinclaire said, referring to Ken's bachelor pad in the "Barbie" movie. "This is the Barbie Dream House."

'A utopia'

The concept of a "mommune," or commune of moms, has always made sense to Sinclaire. She was raised in Italy by a single parent, and said she watched her mother have to "choose between poverty and partnership." She wanted to avoid being financially dependent on a man.

"That was a dream and a wish from early on: to create a family not centered on male partnership and not centered on romance," she said. "Friendships are way more long-lasting, and it didn't make sense to me to have my children's welfare and financial security hinge on something that data shows over and over again is not really working for most women."

Sinclaire and Gonzalez met at an NYC graduate school in 2013 and stayed in touch when they became mothers. Sinclaire has two sons, ages 4 and 9, and Gonzalez has a 7-year-old daughter. Gonzalez had divorced when Sinclaire pitched moving in together.

"It took me time to process because you don't really hear about that type of alternative family," said Gonzalez, who grew up in Brooklyn. She didn't agree right away. "At first I was like, 'Okay, girlie, I love you, but what are you talking about? Then I cried at the end of the conversation because it sounded like a utopia."

The pair initially settled into Sinclaire's existing two-bedroom apartment, then upgraded to a three-bedroom, two-bathroom Harlem unit costing $4,550 a month. Their monthly rent is roughly $600 higher in the new place, but they say the space is essential as their kids grow. Their two incomes allow them to stay local. In upper Manhattan, about 52% of renter households spend 30% or more of their income on housing, the threshold housing economists typically define as unaffordable.

Both women teach at the same public high school, and said their finances have become more stable since they began sharing costs. Last year, Sinclaire earned $94,278 after deductions and Gonzalez earned $106,952, tax documents reviewed by Business Insider show. They split the $600 monthly grocery bill 50/50, then Gonzalez covers WiFi, and Sinclaire pays the electricity bill.

Childcare is divided, too. Sinclaire's youngest son is now old enough for free 3-K (which saves over $1,000 each month), and the others are in public school. The two moms trade drop-offs, pick-ups, and watching the kids. When there's a gap, they call their part-time caregiver. "She's been with us forever," Sinclaire said. "And we don't have as many hours for her as we did before, but she's our lifeline." Their monthly childcare costs average $600, with Sinclaire paying a larger share because she has two kids.

Since starting the "mommune," Sinclaire said she saves about $1,200 more each month, which goes to her emergency fund, retirement, and kids' college accounts. Gonzalez said they also spend less on takeout and impulse purchases because they can split household responsibilities and avoid burnout — something that wasn't the case in either of their previous relationships. That time and energy savings can't be overstated, she said.

"You want to be honest about your soul and boundaries and your lifestyle up front," Gonzales said. "Talking about money is uncomfortable — and it has been uncomfortable for me and for Bernie because it was the first time we, as friends, were talking about it — but it's important to talk and be honest about money."

'A New Yorker forever'

Gonzalez is the first to wake each morning to start breakfast. "I don't do measurements," she said, but each plate turns out delicious anyway. Sinclaire — a recipe loyalist — prefers cooking dinner.

Their children act like siblings and enjoy playing together, with occasional squabbles. The moms are each other's support system, and treat all three kids like their own.

"I think that if you're blessed to have a big community, you might not see this as something very different," Sinclaire said. "But if you are, like many mothers, 'default parenting,' and you're overwhelmed and you've lost your sense of self, friendship is lifesaving."'

Sharing a life has given the two more space for their creativity. Gonzalez co-owns a clothing brand. Sinclaire has been able to spend more time on art and is turning years of handwritten journals into a book. Saving money has also given the family more resources to travel. They took the kids to Mexico recently and plan to take their "first solo mommy trip" to Turks and Caicos this summer.

The pair hasn't sworn off romance, but they wouldn't trade it for the "mommune."

"A lot of times people are like, 'This is crazy, that you're going to move in with another woman,'" Sinclaire laughed. "And I said, 'How is that more crazy than moving in with a man that you met online and having children with him?'"

