My ongoing identity crisis

Today, we’re taking a break from this newsletter’s usual narrative, because we need to talk about me.

It’s not my favorite thing to do, so bear with me.

I dropped out of two art schools before founding a creative agency at 21 years old, in 2008. That year marked the beginning of a 15-year period during which I had the luxury of having a clear goal: building a successful creative business.

I was guided by purpose, which is much less mystical than it sounds.

Purpose is one of those things we barely notice until it leaves us. When it’s there, it literally puts everything we do in perspective. It helps us make choices. It grants clarity. At every junction, it eliminates at least half of the options available to us and in most cases, it plants a big fat arrow sign pointing us to where we need to go.

In purpose’s absence, every junction becomes a potential identity crisis. The apparent pleasure of having many options actually becomes a burden. It’s debilitating to have to stop and think at every step along the way.

Leading the agency, there was little need for me to think about me. I was a cog in the machine — pivotal, but a cog nonetheless — and if I fulfilled my role, the machine would run smoothly. I could focus entirely on the work in front of me without ever having to think about my identity. The only identity of significance was the agency’s reputation, which the other co-founder and I built brick by brick by doing good work.

Consequently, I built zero personal equity during those 15 years. Heck, when we started, “online presence” and “having a following” weren’t even a thing and only famous people were concerned with their personal brands.

What a time to be alive.

But then, at the end of 2022, I left. I went solo, and in the process, discarded my guiding purpose, replacing it with a new one: to have the freedom to create whatever I want. For a time, I felt liberated.

And even though I still enjoy tremendous freedom and my renewed purpose still burns vigorously, I grossly underestimated one factor required to make it all work: social significance.

Upon going solo, the void that’s called my personal brand came knocking. Because as little value as a personal brand had for an agency founder in the 2010s, it is that crucial for “solopreneurs” today. People with an audience might preach that it’s not. They’re wrong.

Who tf are you?

The very first thing people do to gauge an expert’s credibility is check their socials. Our follower count is our social credit score. If it’s low or non-existent, others meet us with skepticism, or move along altogether. “If nobody follows you, you must be irrelevant,” the reasoning goes.

Before I explain why this is a problem, I want to address another myth. It’s said and believed by many that building an audience is still possible and quite easy. “Just buy my ebook to 10X your followers.” It’s not. It’s borderline impossible, because of simple economics:

1. During the golden years of social media, platforms grew rapidly. Millions of new users signed up every week.

2. During their first months on a platform, new users follow many other accounts. As time goes by, users’ timelines become saturated, and the number of people they follow reaches equilibrium: they stop dishing out new follows.

3. As platforms age, the number of new users declines. Fewer and fewer accounts go through those first few months of “following frenzy.”

4. Meanwhile, the number of available accounts for new users to follow only increases.

5. So today, with social platforms matured, there are significantly fewer follows to be distributed over significantly more accounts. Less food for more people.

6. The result is that only accounts that were already big continue to snowball, while new accounts struggle to grow and keep falling further and further behind in the race of significance.

I’ll write about this more in-depth some time later, because it’s a fascinating and highly relevant topic. For now, let’s stick to the conclusion that growing a social media following is categorically more challenging than it was 5 - 10 years ago.

But challenging is not the same as impossible. There are strategies, “proven” strategies, which, without exception, involve two basic rules:

• Pick a topic and stick to it.

• Grind like there is no tomorrow.

Both of which I am fundamentally incompatible with. Since I was a kid, I have felt a physical repulsion towards repetitive tasks. I simply cannot perform them consistently. “Grinding” on social media, going through the same loops over and over again — post optimized (e.g. divisive and bait-y) content, interact superficially in the comments, like and follow people in the same space, rinse and repeat — I can’t. I won’t. Not in the least because I can’t unsee that it’s all fake. Millions of people dance this same dance, spending 8+ hours a day on a faux mating ritual where all they’re after is engagement and every interaction is as meaningless as it’s fleeting.

