Ever since I can remember, I have been obsessed with health, food, and weight. I blame my mother(s). My biological mother had to be a size zero, or she considered herself “fat,” and my stepmother (or “bonus” mother as they say now) was not really much different. I blame their generation. I remember that they both exercised and watched what they ate. One went to the gym every single day, and the other one did Jane Fonda’s Workout a few times a week (during the 90s). One would make comments about people’s weight when we would be out and about, and the other would just give looks to women who were overweight. Growing up, this is what I saw every day, so this is deeply embedded in my psyche - nothin’ I can do. I eat well and exercise often, but I am not as obsessed as they were, or am I?

I love reading articles about health and wellness; I cringe when I read labels on food items. My algorithm knows me, and it’s mostly what I see when I scroll social media or the news. I get mad at my significant other for eating “garbage” or eating at fast food restaurants. Sometimes, I just really need to relax about all of this. I am always hard on myself later for eating “garbage” or missing too many days from exercising. Not only do I blame my mother(s), but I also blame society.

When I walk through any grocery store aisle, I see labels with so many new words printed on them; for example: “clean”, “green”, “vitalizing”, or even “healthy”. It is like all of this food is making promises that they might not be able to keep. I actually did some research on the words that are now being printed on food products, and there is a term used to describe this called “Wellness-Washing”. It is like vague descriptions or even wellness jargon. BUT it works! People buy into it. The wellness and health industry is over a trillion-dollar industry. It is kind of ridiculous really. I mean, I guess people will pick up a box, bag, or can faster if it is green with the words “healthy” or “clean” printed on them. What makes these products healthier is what I want to know.

It is all marketing, and it works. They get you to buy into it! Hey, sometimes they get me too. At times, I feel manipulated, so I buy into it, and I buy the products. Recently, I bought into the “greens” powder, and I drink it every morning. The list of healthy ingredients is long, and it tastes horrible, but I do it. Why? The marketing was great, and they said that it would support my immunity and cell production. That sounds good, right? Well, I do it and feel the same. HA! Maybe it works, maybe it doesn’t. BUT I have not been sick in months (knock on wood).

The buzzwords have an impact on consumers; they always have. Throughout my life, I have seen “no fat” or “less fat” or “sugar free” on so many products. I even see “gluten free” on items that would not even be considered to have gluten in them in the first place, like fruit or veggies: eyeroll. Lately, it is “organic” or “superfood”, what does that even mean anyway? All of this jargon makes me feel disillusioned and untrustworthy of the products, and they lost credibility with me. I just want to read the ingredients on the label and judge for myself.

I feel like the health and wellness industry should be based on trust and credibility. I mean, people who are like me, into being healthy, want to trust the companies that tout good health and healthy ingredients. When a packaged item has ingredients that I can not even pronounce, that is a problem. Then I Google the ingredients and their benefits or lack thereof; I question the buzzwords and do not purchase the products. I think the “wellness washing” lies have finally made an impact on me, and hopefully others.

I would think that the companies would want to build trust with their consumers, and maybe at first it works, or it works on people who do not read labels. Maybe they are there just for the money. I like when a company expresses their concerns about health and proves their mission and teaches their customers about the “why” of their products. This gives them credibility and creates loyal customers. Well, when it comes down to it, health and wellness are important, and I would hope that companies of products become more transparent about their products and leave the fluff and jargon off of their labels. As someone who grew up with an obsession about health and wellness, who reads articles about health and labels, I want integrity over buzzwords.

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I need to tell you about a fight I’ve been having since roughly birth… inner turmoil, if you will.

It’s not super dramatic, and no, there’s no single moment I can point to and say, there, that’s where it started. It’s just a low-grade, lifelong project I’ve been working on of trying to get people to take me seriously, which, naturally, also tends to show up in business for me from time to time.

I grew up in a household with two much older brothers (11 years and 13 years my senior), which meant I spent my formative years cast as the baby. It didn’t help that I was a spectacular late bloomer. I looked twelve when I was sixteen, and sixteen when I was twenty-three. A real pedophile’s dream. Try being taken seriously as a functioning adult with serious thoughts and ideas when people keep waiting for your mom to come pick you up.

You would think this would have made me some sassy in-your-face Karen. Nope, I’ve always been a hustler on the DL (although my 11-year-old daughter of similar proportions is well on her way to not take sh*t from anyone. I am equal parts in awe and a little afraid). Anyway, I was never a fighter in that sense. I’m the type who can get just mad enough, and then the anger hits a level that automatically converts into tears. Very low barrier and quite inconvenient when trying to make a point.

So instead, I learned to be cute about not being taken seriously, and absorb it all with a smile. To be so agreeable about being underestimated that no one could ever call me difficult.

I bring all of this up because lately, the not-being-taken-seriously has a shiny new vocabulary, and maybe my daughter’s extra boldness is inspiring. Or maybe this elder Millennial has just had enough.

It started on a discovery call with a potential client explaining why she needed help. She said that her last social media person had left, because, and I quote, she “got a big girl job.”

A big girl job.

I sat there, silent, with my most professional smile, while everything in me was screaming, This is my big girl job! I’ve been doing “this” for six years. I’m the founder and lady in charge. What exactly, in your estimation, makes a job a big girl one? Is it a cubicle? A lanyard? Someone else’s name on the door?

Sadly, this wasn’t an isolated event. A few months before that, I was sitting across from a well-known local restaurant owner, brought in to talk about their marketing, and upon sitting down and shaking hands, he pulled up my website, glanced at it, and proceeded to say, “Okay, I see here you have a little business.”

A little business.

That’s the moment my whole “is it me?” theory started to wobble. Because if this were a presentation problem, meaning I just needed to package myself a little better, then the website could easily be tweaked. He read the exact words I chose to describe my work and reached for “little” anyway. You cannot out-design a person who has already decided what size you are.

And then came the next… from an old friend. Someone who knows what I do, and who called me for advice two years ago when she started her own venture, a venture that, based on the fact that she’s since gone back to corporate, appears to no longer be in existence. We hadn’t talked in a while, and as we caught up, the conversation turned to what I was up to these days, and led with the question, “So how’s the side hustle going?”

Oh, you mean, my full-time job?

I’ve thought about that one a lot, because, as you can imagine, it hit a bit differently. The client didn’t mean me. The restaurant guy was just careless. But the friend, the one who had actually left the arena I’m still standing in? Now, I don’t think she meant to be unkind. Maybe calling mine small made her leaving feel a little less like a retreat. Or maybe, unless you’re ringing the bell at the NYSE, nothing you do matters?

So, is it me? Is it the thing I’ve been doing since I was the too-young-looking youngest kid at the table? Is it a woman thing? Do the men who run businesses exactly this size get “little business” and “side hustle” and “big boy job” lobbed at them too? I mean, just saying this out loud sounds like an SNL sketch. Or is it just… the times?

Because there is definitely something heavier hanging over society as a whole, too.

We were all told to build a portfolio. Do good work, collect the proof, and let the proof speak for itself. Well, spoiler alert: The proof does not speak for itself anymore. Nobody wants to look at it!

Over the past roughly two years, I’ve watched it change. I’ll say, genuinely, “I have so many samples to show you!” But they don’t want the ones that exist. They want me to make something new. For them. Specifically. And, 98% of the time, for free.

