In the twenty-first century, the life of a content creator is one in which every waking moment is a calculated attempt to appease the ever-hungry beast known as the algorithm. What a time to be alive! Forget about the tortured artist starving for their craft; now, we have the hustler, fueled by energy drinks, furiously tapping out tweets at 2 AM, all while pretending to really love that latest brand deal for oat milk protein bars. After all, nothing says “creative freedom” like whoring yourself out to the highest bidder for a few likes and a fleeting moment on the digital stage.
It’s a strange world we’ve created. Creativity isn’t just encouraged—it’s monetized, quantified, and packaged with a neat little bow for mass consumption. Yet, here we are, still deluding ourselves into thinking we have control. “I’ll make the content I want!” we cry, moments before checking our analytics and realizing that our most ‘authentic’ post got fewer likes than our accidental boomerang to the face video.
So, why do we do it? Why do we willingly throw ourselves into this absurd, postmodern hamster wheel, chasing metrics and ‘authenticity’ like it’s some kind of existential reward? Well, dear readers, it’s past due time we unravel the gloriously absurd contradictions of the content creator economy. If we’re going down this rabbit hole of digital delusion anyway, we might as well laugh about it.
Why I Feel at Odds with What is Expected of a Content Creator
When I first started sharing my writing online, I thought, Hey, this is going to be great! I’ll put my thoughts out there, and people will appreciate them for their depth and wit. How naive I was. Little did I know that the true mark of success in the content creator world isn’t whether you’re saying anything of value. No, it’s whether you can condense your soul into a 15-second TikTok that screams, “Please, for the love of all that’s sacred, engage with me!”
I quickly learned that content creation isn’t about creating; rather, it’s about feeding the beast. It’s a Sisyphean endeavor to roll your creative boulder up the hill of relevancy, only for it to come crashing down when the algorithm decides it’s had enough of your niche interests. But such is the game? You must keep pushing that boulder back up the hill because, God forbid, you might take a break. Yet, take a week off, and the internet will punish you like a vengeful god, smiting you with plummeting views and the dreaded “Are you even still relevant?” self-doubt spiral.
The expectations are simple: Be yourself, but a version of yourself that’s trendy, palatable, and marketable. Also, post more often than anyone else in your niche. Then. while you’re at it, could you make sure it’s topical, but not too topical, because that will age like expired milk, and we need you to be evergreen! No pressure. Just produce something every day that’s both relevant and timeless. Oh, and make it go viral while you’re at it.
If content creation is modern-day gladiatorial combat, we’re the digital gladiators. We’re armed with hashtags, engagement strategies, and the occasional ironic meme, fighting for attention in a crowded Colosseum of desperation. The worst part? The spectators, your audience, are fickle. One day they love you for your wit and wisdom, the next they’ve moved on to someone who can dance on camera while promoting detox teas.
I’ll admit, at first, it was exciting. I thought, I can outwit the system! I’ll post clever essays, share insightful thoughts, and people will naturally gravitate toward my brilliance. But that’s not how this economy works. No one’s interested in your philosophical musings unless it can be boiled down into a snappy soundbite they can share with a smirk in a group chat. The digital hamster wheel doesn’t care about nuance; it craves quantity over quality. So, the faster you run, the more it rewards you.
The Illusion of Creative Freedom
Creative freedom—that brilliant phrase that lures us into the content creator economy like moths to an Instagrammable flame. We’re told that in this brave new digital world, we can create whatever we want, whenever we want. No longer shackled by gatekeepers like publishers, studios, or snobby art critics, we can finally be our true, unfiltered selves! Well, that is, if your “authentic self” can be neatly packaged into bite-sized, algorithm-friendly content that’s easily digestible for the masses.
The illusion is seductive: “Work on your own terms,” they say. “Do what you love,” they chant, like some mantra designed to make us feel like we’re not just glorified social media interns working for free. But here’s the truth: you’re only free to create if the algorithm approves of your choices. Post that artful, deeply personal piece that you’ve poured your soul into, and watch it sink into the digital abyss with all the grace of a lead balloon. But post a half-baked meme or an “unboxing video,” and suddenly you’re a viral sensation.
Finding what works in this postmodern content creator economy is like opening a box of chocolates where the only options are the weird, mystery flavors no one asked for at all. Sure, you can technically pick any one you want, but you know you’re not going to enjoy most of them. Just like that box of chocolates, the content creator economy tricks you into thinking you have choices; but eventually, you realize that the only real choice is between pleasing the algorithm or descending into irrelevance.