But to me, even worse than the grind is the idea of narrowing down my world to a thin slice of what it’s supposed to be. Picking one topic and having to stick to it is intellectual imprisonment. In a LinkedIn conversation not long ago, I accidentially coined the term monosapiens. They are the ideal candidate for a strong personal brand; razor thin beings resembling very little of actual people, but who play nice with The Algorithm.

All hail The Algorithm

We cannot talk about online presence without talking about its God. People say “quality content will always rise to the surface” which is another gross misconception. We all know by now that content that keeps people on the platform rises to the surface. The only goal of The Algorithm is to keep people on the platform so they can be served ads or their data can be harvested.

It’s not an evil plot. It’s just how businesses work.

This phenomenon perfectly explains the rise of monosapiens. It’s most profitable to serve ads to people who show clearly defined, specific interests. The easiest way to single out these people is to see to which monosapiens they flock. “You watch a lot of content by this guy talking tirelessly about 3D printing. You must be into 3D printing. Here’s an ad for a 3D printer.” The more niche an ad space, the more advertisers are willing to pay for it.

As a result, The Algorithm rewards vertical content by showing it to more people, and punishes horizontal content by severely limiting its visibility. Not because The Algorithm is malicous, but because of economics. It prefers monosapiens creators because they help maximize ad spend.

This leaves creators with a choice: bend to The Algorithm’s will to enjoy some exposure and engagement, or suffer a lonely existence in the outskirts of the platform.

By the way, it’s easy to jump to the conclusion that people prefer monosapiens too, because monosapiens are all we see online. But this is a classic example of selection bias: this type of creator is all we see because platforms favor and amplify them, not because there aren’t any alternatives.

And yes — there are exceptions. Anecdotes of people who break the mould and still enjoy a short hit of viral euphoria. Without descending too deeply into conspiracy thinking, I wouldn’t be surprised if platforms deliberately sprinkle these success stories in just enough to keep the flock hopeful for their own five seconds of fame.

Either way. I’m not friends with The Algorithm and I’m too stubborn to bend to its will. But on top of my stubbornness, my perhaps most defining characteristic is the exact oppsite of what works online:

I’m good at way too many things

There, I said it. Believe me when I tell you that I cringed while typing that. But the reality is that I pick up new skills quite effortlessly. Especially if they involve some form of creative thinking.

Originally, I listed my professional skills here, but I just couldn’t get over how arrogant it felt, so I discared it. Let’s just say that there was a list.

I have a partial explanation for the length of the list.

Firstly, I am relentlessly curious. Without exception, I want to know how things work and why they are the way they are. And I am perpetually dissatisfied. As soon as I get a basic idea of how something works, I’ll look for ways to improve it. I can’t help myself, it just happens in my head while I try to focus on more important matters.

Secondly, there’s a lot of overlap between my skills. Most of them involve computers in some way, but creativity is really at the center of it all. I think my mind has grown into the habit of approaching every situation creatively, going through the same patterns regardless of the subject.

Creative thinking is a highly transferrable trait. The difference between being OK at something and being good at it often lies in how flexibly we approach it. I think my deep curiosity about inner workings combined with creativity help me expand into new territory with relative ease. It also explains why I’ll rarely reach true mastery: I keep getting sidetracked.

That’s why I titled this section starting with “I’m good at…” instead of “I’m exceptional at…”

By the way, I’m also very bad at many, many things. I just choose not to pour too much energy into improving them, because most of that energy will be wasted. To give you an idea: I’m impatient, I’m not a good team player, I burn out extremely rapidly, I’m distracted by everything, I have poor motor skills, I’m skeptical towards strangers, I struggle to enjoy social situations, I rarely ask for help, and I want to do everything by myself.

All of this is important to make the following point: I would be deeply unhappy if I were to be confined to one of those skills. Having to practice and talk about one thing forever is horrifying to me. But on the stage of social media, once we pick a lane, we must stick to it. Every diversion is punished by The Algorithm with significantly limited visibility and engagement.

This effect is amplified by follower homogeneity — the more like-minded your audience is, the more resistant they’ll be when you deviate from your usual format and topics. This effect can be observed on a daily basis, when seasoned influencers, tired of years and years of intellectual confinement, try to spread their wings into new territory, often to be ridiculed and criticized by their audience.