The most brazen version happened on a call where I was, foolishly, generous. Someone asked my opinion, so I gave it: real, strategy-level ideas. Because why the heck not? I’m not going to sit here and pretend I know everything, and hide it behind a golden treasury. If we’re having a real conversation, and I can see what would genuinely help you, I’m going to tell you. But instead of “great, let’s work together,” she asked if I’d hop on another call the following week, with assistant in tow, to walk through “actual examples” of everything I’d just described.

I was appalled. And for once, oh miracle of miracles, I didn’t get cute about it. I told her that sort of deep-dive would be a future strategy call, that happens after she decides to move forward with a contract.

And it worked. She did not get her free second round. I held the line on the samples, too–these are the ones I share; here’s what I’ve got–and that worked as well.

And for what it’s worth, my two cents on why there’s been such a shift…. I don’t think people distrust my proof, specifically. I think people distrust proof in general. We’re living through the golden age of not believing anything because every screenshot could be doctored, every credential could be bought, every glowing review could be a bot with a keyboard, and everyone’s got a checklist to refer back to based on what “their people” think, anyone else be damned. So of course “here’s a link to my work” doesn’t carry the weight it used to. Why would it? Trust all around is broken. They only trust the thing you’ll build for them, in front of them, and for free.

Which is a very expensive kind of skepticism to be on the receiving end of.

I don’t have this fully figured out, but I have noticed that the diminishing and the free-sample thing are the same monster wearing two different outfits, both assuming there’s no real cost to underestimating you.

So I started adding one. My comeback may still show up late and useless as ever, but the invoice? You bet that shows up on time.

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Okay so. FIFA spent actual millions making sure only official sponsors get logo real estate at the World Cup. Like a full lockdown. No brand allowed near a stadium unless they paid to play.

And then Levi’s Stadium happened.

Quick context if you weren’t tracking this (no judgment, you have a life): Levi’s has a 10-year, $170 million naming rights deal with the 49ers. Big money. Big commitment. But Levi’s isn’t an official World Cup sponsor, so FIFA made them rename the stadium “San Francisco Bay Area Stadium” for the tournament and cover the entire logo with a giant white tarp. Inside and out.

Problem is, the Levi’s batwing logo is so iconic that you can see the exact shape THROUGH the tarp. They didn’t hide it. They basically just gift wrapped it.

And instead of being annoyed about it, Levi’s said say less. They changed their Instagram profile picture to the covered-up logo. Posted a video of the tarp set to that “nobody’s gonna know” TikTok sound. Took the bit international and put the same white sheet over storefronts in Paris, London, Mexico, Hong Kong. Heinz got hit with the same rule (ketchup bottles literally taped over in the stadium) and didn’t really do anything with it. Gillette and Beats by Dre got caught in the same net too.

One brand turned a legal restriction into the most talked about marketing moment of the entire tournament. The others just complied and moved on.

But get this... Levi’s didn’t get more attention because they had a bigger budget or a slicker campaign. They got more attention because FIFA tried to make them disappear and the attempt itself became the content. Nobody was posting about Levi’s Stadium last month. Everybody’s posting about it now. The tarp did more work than a Super Bowl spot would’ve.

Kind of feels like the marketing version of “don’t think about a pink elephant.” You cover something up specifically to make people stop noticing it, and instead you’ve basically pointed a spotlight at it and handed everyone a reason to talk.

We treat creative restrictions like they’re the enemy. Client says no budget for that shoot. Legal says you can’t use that phrase. Platform changes its algorithm again and now nobody sees organic posts. And the instinct is always to see the wall and stop there.

But Levi’s had a wall put directly in front of them, on purpose, by an organization with way more leverage than they have, and they turned it into their best campaign moment of the year. Not despite the restriction. Because of it.

I think about this every time I get a “make it shorter” or “we can’t say that” note and internally spiral a little. The restriction isn’t the end of the idea. Sometimes it’s the actual brief. The tarp wasn’t the obstacle, it was the canvas.

Also, can we talk about how this only worked because Levi’s brand identity is strong enough that a silhouette under a sheet is still instantly recognizable? That’s the real flex here. You don’t get to pull this move with a logo nobody knows. Heinz got the same restriction, and it didn’t go viral for them the same way, because taping over a ketchup bottle just looks like tape over a ketchup bottle. The shape has to already live in people’s heads before you can play with hiding it.

So if you’re sitting there annoyed at whatever limitation just got handed to you, official sponsor money or not, might be worth asking what the tarp version of your situation looks like. What’s the thing you could lean into instead of fighting?

Anyway. Watching the rest of this tournament with a very different eye now. Every covered logo I see between now and July 19th, I’m going to assume someone’s social team is already drafting the caption.

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How much screen time do you have? It looks like mine averaged 9 hours and 48 minutes in June 2026. I’d say that’s a bit too much. But then again, I play videos in the background while I work, so it does make a bit more sense.

For me, it’s just standard to be online.

I’m a bit too old to be an iPad baby, but I grew up around screens. Windows XP screens, but screens anyway. I’m going to sound nostalgic here, but I’m confident that I grew up with the best internet.

You can find all the series, anime, or movies you could possibly want for free on YouTube. You can find all the music and games you need in Ares or torrents. There weren’t any ads or subscription fees.

We all have blogs, and we all read each other’s blogs. Actually, I can say that I read the most during high school, when there were blogs about reading that not only recommended books but also provided links to download them for free.

Obviously, all this “freedom” was basically piracy, and it came with its own set of problems, which was a total nightmare for the original creators.

But honestly, the experience of being online these days makes it impossible not to romanticize the old internet, especially because it was human.

In search of an answer to the despair of modernity, let’s take a look at good old conspiracy blogs. It’s time to take back something that never left: the dead internet theory.

The “dead internet” theory originated as a fringe idea on 4chan, claiming that the U.S. government had artificially inflated web traffic with bots to manipulate culture and data. What was once a conspiracy theory is now an everyday reality not exclusive to any government (or governments at all).

Look at the numbers. The 2025 Imperva Bad Bot Report confirmed that 51% of global web traffic is now bots. Let that sink in.

More than half of the “activity” online isn’t even human. When you post a picture of your cat, you’re not just showing it to your friends; you’re putting it in a display case for an army of “good bots” indexing it, “bad bots” scraping it, and “zombie bots” preparing to use it to train AI.

The worst part is that we have become accustomed to it. The art of searching different pages for answers is lost in the quick read of a 200-word overview. The idea of having a personalized library of music that you downloaded on your phone or computer is lost to subscription fees on Spotify or Apple Music. Even the practice of reading comments to argue, agree, and create community is getting lost in a sea of GIFs from bots.

We have lost ourselves to convenience. But convenience comes at a price. For example, you now have to pay to store pictures and maintain your email inbox.

That’s why I feel it’s important to remember that the Internet is ours. We are not passive consumers, but active contributors and creators of community. Our choices about what we consume and engage with, and how, are impactful. So, let’s make them intentional.

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I am a bonus mom to a 7-year-old boy. He is sweet and adorable, and yet he makes me nuts sometimes. I am new to this mom stuff, but I am making it work and doing the best I can every single day. Like all 7-year-old boys, he loves his race cars and monster trucks. He also loves watching any video about them as well. A few days ago, I was watching a video with him, and I was overly annoyed with the barrage of commercials that come on between the videos. This was YouTube Kids. KIDS! This specific commercial was about a video game that he could play, and of course, he asked if I could get it for him. I rolled my eyes and said nicely, “No.” In my mind, I was cursing the gaming company.