"Yes, we do date," Gonzalez added. "But anybody who dates people will understand that you live in your house and I live in mine."

Even when the kids get older and move away, the moms don't think they'll part ways. There are simply too many Jon Hamm TV shows, Cardi B albums, and nightlife spots for them to appreciate together. They see the "mommune" lasting long past their child-rearing years.

Plus, rent isn't getting any cheaper, and neither of them wants to leave NYC.

"I'm a New Yorker forever," Gonzalez said. "I love my city."

Scott Galloway never claimed to be an activist.

"I'm too lazy, selfish, socially minded," he told Business Insider on a February call about his unlikely leadership of two movements at once, both with Big Tech in the crosshairs. "I saw an opportunity for a new form of economic activism," he said, "but I'm a long way from being a Cesar Chavez or refusing to give up my bus seat."

Later in our call, he analogizes his "Resist and Unsubscribe" initiative — which urges Americans to unsubscribe from Big Tech to protest the Trump Administration's immigration crackdown — to the 1955-1956 Montgomery bus boycotts. At one point, he calls activists "more noble" than himself. Seconds later, he describes not wanting to "get on a call with a bunch of people in Birkenstocks."

I asked his cohost, Kara Swisher, the same question: Is Scott an activist? Not in a traditional sense, she texted me, or he would have formed a coalition. "I got a lot of pings from people who do organizing that this was a dumb way to do it," Swisher wrote. "It wasn't."

If you don't know Galloway's name, you've certainly seen his clips. The executive-turned-professor-turned-podcaster rakes in millions from his center-left media empire, including four podcasts, two newsletters, and six books, the latest about how young men are socially and economically disadvantaged, thanks in part to Big Tech. He's a sort of shock jock for the TikTok age — and his 400,000 followers there love it.

In recent months, his anti-Big Tech efforts have made him an even bigger lightning rod. He's been disinvited from two speaking gigs, he said, because the hosts didn't "want controversy." (He declined to share which gigs: "I'm hoping they invite me next year.") He's also heard from CEOs or chief marketing officers of 20% of the companies he's targeted, he said, who have mostly been kind. He says he's disappointed because he wishes they felt more threatened.

It's a surprising turn for the serial entrepreneur and business school professor. He's a provocateur, a testosterone-injecting multimillionaire who students call a "dick." Is this the man who can move the masses to quit Amazon Prime cold turkey?

Galloway is a businessman at heart. Even his activism is done through the market.

After federal agents killed Renee Good and Alex Pretti in Minneapolis, Galloway launched his Resist and Unsubscribe campaign. The best way to catch President Donald Trump's attention, he reasoned, was the market. Since, he said, corporations were providing the "data, infrastructure, and logistics" to assist with Trump's immigration crackdown, it was time for Americans to vote with their dollars.

He wanted to walk the walk — and that meant cutting his own subscriptions. He quickly found that he'd been paying for some duplicates: four Apple TV Plus accounts, three ChatGPT subscriptions. He had four AT&T contracts, of which "three are for Blackberrys and iPads that have been in landfills for the last decade," he told me.

The Galloway family also found some workarounds. His son found a "probably illegal" way to watch the Premier League without Paramount+. He binge-watched "Heated Rivalry" before dumping HBO Max. The hardest app to give up was Uber, which he said on his podcast was costing him $34,000 a year.

On stock ownership, Galloway is more mixed. He's hesitant to sell his Amazon shares while the stock is down, but he said he did sell down almost all of his Apple shares.

"I'm especially offended, personally, by Tim Cook," he said. Galloway said that Cook paints himself as a "soft, gentle, nice guy" while sucking up to Trump at the "Melania" premiere. ("I'm not a political person on either side," Cook recently told Good Morning America.)

He plans to move his money out of Goldman Sachs and is debating whether to choose a regional US bank or the Royal Bank of Canada.