The book and my role as “creative industry expert”

Getting my book published by a reputable publisher might have just been a lucky shot. A “right place at the right time” kinda situation. As mentioned before, I don’t have any sales numbers, so I have no clue how well or how poorly it’s doing.

What I do know is that I naively expected that the book would open doors. So far, it hasn’t. More and more, I’m beginning to fear that my lack of social media presence plays a role in all this.

I’ve applied to a hand full of calls-for-speakers, but without success. I’ve talked to a couple of podcasts hosts, also without success. And I’m in very sluggish negotiations about hosting pilot workshops with creative teams.

It makes sense. Conferences, as well as industry podcasts, don’t just need experienced speakers and guests. They need people with big audiences, for two reasons:

1. Speakers and guests are conduits: when someone speaks at a conference or appears on a podcast, they’ll share their appearance with their own audience. Inviting a speaker with an audience of 100K guarantees that most of those 100K people will learn about the conference or podcast through the expert. Without that audience, the expert as a conduit is worthless.

2. Big followings instill authority. Even if the audience or listener isn’t familiar with the expert, if they are backed by a large following, they’re perceived as more credible, reflecting positively on the host.

Someone without a following is, at least on the surface, of very little worth to conferences and podcasts and other media. I might bring expertise and insights to the table, but I don’t sell tickets or bring in a new audience.

To overcome this, I know that I should start building an audience around the book. “Better late than never,” the saying goes. Thus far, however, I’ve failed to do this. Partly because of my reluctance to grind, and partly because the few meager attempts I have made led to nothing, further discouraging me.

I talked about purpose earlier. And I have to face the fact that it’s not my purpose to become a big-shot social media person. I just don’t care enough about the number to warrant investing so much time and effort into growing it. And when you’re not in it wholeheartedly, it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.

To be clear: I do want my book to reach more people, because I firmly believe it will positively impact their lives, and I do want to spread my ideas through conferences and podcasts for that same reason. But the cultivating of an audience online is merely a chore, an encumberance, in achieving the overarching goal.

So I won’t.

Where to next?

The one thing related to audience building that does feel worthy and right is this Substack newsletter. In light of Kevin Kelly’s famous essay “1,000 True Fans,” I’m very happy with my ~100 loyal readers. It might seem like a small number, but most of you know exactly what’s going on and truly follow me. That gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling. I truly appreciate it.

In conclusion, now might be the time to relieve myself of this burden of having to conform myself to certain standards. I find this hard, and a little bit scary, because it feels counter-intuitive and I don’t know what lies on the other end. Right now, it seems that giving up on buidling an audience is a recipe for disaster. This is fueled by events such as my publisher warning me before the book came out. He said something along the lines of, “Don’t expect the book to sell itself. Authors really need to get out there and actively promote their book. We see time and again that those who don’t barely sell any books.”

I’m promoting nada. I have nobody to promote to. The last thing I want to become is one of those people who use their social media account as free advertising space, receiving only a like from their spouse and a comment from their mother in law.

But enough of that. Let’s wrap this up with a real conclusion this time.

Martijn Konings is a freelance art director who I occasionaly meet for coffee. We’ve been in each other’s orbit for a while now, and somehow he has always had a very clear view of me — at least that’s how I perceive it. Once, after having coffee, he sent me a quote by Andy Warhol which he thought I needed to hear:

“Don't think about making art, just get it done. Let everyone else decide if it's good or bad, whether they love it or hate it. While they are deciding, make even more art.” — Andy Warhol

I have a weird relationship with art and artistry, but after I read it a few times, I realized that this quote has very little to do with art. It’s about cherishing our drive to create things and not allowing ourselves to be hamstrung by what others think of it. Just create, even if it is for the sake of creating.

That, I can do.

My list of ideas to work on is as long as this article. They’re all over the place. There are physical products, games, books, apps, videos, music, services, and — yes — art projects.

Working on all of them (not at the same time, mind you) defies all laws of personal branding, audience building, and perhaps even entrepreneurship. But it’s the only way forward I see at this point.

Let’s start making.

See you on the other side.