I also noticed the many ads that pop on in between games, when he is playing on his tablet. He doesn’t even think about it, except to ask, “Can I get this game?” Or “Can I get that toy?” I know that commercials are there for people to see the new products yadda yadda, but he is 7. I also know that this is not new. I remember all of the toy and cereal commercials from the 80s and 90s, but now I feel that this is evasive. I mean, he sees these commercials on tv, on YouTube Kids, on his tablet; when is enough, enough?

As a bonus mom, still finding my way in this whirlwind of parenting, navigating this constant barrage can be overwhelming. I want to protect his innocence and keep his mind free from corporate targeting, yet I also want him to enjoy the games and videos. It feels like a losing battle when every click of a button or pause in a video brings a new sales pitch disguised as fun. The guilt of constantly saying “no” or feeling like the “fun-killer” in the household is exhausting, especially when the algorithms are specifically designed to make him ask for everything over and over, and yes... over.

What worries me most isn’t just the sheer volume of the ads, but how deeply embedded they are in his daily routines. When we were kids, the commercials ended when the TV clicked off or the Saturday morning cartoons were over. Today, the screen follows him from the living room couch to the backseat of the car on his tablet. I have to monitor not only the videos and games, but also the marketing that he sees as well. It is tiring.

Ultimately, realizing how vulnerable he is to these hidden pitches has changed how I approach screen time altogether. Doing the best I can every single day now means turning these annoying interruptions into small teaching moments. When a game or toy ad pops up and the inevitable “Can I get this?” follows, I’m learning to pause and ask him why he thinks the video is showing us that specific toy, helping him slowly build the defenses he needs. It’s definitely a learning curve for both of us, but as a bonus mom, ensuring he learns to see through the screen’s bright illusions is just as important as making sure he gets to be a sweet, race car and monster truck-loving little 7-year-old.

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I need to confess something…

For the past year, I clicked every single link in theSkimm. Yep, every one of them. Not the way a normal, well-adjusted person reads a newsletter, skimming the bold parts, absorbing roughly 40% of a Supreme Court ruling, and getting on with their day. I actually clicked: the “read more,” the “here,” the little hyperlinked phrase buried in the third sentence that’s just there for good measure. I clicked it every morning, like a job I did not apply for and am definitely not being paid to do (...can you imagine? But I digress…)

I’d love to tell you this was research or some noble experiment in media consumption, but the truth is just that I’m a newsletter writer who cannot stop reading other people’s newsletters. I really seem to have entered my newsletter OCD era.

So, here is what a year of surveillance taught me. They repeat, constantly, and without a flicker of shame.

Some of it is same-week stuff, a topic on Tuesday that comes back on Saturday under a slightly different headline, or shoved down into a paragraph, hoping I won’t notice. But the real pattern is the long game: the evergreens that circle back every few months. Is coffee good for you (it is; it isn’t; it is, but…). Dementia risk in women, which, let’s be honest about who that one is for, aimed squarely at the exact reader theSkimm has always known it was writing to.

But the one I now have a full parasocial relationship with is sleep. How to sleep better, why you’re not sleeping, the seven things silently ruining your sleep, what not sleeping will do, etc. I roll my eyes every single time, with the very specific contempt of a person who has not had a truly good night’s sleep since my daughter’s seventeenth sleep regression circa 2018. But then, every single time, I click, because what if this is the one? What if the fourteenth article about magnesium and screen time is the one that finally fixes me? It won’t, and it is never the one. I have read all of them, and I am writing this sentence at 1 a.m.

Here’s where it gets interesting, and a little conspiratorial. Last year, theSkimm got acquired by Ziff Davis and folded into a division called Everyday Health Group, which is, as the name is trying very hard to tell you, a wellness company. The new owners said more or less out loud that they planned to lean into health and wellness coverage, which means my coffee-sleep-dementia trifecta isn’t a coincidence and isn’t even laziness. It’s the new new guy in town, let’s just say…redecorating a bit. And once you see it, you can’t unsee it.

I’ll also say (and this is just my take as a print media consumer) that the links themselves started pointing somewhere a little different than they used to. It once sat pretty squarely in the middle of the political road, and to my eye, it has drifted to mostly left-leaning publications. Now, I’m not against it, but one of the things I really did love about the original Skimm was that they seemed to just report the news. Even when Fox was a minor investor, they didn’t go right. Anyway, you might not notice it, but I notice everything now. That’s what clicking every link for a year does to a person.

But here’s the part I did not see coming, and, dare I say, keeps me up at night…Somewhere around the third sleep article, I had to face an annoying little truth: the repetition is the only reason I know any of it.

Nobody learns a thing once. I didn’t absorb “actually, the coffee research is mixed” from a single brilliant sentence delivered to me on a Tuesday. I absorbed it because they told me, and then told me again, and then told me a third time until it finally stuck.

That is a deeply inconvenient thing to realize when your whole job is writing, because it means the goal was never to say something once, perfectly. But it’s also validating when your job is also to be a marketer of said writing. Nobody remembers the thing you said once, no matter how good it was. The “news” with the timely hook and the fresh headline, the reason to open today specifically, is just the excuse to say the durable thing again without anyone rolling their eyes.

So that’s the lesson. I’d wrap this up with something tidy and quotable, but I just don’t have anything. I know precisely who I’m being marketed to and why, and tomorrow morning, when the sleep article comes back around, I am without a doubt going to click it.

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The other day I was putting together a cost structure for my Kbeauty side business. You know, trying to be responsible, do things right. So I asked Gemini to help me out.

And okay, it looked amazing. Like genuinely impressive. Clean tables, every category accounted for, the whole thing looked like something a real CFO would send over. I was feeling myself a little bit ngl.

Then I started adding my actual prices.

It was a mess. Like a beautiful, well-formatted, completely wrong mess. The numbers didn’t close, the margins made no sense, and if I had just trusted it and moved forward? My little Kbeauty dream would’ve been over before it started. 🤣

So I went back to Gemini and told it the numbers were off.

“You’re so right!! I’m so sorry, that was my mistake!!” Very enthusiastic. Very apologetic. Still gave me the wrong answer. Three more times.

I closed the tab and did it myself.

AI isn’t built to tell you you’re wrong. It’s built to keep you happy. So it agrees, it apologizes, it adjusts the formatting a little, and then gives you the same wrong answer looking slightly different. It will validate your idea, your strategy, your pricing, your entire business plan, and never once say “hey, this might not work.” That’s not a bug, that’s kind of how it was designed. To be pleasant. To keep you engaged. To make you feel like you’re getting somewhere even when you’re not.

Which is fine when you’re asking it to write a birthday caption for your friend. Not so fine when your money is involved.

The thing that gets me is how confident it was the whole time. It never said “hey I’m not sure about this” or “you should double check these margins.” It just presented everything like it was facts, in a beautiful table, and moved on. And I almost believed it because it looked so good.

That’s kind of where we are with AI content too. I scroll through Instagram and I can tell immediately when a caption was AI-generated and copy-pasted with zero edits. It’s not that it’s bad exactly, it’s just... empty? It says words but it doesn’t sound like anyone. No friction, no personality, nothing that makes you stop. And just like Gemini agreeing with everything you say, it’s content that never pushes back, never surprises you, never gives you a reason to actually pay attention.

People feel that even when they can’t explain it. And they keep scrolling.

Which brings me to something we’ve been working on, because this doesn’t have to be you or your brand.