If you do manage to catch a break and create something that genuinely resonates, though, congratulations, you’re immediately pigeonholed. You’ve been typecast by the algorithm! Do you enjoy exploring new ideas or experimenting with different formats? Too bad — you’re now the Magic card review video person or that weird philosophy TikToker. Stray from the formula that worked, and the invisible hand of the algorithm will slap you down faster than you can say, “But I’m multifaceted!”
Let’s not even talk about how “creative freedom” often means “no boundaries” in the worst way possible. Sure, you don’t have a boss breathing down your neck—except for yourself. But you’re now working 24/7 because, yes, you’re the CEO of Your Personal Brand, Inc. Yup, you’re a one-person factory of content, marketing, customer service, and PR. As for the freedom to work from anywhere: it’s more like the freedom to work everywhere, at all times.
So, yes, you can create whatever you want. But you must understand that your creativity is shackled to the whims of an algorithm that favors consistency over innovation, speed over quality, and engagement over meaning. It’s like being handed the keys to your dream car, but find out that it only drives in circles.
Chasing the Algorithmic Dragon
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve faced the soul-crushing experience of pouring my heart into a piece of content, only to watch it drift into the void with all the enthusiasm of an orphaned wet sock.I’ve long been at odds with the algorithm, like it’s some mythical beast: elusive, temperamental, and completely uninterested in real creative aspirations.Content creation has become a never-ending pursuit of relevance, where the algorithm is the dragon, and we as creators are the hapless knights armed with a rusty sword and only a vague idea of how to use it.
The first thing you learn about the algorithm is that it’s never quite the same beast from one day to the next. One minute, it’s rewarding you for your insightful essay on the absurdities of modern life; but the next, it’s decided that only awkward dance challenges and pet-related videos will do.You’re constantly tweaking, optimizing, and adjusting your content like a gambler trying to figure out the slot machine that might pay out if you just pull the lever one more time. Of course, the house almost always wins.
At some point, you realize that chasing the algorithm becomes a toxic relationship. It lures you in with promises of engagement and visibility, but just when you think you’ve cracked the code, it ghosts you.One day, you’re riding high on a wave of likes, shares, and comments – you feel like a social media god.The next day, your post meets crickets, and you’re left wondering what you did wrong. Did you post at the wrong time? Did you use the wrong hashtag? Was the topic just not quite trendy enough?Or worse, are people just not finding you entertaining anymore? Heaven forbid the internet should tire of your wit!
But here’s the worst part of chasing the algorithm: just when you think you’ve finally caught it, the rules change. After you spend weeks fine-tuning your content to fit what seem to be its preferences based on what’s done well for you, suddenly it’s all for nothing. Now it wants shorter videos, or longer captions, or more interactive polls where your audience can vote on what kind of sandwich you should eat today. It’s like running a marathon where they keep moving the finish line; just when you think you’re about to cross it, someone adds another mile or ten.
It’s almost impressive how well the algorithm has gamified the art of content creation. The stakes are high, and the rewards seem tantalizingly close—but even when you do win, the rewards are short-lived. You just keep running, feeding the dragon with more content, more clicks, and more engagement, hoping that this time you’ll strike gold enough to quit your job and live the dream. Of course, the algorithm doesn’t care about gold, not for you at least. It just wants to keep you in the game, endlessly chasing validation, until you’ve forgotten why you started creating in the first place.
Ironically, the more you chase the algorithm, the less authentic your content becomes. What might start as a genuine expression of creativity slowly morphs into a calculated attempt to appease a digital overlord that’s impossible to satisfy. You’re no longer creating for yourself or even your audience. No, you’re creating for an invisible force that holds your fate in its cold, unfeeling hands.
The Trap of “Authenticity”
In the digital age, authenticity has become the ultimate buzzword. The internet loves nothing more than a creator who’s “real,” who’s “just being themselves,” as if the rest of us are busy creating content as medieval courtiers in elaborate wigs. The trouble is that the demand for authenticity has turned into its own absurd performance art. The pressure to be authentic is so strong that people are now curating their authenticity with the precision of a Michelin-starred chef preparing a tasting menu.
Authenticity has been distilled into a formula: Be relatable, but not too messy; people love imperfections, just not the kind that makes them uncomfortable. Share your failures, but make sure they’re the charming, quirky kind of failures relatable to anyone. But here’s the real trap of this authenticity nonsense: the second you try to be authentic, you’re no longer authentic. You’re a simulacrum of authenticity—a walking, talking hyperreal version of yourself designed for maximum engagement.
