Are You Doing It for Real, or for Show?

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I just got back from a gorgeous wedding. Weddings are always gorgeous. They kind of have to be…because we’ve raised an entire $65-ish billion industry on the idea that a wedding should look and feel a certain way. We’ve gotten so, so, so good at weddings. And society has made sure that we all feel obligated to have one.

As soon as one wedding ends, the question becomes: who’s next? Usually, the heads turn to me and Alyssa. You are next! Your wedding will be amazing. We will dance so hard!!! (To which, I always think: since when do we need a wedding to cut loose and dance? I dance all the time!! Maybe we all just need to party more.) 

What is a wedding if not just an obligatory party with some pageantry? 

That question felt extra relevant, especially because I’ve had two oddly similar conversations with friends recently, about the pressure to seem put together, to look and act like a brand. Not just to be a freelancer or creator or small business owner, but to look like a legitimate one. And it had me thinking about the obligation many of us feel to put our ideas out there. Not just to make things, but to make sure that other people know we’re making things. To be visible. To be notable. The pageantry is real.

If you’re feeling like you should be doing more (posting, launching, building an online presence) this is for you. There’s a difference between doing something because it’s expected and doing it because it’s meaningful. But in an era of constant visibility and performed legitimacy, it’s getting harder and harder to tell the two apart.

And it’s not limited to weddings or work. At an Orla Gartland show last week, she ended her set by announcing (with perfect comedic timing) that she’d now engage in “one of the biggest lies in show business”: the encore. “It is fully a lie to say we’ve played all the music,” she laughed. “...but I love the pageantry.” It was honest and funny and, in its own way, true. There’s something comforting about the ritual, even when we’re all in on the act.

The wedding pageantry, the professional polish, the show-biz encore, they all echo the same tension: how much of this is for real, and how much of this is for show?

We conflate visibility with value. We assume if we’re not out there all the time, we must be doing something wrong. It’s easier than ever to start a newsletter, a podcast, a personal brand, and just as easy to feel like you’re failing if you’re not doing all those things well. Like you’re missing out on legitimacy if your brand doesn’t look like all the other “good” brands out there.

A friend of mine who’s also a freelancer called me this week to talk about professionalizing. A few years ago, I helped her put together a portfolio website. Now her business has grown and she’s wondering how to package it all up better. Should she start a newsletter? (Someone told her she should.) Should she post on social media? (She’s trying to stay away from that stuff.)

She rattled off a list of everything she might be doing, then paused. “Maybe I’m only thinking about this because I have time to think about it.” When she’s buried in client work, none of it seems to matter. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. And yet, when you’re not buried in work—when things are slower, quieter, you start to wonder if the lack of pageantry is part of the problem. I know that feeling well. When the clients don’t come in fast enough, I find myself faulting my own “brand” for not being more polished, more visible, more everything.

It’s become so clear what a “good” brand looks and feels like. But there’s very little patience out there for the ones who haven’t figured it all out yet. The hard truth is that you can do everything right and follow the script to the tee. But in the end, no one owes you their attention just because you checked all the boxes. You have to show them that you’re someone who they want to pay attention to. And that takes time, experimentation, and a lot of false starts.

Doing something just because it looks right or feels expected is a shaky foundation. Instead, it’s worth asking: do I actually want this, or am I just performing what I think I should be doing? If you’re having a wedding because it’s genuinely going to be the best day of your life, then have it. But if it’s just pageantry, consider letting it go. Just throw a party. Make it weird. Make it yours. Leave the rest behind.

5 (and a Half) Questions to Ask Yourself Before You Commit to the Pageantry

If you’re thinking about launching a new account, newsletter, podcast, Substack, Substack Notes, Instagram Close Friends thing, or whatever fresh new form of personal broadcasting is trending this week, pause and ask:

1. What’s your actual goal?

Are you trying to get more clients? Show off your skills? Build a little name for yourself? There are a hundred ways to get where you’re going, but if you don’t know the destination first, you shouldn’t already be picking the route. 

2. Is your audience even there?

No one’s logging into a new platform just because you asked nicely. You could have the most brilliant content in the world, but if you’re shouting into an empty room, what’s the point? Go where your people already are, or at least somewhere they can very easily access.

3. Have you test-driven the idea?

Before you spin up a whole new identity, try it out where you already hang out. Share a few things. See what hits. You don’t need a grand opening ceremony every time you want to share a thought.

4. Do people even want this?

Be honest. Is your content actually good? Useful? Funny? Does it answer a question your audience actually has, or just one you personally find fascinating at 2 a.m.? If not, tweak it. (And maybe circle back to #3).

5. Is there a lower-lift way to do this?

Maybe you don’t need to post three times a week and learn video editing. Maybe all you need is a blog on your site. Or a monthly email. Or a one-time zine, or a good old-fashioned flyer taped to a bathroom mirror. Not everything needs to scale. Not everything needs an audience of thousands. Sometimes, 10 of the right people is plenty.

5.5. Do you actually want to do it?

If it feels like a chore before it’s even launched, that’s probably a clue. Consistency is hard. Consistency for something you secretly resent? Brutal. Make sure you’re doing it because it feels energizing or helps you in some way, not just because you think you’re supposed to.

Scraps

Do you have a space where you’re figuring things out in real time, not just performing? What’s it teaching you?

This is mine. I started it to stay connected with potential clients, but also to find my voice, carve out a niche, and learn what resonates. It helps me explain marketing to people who aren’t sure what it is or why it matters. I send past issues to potential clients all the time to help with decision-making.

I used to want this to be a “successful” newsletter. Now I see it as something more useful: a content lab I can build from. One day, it might turn into a product, a service, or something I haven’t imagined yet. But for now, it’s a workshop. That’s enough.

If you’re doing something similar, hit reply and tell me about it. I’d love to know.