If you’re using AI to help with content (valid, same) but it comes out sounding like everyone else, we’ll fix that. We take what the AI gave you and rewrite it in your actual voice. The one your audience followed in the first place. And unlike Gemini, we’ll actually tell you when something isn’t working.

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A/B testing is hands down the best marketing tool out there, and honestly, I’m not even going to debate this with anyone. It’s practically a real-time market study, but way less expensive. We no longer have to play guessing games about what our audience wants; now, we just have to drop three different ideas as a test and let the data do the talking.

Have you guys tried Instagram’s Trial Reels yet?

If you haven’t seen it yet, it basically lets you publish a Reel to test its performance before deciding whether to show it on your main feed or not.

But this isn't just an Instagram thing anymore; the whole digital landscape is moving in this direction. YouTube has been rolling out its own "Test & Compare" features for thumbnails, and Facebook thrives on running low-budget ad variations before scaling. Every major platform is essentially giving us a sandbox to mess around in.

For anyone managing brands, this is a total game-changer. Trial Reels allow you to be disruptive. You can test more aggressive sales hooks or rawer formats, like behind-the-scenes content or memes, without the constant fear of “ruining the aesthetic” of a client’s feed. If it works and it sells, it stays. If it doesn’t, it disappears without a trace.

The Best Part? Bye-Bye, Paralysis by Analysis.

This tool completely takes the pressure off. It teaches us that in today’s marketing world, speed and experimentation are worth way more than spending hours on design and endless strategy meetings.

At the end of the day, it’s a much simpler way (maybe) to go viral and bring in a fresh audience.

So, my challenge for everyone this month is simple: stop overthinking the perfect feed. Run the trial, test that risky hook, and let the numbers decide what stays.

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This week, like many others, I watched the Euphoria finale. Even though the show no longer enjoys the reputation and goodwill it had at the start, it’s still undeniably one of the most popular series right now, and social media reflects that. Whether you follow it or not, you’ve probably seen reels or TikToks commenting on it. I’ve even had Substack essays pop up about this season’s hypersexualization of the characters, one of the most criticized aspects.

Of course, some people liked the last season, and even enjoyed the finale. But I think the general reception, even among the most enthusiastic fans, was poor, and the finale was disappointing. It’s not unusual to see a series decline toward the end, with fans turning it into a crusade. I still clearly remember the Game of Thrones fiasco and how the fandom collectively decided the show “didn’t exist” after season four.

But even compared to cases like Game of Thrones, I don’t think what happened with Euphoria is entirely comparable. You see, this failure feels less like falling short of audience expectations and more like… achieving them. Even before the first episode of the last season aired, you could already see how the general discourse around the show had shifted.

Was the finale bad? (spoilers ahead)

Objectively, yes. They didn’t close most of the arcs that had been open since season one, like the relationships between Nate and Jules, and Rue and Jules. They rushed other characters’ plots without giving them any meaningful development (Lexi, for example), or they completely changed established personalities without explanation or coherence (like Nate).

Critics pointed out that Rue’s storyline, in particular, ended on a deeply unsatisfying note, her overdose framed less as the culmination of her struggles and more as an accident, almost like a PSA about fentanyl rather than a character-driven conclusion. The finale’s tone also swung awkwardly between bleak realism and hokey fantasy, undermining any real emotional impact.

But beyond the poor writing, I think saving the show would have been a miracle from the start. Because in the years leading up to this season, Euphoria had already lost its original identity through a mix of external and internal factors that shifted public perception.

The Cast and the Creators

Unlike the first season, where most of the actors were unknown, and even the more famous ones, like Zendaya, were known for kids’ projects, by the last season, things had changed dramatically. Thanks to the show’s success, much of the cast is now recognized as Hollywood mega-stars, and as such, the public has strong perceptions of their “public personas.”

I can’t ignore how Sydney Sweeney’s controversies shaped a public image that had many fans “joking” about the similarities between her character, Cassie, and her real-life persona, stirring up animosity toward her and her projects.

For better or worse, actors solidifying themselves as public figures contribute to shifting perceptions of a series. But of course, that alone isn’t enough.

What does directly impact perception is how the creator and creative team are viewed. Since his collaboration with The Weeknd on The Idol, Sam Levinson has acquired an increasingly questionable reputation with audiences. Where sex scenes in early seasons were once excused as “realistic,” they’re now scrutinized—evaluated for their true necessity to the plot and whether they might just be the creator’s fantasies.

Many reviewers noted that Season 3 relied too much on shock value and stylized misery, with strong visuals and performances (Zendaya especially) masking weak, hollow writing.

When a project’s lead author loses credibility, their work gets put under a magnifying glass. This was no exception. But Sam Levinson’s changing image isn’t just about that. It’s also tied to scandals around the show’s aesthetic being stolen and the firing of multiple creatives, most notably the main composer, Labyrinth, who publicly expressed his discontent with the series and how he was treated, making people even more skeptical of Levinson’s questionable decisions.

The Loss of Aesthetic

As I mentioned earlier, one of the biggest scandals broke when it became public that Euphoria’s acclaimed “aesthetic” (a core part of its brand) wasn’t even the director’s original work. Worse, the person who should have been credited for that vision, cinematographer Petra Collins, left the set with nothing.

This, of course, wreaked havoc not only on Sam Levinson’s reputation but also on the series’ artistic legitimacy. And while no official statements have been made, I don’t think it’s crazy to assume that the drastic aesthetic shift in season three came from a desire to distance itself from all of this.

The problem is, Euphoria had a very strong, distinctive visual language. Aesthetic isn’t just decoration you can swap out arbitrarily…it’s the distinctive brand that unifies your community, an essential narrative element. Many users commented that watching season three felt like watching a different show. And that’s understandable, because none of the symbolic elements that formed the show’s artistic identity were there anymore.

The Passage of Time

Now for the third and final factor (though it doesn’t have to be just three), I feel like the loss of the creator’s reputation, the casting scandals, and the firing of key creatives are already enough to set the stage for disaster. But the truth is, this last factor is the main trigger for everything else: time.

Between seasons two and three of Euphoria, four years passed. That time didn’t just allow conflicts to surface or scandals to form, but it also allowed the audience to grow up, change, and detach from the show and its characters.

Many people overlook this factor, but when you stop growing alongside your audience, it’s very easy to fall into an irreparable disconnect.

The hype and fanaticism fade. Instead of experiencing the new season in real time, people watch it through a nostalgic comparison to the original product, a comparison that, because it responds more to the viewer’s past emotions and where they were in life back then, always makes the current product look pale by comparison. The irony that critics kept coming back to is right there in the show’s title: Euphoria kept chasing that feeling but delivered only relentless despair.

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A few days ago, I needed to go to a website and get some information about a product that I purchased. I noticed that little chat icon at the bottom right side of the screen, so I clicked on it, hoping to be able to chat with a human being. It turned out to be just generic questions and answers. Even when I wrote a long sentence about what I really needed, it gave me some generic information. I became irritated and then just finally found the Contact Us page and called the company. Do you know what I am talking about? Companies really are getting into AI more and more with those damn chatbots, which are supposed to be helpful. Was it really helpful? No.

I think companies are diving into the AI world a little too much when it comes to customer service. I would rather talk to someone in India than deal with the generic chatox. I want a human, I want something personalized, not automated. I want to literally be “heard”, you know? I think people, specifically customers, want to be heard. These days, customers are just a number that is tracked by algorithms. Those chatbots are friendly, but do they actually help? Lately, as a consumer and customer, I feel unheard and unseen. AND this was not Amazon. I decided to purchase outside of Amazon in order to have a more personalized experience.