If you're worried that you can't fully unsubscribe, he gets it.

"I don't have entire moral clarity around this," Galloway said. "I still have an iPhone, and I'm not giving it up."

As February came to a close, Galloway felt contented. Resist and Unsubscribe had hit 23 million views on social media and 2 million unique site visits, he said. An estimate on his website shows how much market capitalization the movement would wipe out if 5% of visitors canceled two subscriptions. As of this story's publication date, it calculated just over $281 million in losses.

When Galloway first started talking about the plight facing America's young men five years ago, it produced a "gag reflex," he said. People compared him to manosphere influencer Andrew Tate and accused him of misogyny.

Galloway has said that young men are more economically and socially disadvantaged than young women. He points to the stats. Young men account for only 42% of students at four-year universities, and 63% of young men are single. "If you go into a morgue and there are five people who died by suicide, four are men," he said.

His book, "Notes on Being a Man," published in November, is a how-to guide for the disenfranchised young man in your life. Of course, young people are reading for pleasure less and less. His most encouraging feedback comes from mothers, Galloway said.

The book has also received plenty of criticism. In her review in The New Yorker, Jessica Winter writes that Galloway thinks "men should still rank above women in the social hierarchy, but just not as much as before."

Galloway seemed taken aback. "I think that's a total misinterpretation of what I've written about," he said. Those on the left — which he groups The New Yorker into — seemed to think that young men don't have problems, he said. "They are the problem."

"We have decided, in the social hierarchy, young men are less deserving of empathy than women," Galloway said.

Galloway also faced misogyny accusations from women online after calling himself a "'50s dad" who wasn't sure if there should be mandatory paternity leave. He said that dads are a "waste of time" in the first few months of a child's life, and that their only jobs are to keep babies from drowning and "make sure moms don't lose it." In The New York Times, Jessica Grose called it "loud and wrong."

On this subject, Galloway was more remorseful. "The comments on paternity leave were meant to be funny," he said. "They weren't. It was stupid, and so far I've paid a fairly significant reputational price."

He was less sympathetic to the Times, which he said "made a cartoon out of my comments so that they could play guardians of gotcha."

Stirring up controversy has long been part of Galloway's brand. Why not double down?

"I try to be provocative, I try to be funny, I try to say what I'm thinking," he told me. "Against paternity leave? No, that's absolutely not the message I want to communicate."

It's easy to think that Galloway hates Big Tech to the bone.

Tech is the target of both of his movements. He accuses the industry of helping to push young men down; in his book, he analogizes Tim Cook and Mark Zuckerberg to heroin dealers standing outside a middle school. Then, for Resist and Unsubscribe, he asks you to stop paying these companies entirely.

Indeed, on our call, Galloway spared no barbs for the tech CEOs. "I don't think there's any way feasible that he could be described as a good person," he said of Zuckerberg.

But the tech industry is full of his friends, his former coworkers, and the people who made him rich. Galloway is an entrepreneur, after all; he made (some of) his millions on the sale of the business intelligence firm, L2. He wrote a book about Amazon, Apple, Facebook, and Google, which he called a "love letter."

Of the executives targeted by Resist and Unsubscribe, Galloway said that half are acquaintances, a quarter are "friendly" with him, and one or two are friends. "I find that they're, on the whole, good people," he said of tech executives.

That's what makes his shift to organizing so surprising. He's not raging against an industry from the outside; he could well be part of the in-crowd if he wanted to. He was a successful business executive with a vengeful spirit, then a snarky podcaster — and now a man trying to save the world.

Galloway said that humans are "net gainers" from Big Tech — but that we're also net gainers from pesticides and fossil fuels. What's Big Tech's emission? "Rage," he said.

Pesticides and fossil fuels are regulated by the government. For tech, we often rely on a benevolent CEO, Galloway said. He's not sure they exist anymore.

"If we're waiting on the better angels of Mark Zuckerberg to show up, don't hold your breath," he said.