I think that some business communication has lost its most critical ingredient: true human empathy. The one thing that AI does not have is empathy. I know that many responses from companies are AI-generated, and as incredible as it seems, it is not truly helpful (at least in my experience with that company). I also believe that the companies that care about real human connection thrive in the AI-generated world that we are now starting to live in.

This is precisely why the future of marketing doesn’t belong to the most sophisticated algorithm; it belongs to the brands that refuse to outsource their humanity. When a customer interacts with a business, they aren’t just looking for a fast response; they are looking for a shared human experience. AI can mimic the structure of language, but it can not mirror the depth of human emotion and empathy. It cannot feel the weight of a customer’s frustration, nor can it offer the genuine warmth that comes from a person who truly cares. We need more humanity in marketing and customer service.

Don’t get me wrong, those little chatbots can be adorable, and at times, there is a real human behind that icon who can be helpful and actually listen to their customers. I appreciate those companies. I know that ModCloth and Warby Parker use actual people behind their chatbots, and their marketing and branding prove to show loyalty and even personalization. They are great companies that truly care about their customers! The companies that use AI more than humans are the tech companies, like Amazon or Microsoft. It is almost impossible to get a person to help with customer service, which is really annoying! I do understand the cost efficiency of using AI, but I still want to talk with a person when I need help, not a chatbot.

In the end, people need people and human connection, not robots. No matter how advanced the technology gets, it can never rewrite our fundamental need for real human community. When a business actually recognizes this, marketing stops being about metrics and starts being about true customer service. By choosing real connection over AI convenience, you don’t just close a sale; you build deep, lasting loyalty. In a world rushing toward a simulated future, the most successful thing a brand can do is simply stay human.

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Hey there,

I’ve always listed my prices on my website, but until recently, I had hesitated to put them on my Calendly booking page. I think I was buying into the same nonsense that most people running their own business do: if I list my prices, won’t it weed people out before they talk to me?

This was odd logic for me. After all, I told people my prices on the call. I had them listed on my site. Why wouldn’t I let everyone know what my prices were on my call booking page?

After a recent email exchange, I remembered weeding people out before the call was a good thing.

An activity director at a senior living community had, out of the blue, scheduled a call with me. I saw a name I didn’t recognize pop up on my Calendly notification. This was common, and often it was a good thing! Someone had heard of me, seen me on LinkedIn, or spotted my content on Instagram, and wanted to learn more about Dementia By Day.

This one, however, was not someone who was interested in my consulting services. I could tell immediately, based on her note, “I want to find a good activity for a resident I have,” that she didn’t have the buying power or interest in my $82k consulting services. I’ve been doing this long enough to know she wasn’t even going to be able to buy my education package for her company—she wasn’t in a role that would allow that.

I canceled the call and sent a nice email, suggesting a website for her to look at and even my Program Director Certification course for her to learn from. “Hi,” I wrote, “This call is for people who are interested in my consulting services, but it sounds like we can figure out a solution for your challenge via email.”

Unfortunately, she didn’t understand why I’d canceled the call and argued back. “But maybe I would be interested in consulting services if we had this call!” she wrote.

Sigh.

We exchanged a couple more emails, each with me trying to help her understand why having a call didn’t make sense.

Despite the fact that I’d felt I’d done a good job building my Calendly booking page, I was still, pretty regularly, getting calls booked from people who weren’t good fits.

Here’s my booking page now.

The only thing I changed was adding my pricing, and you can see what it looked like before the update.

Nobody knew, unless they’d spoken to me before the call or seen the consulting page on my site, that “Creating or revamping a dementia program” starts at $52k. Now, anyone who is interested in working with us understands—BEFORE the call—what they’re potentially signing up for.

I haven’t had to cancel any calls in the two months since I implemented this change.

Do you work for yourself?

Are you struggling to put yourself out there and actually close clients?

Let me help you.

Learn more about Crush The Close.

The ABCs of B2Bs

CRUSH THE CLOSE

Crush The Close: B2B Sales For People Who Hate Selling…

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Yesterday I went to see the Michael biopic, and honestly, I walked out with more marketing notes than actual film opinions.

It got me thinking about something that blew my mind: post-mortem marketing. Michael Jackson passed away in 2009, yet he’s still selling like it’s 1983. And I’m not even talking about the music. I’m talking about how, years later, a movie about his life can still dominate the conversation and generate massive revenue.

To me, this is the ultimate case study in Repurposing Marketing.

In our world, we’re so obsessed with the “content hamster wheel,” the constant pressure to create, post, and produce something brand new from scratch until we hit total burnout. But MJ’s legacy shows us that the answer isn’t always “more.” Sometimes, it’s about looking at what we already have and finding a new way to present it. This movie does exactly that: it takes a story we already know and a legacy that’s been there for decades, and packages it in a format that feels “new enough” for us to pay for it all over again.

Not everything has to be a fresh start. Sometimes, it just needs a fresh angle.

The other thing that really stuck with me is the concept of Brand Identity. Michael achieved what every digital entrepreneur is chasing (whether they realize it or not): his brand became its own self-sustaining ecosystem. Today, the “Michael Jackson” brand functions perfectly without him being physically there. That is true power.

The goal of a successful brand isn’t just to sell a service; it’s to sell an aesthetic and an experience that exists beyond the person behind the screen. Think about it, the white glove, the tilted hat, the silhouette on tiptoes. These are visual assets that sell themselves. You don’t need a long-winded explanation or a heavy ad spend to understand what they represent. The identity is already doing the work.

That’s the difference between a product that needs constant promotion and an iconic brand that just needs to exist to stay relevant.

As for the movie itself? I’ll be honest, I expected a bit more. But I’m okay with it, because I walked away with a better takeaway: in marketing, the strongest strategy isn’t always about inventing the next big thing.

Sometimes, the real win is knowing how to make something timeless feel relevant again.

Hee-Hee! 🕺✨

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How good are you at recognizing if something was made by AI? Can you tell if a news story is real or a conspiracy? How accurate do you think your judgment really is?

Most of us would probably answer these questions by vouching for the accuracy of our own judgment. That might sound biased, but it’s actually necessary. Life requires stability and meaning to help us navigate the world, develop belief systems, and trust our instincts. Relying on personal judgment is a fundamental human need. Unfortunately, personal confidence doesn’t translate into objective truth.

We’ve all seen memes about parents who can’t tell when a video is AI-generated. Yet, I’ve seen the same people who mock others for believing an obviously fake AI video turn around and claim that texts clearly written by AI were written by humans.

Studies confirm that humans are barely able to distinguish AI-generated text from human-written text with any greater accuracy than chance, hovering around 50–55%. Without a disclosure label, readers misclassify AI text as human about 60% of the time. We rely on superficial cues, such as fluency and clean grammar, but modern AI models have learned to avoid the obvious giveaways.

The more you use AI, the better you become at recognizing its patterns. Unfortunately, the more AI is used, the more it trains itself to overcome those patterns. This is similar to how the more people trust their own judgment, the less credible what they consume becomes to them.

This phenomenon isn’t limited to AI; it’s happening with information and content consumption in general. According to Gallup, trust in U.S. mass media has fallen from 72% in the 1970s to just 34% today. People are believing less and less in official news channels. When a story emerges that “confirms” an internet theory or conspiracy, trust in official media plummets further, even when those same outlets report the confirmation.

I’m well aware that we live in the age of information and data. However, I find that this oversaturation, combined with the obscurity of where the information comes from, blurs the parameters of what is and isn’t reliable. The standards for establishing certainty are becoming increasingly arbitrary, creating silos of ideological consumption.

As a content creator, I keep asking myself: How can we build credibility for a brand’s content in this environment? One option is to avoid using AI entirely, share only information from official sources, and double-check every fact. But, in an era without clear parameters for defining credibility, are these methods effective?

Research suggests that transparency markers, such as AI disclosures, slightly improve trust but don’t eliminate doubt. Meanwhile, purely AI-generated content faces a real credibility deficit.

A more realistic approach is to truly understand your target audience. The other day, I read a story about an Indian content creator who discovered that U.S. Republicans were more receptive to AI-generated content than other groups. He started creating AI content specifically for that audience, which helped him build a strong online presence.

Social trust levels strongly influence how people perceive AI-assisted content. If your audience trusts institutions or your brand, they’re more likely to accept new formats. If they don’t, no amount of disclosure will fix that overnight.

Of course, some brands have a much broader target audience. But the general question remains: What does your audience believe? Are you echoing that narrative back to them? In a world where people default to doubt, credibility isn’t just about being accurate; it’s also about aligning with your audience’s existing belief systems.

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It’s been a full week since StreamFest 2026 wrapped, and I’m still checking the DMs. Not exactly because I have to, but...

You see, the festival’s over, and the most immediate posts are published. Of course, scheduling out unused photos and videos is part of another strategy for keeping things top of mind and engaged until the next festival, but that’s another story entirely. The professional photographers and videographers have ceased sending me things, yet I keep checking anyway.

For four days, I was the social media manager at StreamFest, a brand-new film festival built on the idea that the existing model is broken, and that the best films deserve a room full of people watching together. The festival is in its second year now and is slowly gaining traction as the place to premiere. My job was technically behind the scenes: standing by for footage, posting and captioning, tagging the right people and sponsors, tag-teaming a little live capture with a local influencer, answering DMs as they filtered in, and resharing A WHOLE LOTTA content from veteran festival goers and filmmakers happy tagging our account. I had all access and eyes everywhere.

What I didn’t expect, though, was the type of experience that would happen in the moments between posts… both ones I leaned into, and ones I wish I had, like in line for a drink, sitting down listening to a panel, or merely helping someone carry in a movie poster through the backstage entrance.

My biggest takeaway? How could I have so many different experiences within one cohesively produced event? Perhaps it was the energy, who’s to say. What I do know, though, is that the following three separate experiences each taught me something new.

The one I didn’t plan for.

The kickoff event was at the Andaz, a modern boutique hotel, and the guest bartender was Maksim Chmerkovskiy. Yes, the Maksim of Dancing With the Stars fame, the outspoken Russian dancer who’s known to ruffle some feathers, or at least the way editing likes to portray him. He and a local partner have a vodka brand, Kapa, that was sponsoring the night, and he was personally mixing the specialty cocktail.

I decided to bring my mom to this evening’s festivities.

My mom is a lifelong DWTS fan, and she also happens to speak Russian. So as we got to the front of the line, she greeted Maksim confidently, and in Russian. He looked pleasantly surprised, said hello back, and asked her how she was, also in Russian.

My mom stared back at him. Blank face. No response.

He looked confused, which is fair. He gently asked, in English, “Oh, do you not speak Russian? So many people know just one word, and after they say it, they cannot continue the conversation.” At which point my mom snapped to and said, with the energy of a woman defending her honor, “Yes, I speak Russian!”

So now Maksim is more confused. And I, the all-access social media manager who is supposed to be capturing this evening for the internet, had to step in and clarify, in English, that yes, my mother speaks Russian, she just didn’t hear him.

He laughed as the line behind us grew longer. I tried to usher my mom to the side. But then, Maksim started telling her the entire backstory of why the vodka is named what it’s named (something about an aunt?) Anyway, he then came around the bar with a glass and toasted with us.

I don’t know if he did that with everybody, but I’d like to think he didn’t.

The thing is, I didn’t plan that conversation. I wasn’t networking or pitching. I was just standing in a line with my mom, and it became one of the most memorable moments of the weekend.

The one I didn’t have.

Earlier in that same line, standing directly in front of me, was Thora Birch.

Yes, Hocus Pocus, Thora Birch. The Thora Birch I idolized as a kid, when Hocus Pocus was on a near-constant loop in my house, having recorded it off a cable TV airing on an old blank VHS (if memory serves me correctly, I may or may not have recorded over an All My Children episode… shout out to Susan Lucci! But I digress…) Three years ago, when I was on a road trip in the Northeast, I made a point to drive to the specific filming locations, while visting Salem. That level of fan.

Anyway, she was right there, and I saw her every day for the duration of the festival. And I had an all-access badge, no less!

But alas, I said nothing.

Not “hi.” Not “Hocus Pocus shaped my entire childhood.” Not even an awkward smile of recognition. Because what was I supposed to do? Walk up and say, “Oh, hey, I’m running socials for StreamFest this weekend, let’s be friends?”

This is the part of in-person events that are tricky, even for outgoing folks like myself. Because part of me is thinking, “how cliche!” while the other fully understands this is a real person who probably doesn’t want to specifically be remembered for a film they did 25 years ago as their career-defining moment.

You can have a badge that says “all access” and still not know how to access anybody or anything. Proximity isn’t an invitation. Next time, I do hope I make better social decisions.

The one that wasn’t a conversation at all.

The conversations I learned the most from this weekend weren’t even mine.

The interview panels were extraordinary. I sat there as a working social media manager, phone in hand, ostensibly grabbing content, and actually ended up doing A LOT of listening. Really listening. Watching people I admire, along with those I was encountering for the first time, talk honestly about their craft, their failures, and their decisions. It’s really the part of storytelling I love the most. In theory, we were all there to screen amazing new films full of captivating storytelling, yet most days, I find the best storytelling comes from a personal level of those who create said stories. These interviews legit had me walking out feeling like I’d just had coffee with someone I’d never actually spoken to.

Food for thought: You don’t need to have the conversation yourself for the conversation to change you.

That’s a thing I’d never really sat with before this weekend. We talk so much about networking and getting in the room, about who you know, and meanwhile, some of the most formative input you’ll ever get is just being in the audience while two or more thoughtful people have a conversation in front of you.

The one… ok, this is not a Friends episode, so I will stop.

But seriously, what I’ve landed on is this:

The thing I’m missing isn’t any single conversation, but the cumulative feeling of being in a place where everyone, for four days, felt this real community. The crew, the volunteers, the filmmakers, the panel moderators who’d been doing this for a decade…even the people I never actually spoke to, but whose faces I started recognizing by Day 2.

That’s a kind of community you don’t get from a feed. You can’t subscribe to it or engage with it from your couch. You have to show up to it, fully immerse yourself in the experience, in the same physical place, with a badge that may or may not unlock anything.

And then it ends. And you go home. And the DMs stop coming in. And you keep opening the inbox anyway, because somewhere between Maksim toasting your mom and Thora standing in line ahead of you and a panel that unintentionally rewired how you think about your work, you became part of something temporary that felt anything but.

I guess you could say I’m ready for StreamFest 2027.

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Have you ever heard of the Anthropocene? It sounds like a disease, right? Well, actually, according to The Natural History Museum, “We are living in a time many people refer to as the Anthropocene. Humans have become the single most influential species on the planet, causing significant global warming and other changes to land, environment, water, organisms, and the atmosphere.” Humans have done a number on our planet. Last week, we celebrated Earth Day (April 22), and what did you do to help the Earth on that day? Beach clean up? Recycle more? Donate clothing? Keep the lights off? Personally, I donated all of the clothing that I know I can not fit into anymore. I also walked along the marina and picked up the trash. Honestly, I should just do this every day. We all should.

Currently, I am teaching an advanced English composition class, and I have to choose a theme for the class. You guessed it - I chose the Anthropocene. The 25 young minds listen to me go on and on about how we humans have destroyed the planet. I show videos of the plastics in the oceans, the smog coming from the turbines, and the naked rainforests. Have you seen any images of The Great Pacific Garbage Patch? Yikes! Look that up if you have never heard of it before.

I told my students to choose essay topics that fall under the umbrella, and some chose fast fashion, sustainability, recycling, wasted food, plastics in the ocean, and advertising. Yes, advertising and marketing. They researched how America is addicted to marketing and the media and how we are all persuaded to buy, buy, and buy more. We talked about the pros and cons of marketing and advertising, and they realized that they are constantly being attacked with ads on their phones, on television, and on the radio. We all know this, and advertising and marketing have been around for a very long time. This is not new, not even for 18-year-olds.

So, then we talked about how advertising and marketing are horrible and ruining our planet. I asked them to come up with a plausible solution. Marketing is not going away at any time; in fact, it is necessary in our society! How would anyone know what was for sale or about any new products? Is marketing horrible? I told them to find an ideal “fix” to how ‘horrible it is’. They actually came up with some great ideas.

It is NOT the marketing and advertising, it is the products. They stated that maybe these companies can come up with ideas about how to recycle the materials that were being used to create the products, or contact the recycling plants to ensure that they are able to recycle the materials that were being used, eventually. They also came up with ideas about how to incentivise donating clothing, glass, and aluminum, more. One of the best ideas that I heard from a 19-year-old was to sell the ugly fruits and vegetables at a cheaper rate or donate them to food pantries. (As a class, we did some research, and they already do this in France) Vive la France!

My students even suggested shifting the marketing focus toward companies and industries that actively benefit the environment. Increasing public awareness of these eco-friendly efforts could give their products a competitive edge over less sustainable alternatives. I agreed! I think this is a great idea! These kids are our future! While effective marketing is essential, true hope for our planet in the Anthropocene era lies in companies adopting genuine sustainability.

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You Can’t Manufacture History ✨

What happened at Coachella wasn’t just a performance…

It was a masterclass in accumulated brand equity. As marketers, we’re often obsessed with “creating moments.” We pour budgets into nostalgia plays, over-engineer storytelling, and design rebrands that desperately reference the “good old days.” But more often than not, the audience can see the strings. They can tell when an agency is trying to force a viral reaction.

This moment worked because it was the ultimate anti-marketing play.

The Power of “Long Exposure”

In marketing, we forget that the most expensive asset isn’t the ad spend—it’s time. You cannot hack 15 years of being part of someone’s life. The impact didn’t come from the production value or the setlist; it came from the “full-circle” narrative. It’s proof that consistency and cultural presence will always outperform a flashy, one-off campaign.

The Strength of a “Zero-CTA” Strategy

We are so conditioned to content that demands something (a click, a purchase, a follow) that when something simply exists without an agenda, it breaks the noise. There was no tour announcement, no “link in bio,” no aggressive comeback rollout.

In a saturated ecosystem of desperate calls-to-action, the absence of a pitch is, ironically, the most powerful magnet.

Why You Can’t Fake Context

Many brands try to "buy" history through retro aesthetics or influencer partnerships, but real connection isn't a shortcut. What we saw was organic cultural relevance. According to Prestige Online’s breakdown of the set, the performance leaned into a raw, unfiltered vibe—swapping polished pop perfection for a laptop and old YouTube clips. It wasn't a calculated strategy; it was the result of staying in the game long enough that the audience started projecting their own growth onto the brand.

Takeaway:

The next time you’re planning a “nostalgia campaign” or a big brand “comeback,” ask yourself: Are we trying to manufacture a feeling, or have we actually built the history required for this moment to feel earned?

Sometimes, the most effective marketing doesn’t happen in a boardroom. It happens because you stayed relevant long enough to become part of the customer’s personal timeline.

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Fandoms dominate the internet, and this is nothing new. With BTS’s comeback, #BTSisBack garnered over 1.1 million mentions on X; with The Eras Tour, TikTok was flooded with Taylor Swift fancams; the final season of Stranger Things was a cultural phenomenon; and with every geopolitical event, Instagram feeds are filled with memes saying, “This happened, and we still don’t have GTA 6.”

Usually, when we talk about fandoms, we think of K-pop fans or Marvel fans, a niche subculture of cosplayers and forum-dwellers. But the reality is that 53% of Americans identify as part of at least one fandom (Morning Consult). These are not isolated obsessives; they are the engine of the internet.

According to Nielsen, fandoms drive 70% of entertainment-related online conversations. They are the unpaid workforce that turns a movie premiere into a global event and a product launch into a trending topic.

Fandoms as Modern Tribes

People outside of a fandom tend to think of it as “a group of people brought together by a shared interest,” which is true on the surface. However, there is a critical distinction between being part of BTS’s fandom, BTSARMY, and simply liking K-pop, and it concerns identity.

Being a “Swiftie,” or an “ARMY,” or a “Belieber” is not an interest-based hobby (e.g., “I like guitar music.”) It is an identity-based belonging (e.g., “I am a person who values vulnerability, Easter eggs, and collective resilience.”)

This means that the person identifies with the community’s values and beliefs, building a much more loyal and emotional connection with the product. After all, it’s not just the “product,” it’s also the meaning, connection, community, and sense of belonging.

This is clearly evident in many organized fandom projects. Fandoms have realized that their collective passion is a form of political leverage. They do not just stream songs; they shape narratives and mobilize voting blocs.

• Voter Registration: After a single Instagram post from Taylor Swift, Swifties registered tens of thousands of new voters via Vote.org.

• Social Justice: During the BLM protests, the BTS ARMY flooded police reporting apps with fancams of the band, effectively disrupting surveillance systems (NYT). They weaponized their aesthetic to protect protesters.

• Economic Warfare: Fan-led boycotts (e.g., Bud Light, Warner Bros controversies) can drop sales or sentiment within hours. A fandom that feels betrayed is a decentralized protest movement that never sleeps.

When a brand tries to “tap into” a fandom for a Pride campaign or a political cause without authentic history, the fandom will “ratio” them into oblivion. You cannot rent identity politics by the quarter; these tribes live it daily.

Every CMO wants what fandoms have: algorithmic amplification, emotional loyalty, and FREE LABOR. Honestly, fandoms are a powerful force. When brands know how to leverage them, they can significantly increase sales. But if the relationship is misunderstood, it can quickly backfire.

Brands treat fandoms as audiences to be sold to. In reality, they are communities with internal politics, lore, and gatekeepers.

The problem isn’t trying to sell; fandoms are great consumers. It’s the angle. For small brands, using a hashtag or participating in a trend while being funny and respectful is usually highly rewarded in fandom spaces.

Platforms (TikTok, X, Instagram) reward high-volume posting, repetition, emotional content, and community coordination. Fandoms excel at all four. A brand trying to “go viral” is a solo swimmer against a synchronized swimming team.

Fandoms increase brand loyalty by 2–3x compared to non-fans (Nielsen). But that loyalty is conditional. It is a gift, not a given. In the age of the algorithm, the tribe that posts together stays together.

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This morning, I woke up thinking about how we are being manipulated by the media. You see, I teach college English courses, and this week we are working on persuasive writing. I was explaining how there’s persuasive writing in the news, there’s persuasive writing with social media, and there’s persuasive writing with advertising. I’m trying to have them understand that they are being persuaded without even thinking about it.

We talk about the three modes of persuasion that Aristotle created a thousand years ago, ethos, pathos, and logos, and how they are used to persuade people. Ethos being someone who’s credible, pathos being emotion, and logos being facts. I show them videos, I give them examples from advertising, and now I’m starting to talk about how we see it every single day on social media.

Many of my students are 18 and 19 years old, and they have no idea that they are being persuaded every single day to purchase things, and then it made me think, I’m sure that there are adults who have no idea as well. They get on their phone, scroll, and see something that they like, and then purchase it immediately. Human beings have no willpower anymore, and we all love instant gratification.

Speaking of instant gratification, I talk about this with my students, and just recently, I started talking about the man who had the idea of analyzing psychology behind advertising, and it is absolutely astonishing. “The Theory of Advertising,” which was published by Walter Dill Scott in 1903, discusses the connection between psychology and advertising. According to a peer-reviewed article, “Scott’s theories emphasized the role of psychological principles in shaping consumer desires and behaviors, laying the groundwork for modern advertising practices by highlighting techniques such as the use of authority figures and repetition to enhance message retention” (EBSCO). We see this every single day in commercials, on social media, and even on billboards. I like to talk to my students about how we are being persuaded, and we don’t even know it, through images and emotions that are portrayed in advertising. The next thing that I talk about with my students is that advertising leads to consumerism, which leads to ruining our environment, and this is an entirely different topic, but this is what I like to focus on with my curriculum.

I understand consumerism, and I understand the need to make money, but there are also pros and cons of purchasing things that we want and do not need; and the psychology behind all of that is what drives our economy. In my classes, I try to drive home this idea. I at least want my students to be aware that they are being persuaded to purchase goods for absolutely no reason. It is normal to want what other people want and what your neighbor has and I get that, but I do try to educate my students about the fact that it’s not necessary to have everything.

Generationally speaking, I think I’m at a certain age where I know if I’m being persuaded or not. I can also just stop scrolling, or I can turn the TV off. But the younger generations, I think, might have a hard time understanding that they are being persuaded. I do the best I can to educate!

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I’m not going to make you scroll halfway down the page to let you know what this piece is about.

Why? Because it would a. Defeat the purpose of the entire context of said piece, and b. Experiential marketing is a marketing buzzword that actually makes me excited!

Even though we’re all about digital content around here (they don’t call me the digital Mary Poppins for nothing…Ok fine, I call myself that. But I digress…), so much of what we’ve been doing online the last few years in particular, has felt like we’re just performing for each other.

Posting, optimizing, resharing, repackaging… all in hopes that something sticks for more than three seconds.

And yet, here we are, talking about getting people off their phones and into a room.

Gasp… with actual people!

Experiences in action.

A project I am currently supporting is a first-of-its-kind film festival, StreamFest, whose sole purpose is to bring people together to watch some amazing short films and exclusive film premieres, and to connect with real humans whom we’re used to seeing along the scroll.

Even though I’m supporting this project with digital content promotion, the inevitable IRL aspect coming up is so palpable weeks before the actual event.

In fact, when thinking about the 4-day experience, the last thing I’m thinking about is how “Instagrammable’ it may or may not be, because that would be missing the point entirely.

Because at this point, we’ve all seen enough aesthetically pleasing events online to know that “Instagrammable” doesn’t necessarily mean memorable. But showing up and living it, really is.

Food for thought…

The digital marketing statistic I often share with clients is that people need to see something, on average, seven times, for it to register with them. But what about what you see live? The data is pretty clear.

Digital marketing started as an avenue to help market to folks for in-person XYZ, but somewhere along the line, it became the “event” itself. I’m all for digital content (obviously), but in support of and not instead of IRL.

It’s the same retention factor when it comes to writing things with a pen and paper, as opposed to typing. When you switch to digital only, you’re missing out on the experience.

So why is the experience so important, anyway?

Well, aside from the obvious revenue dollars your brick-and-mortar business might be relying on, there’s a pretty serious loneliness epidemic happening worldwide, with some leaning into new types of wellness benefits to help combat it. Although it was vastly exacerbated by the global pandemic, it was not non-existent before, and our society as a whole is still suffering from the repercussions.

Which makes this next part worth paying attention to…

Your physical business may have adapted to e-Commerce as an additional stream of income, but with more people actively trying to get off their screens due to said loneliness epidemic, that’s something to actively reconsider in your overall marketing strategy. Yes, people are online (and will no doubt continue to be), but maybe the goal shouldn’t be to keep them there.

Maybe the goal is to meet them online… and give them a reason to show up in real life.

There’s an episode of Emily in Paris where Emily is working with a luxury client (Pierre Cadault), and they’re trying to create a more exclusive, high-fashion experience. So, they implement a “no phones” rule for the party, which makes people want to come to the event more.

Can we make this more of the norm?

We’ve spent so much time optimizing for attention on a screen that we’ve almost forgotten what attention feels like in a room.

Can we just hang out for real, guys?

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For years and years, I did the same exact thing that everyone does at conferences and work events: present using a slide deck.

I would arrive early to cope with whatever ridiculous lack of technology they had for me: maybe an old laptop running Windows when I only ever used Mac? Perhaps an overhead projector that somebody found in a closet? Maybe I had the laptop, but they had the wrong cables? Whatever the situation was, it was always a pain in the ass.

This all changed for me in 2019. I went to my undergraduate Alma Mater, the University of Mary Washington, to teach a psychology course on dementia care. I’d done this nearly every year since I’d graduated in 2011, but this time was different: I decided to only use their giant whiteboard. That’s what it was for, right?

My former professor was surprised when she saw me raise the projector screen. “You don’t have any slides?” she asked, looking a little anxious.

“Nope,” I said, “I’m really bored with my deck, and besides, the students have totally different questions than most of the people that attend my presentations. I’m going to improvise.”

A note: I studied and performed improv for 17 years. This is the art form of getting up on stage, usually with a team, and asking for a suggestion from the audience. It taught me to be great on my feet.

I started my presentation by asking the students what questions they had about dementia. I gave an example, “People always ask me what the difference between dementia and Alzheimer’s is,” and wrote it on the board. After that, the floodgates opened: everyone had a question. I wrote each question on the board.

After I wrote each question down, I started presenting. I crossed off questions as I went. I wrote new ones on the board and answered those.

I talked for the full hour and a half. At the end of the class, my former professor came up to me. “That was amazing,” she exclaimed. “Do you always present like that?”

It was my first time doing that, but it wouldn’t be my last: now it’s the only way I do in-person presentations.

People get their real questions answered, you don’t need to deal with tech, you never get bored, and you really invite people in. It’s an experience, not a lecture.

Interested in how I built my business? Join me for my live workshop on April 2nd (yes, I will have a deck for this one).

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