Sure, you can share something raw and personal? But maybe you should clean it up a little first. Add some humor. Make sure it’s palatable for the masses. Oh, and put a filter on it—because even our vulnerable side needs to look good, right?
The more you lean into this performative authenticity, the more you start to lose touch with the real you. Before you realize it, youstart asking yourself ridiculous questions like, “Would my audience approve of this version of me?” or “Does this fit my ‘authentic brand’?” You’re no longer just a person with thoughts, feelings, and bad hair days. That’s for normies! You’re now a content creator whose very identity is up for public consumption. Congratulations, your personality is now a product.
Plus, the internet, in its infinite wisdom – or infantile tantrum throwing – has ways of reminding you that your authenticity is only valuable as long as it’s entertaining. If youpour your heart out in a deeply personal essay about the meaning of life, people will scroll right past it to watch someone fall off a hoverboard. But post a picture of yourself in sweatpants, holding a mug of coffee with the caption, “LOL, just another day in the life #authenticAF,” and suddenly you’re ‘so relatable’.The irony of trying to be authentic in an attention economy where people have the collective focus of a goldfish on Adderall is almost too much to bear.
So, why not just reject the whole notion of authenticity and be totally phony? Honestly, that sounds kind of liberating, and even easier than the performative nonsense that seems to be expected of us. But even that’s a trap because inauthenticity is still part of the game. You can’t escape it. Whether you’re faking authenticity or authentically faking it, you’re still playing into the same exact expectations. It’s like trying to win a game of chess by flipping the board over; the problem is that the board is bolted down, so the algorithm just laughs at your attempt.
So, this is why so many of us as creators are stuck in a feedback loop, curating our “authentic” selves while knowing full well that the only thing less authentic than the internet is a reality TV show about housewives who haven’t touched a dish in ten years.How did I escape? Well, I stopped smiling for the camera and oversharing my life on social media. No more #sponsored posts. I’m just going to write my piece and let it stand for what it is.
I spent over a decade creating content that was polished, filtered, and trimmed down for public consumption. But it got me the kind of money panhandlers would be embarrassed to earn. In trying to be real, we all become caricatures of ourselves. But I finally recognized the sweet, bitter irony of it, and simply walked away.
The Metrics of Validation
Too often we find ourselves living for the sweet dopamine hit of validation – quantified, categorized, and displayed in neat little boxes under our posts.Nothing quite screams success in our modern world like a little thumbs-up emoji or a heart. Who needs deep personal fulfillment when you can measure your worth in likes, shares, and comments from people who may or may not even be bots?Well, in the postmodern content creator economy, your value as a human being is directly proportional to the number of strangers willing to engage with your latest post.
At some point, every content creator becomes a slave to the metrics. We start off innocently enough, pretending the numbers don’t matter, telling ourselves we’re doing it for the art or the expression. But then, that first popular post happens. Suddenly, we’re hooked, like junkies chasing our next fix. We start refreshing our analytics dashboards more times than is probably socially acceptable. We wait around for that notification bell to ring as if it will be the herald of some divine validation.
The corporate platforms know what they’re doing.They’ve gamified the entire experience, in the worst possible way.Every new follower, every like, and every comment is a tiny little gold star, like the kind you used to get in kindergarten for coloring inside the lines.Except now, instead of approval from your teacher, you get the fleeting satisfaction of digital approval, which will evaporate the moment someone else’s meme overtakes your latest masterpiece.
But true absurdity comes in with what we allow these metrics to do to our self-esteem. Suddenly, we’re calculating our worth based on numbers that are as fickle as they are meaningless. It doesn’t matter if you’ve written the next great American novel in a series of tweets—if it didn’t hit 10K likes, did it even happen? Your content could be a literary masterpiece, but if the engagement numbers don’t back it up, the algorithm buries it faster than your dreams of becoming a viral sensation.
Of course, let’s not forget the fantastic quality of that validation. Half your likes come from bots with usernames like “FitnessGuru999” or “CryptoKing42.” The comments are especially a treat. If you’re lucky, they’ll be generic drivel like “Great post! Follow for follow?”But if you’ve really made it, you’ll get the unfiltered gems of the internet—the trolls, the spammers, the conspiracy theorists who have somehow linked your recipe for banana bread to an Illuminati plot. You’d think at some point, you’d stop caring about the engagement when half of it comes from people who are probably just trying to sell you something. But no, the algorithm demands sacrifices – usually those end up being our blood, sweat, and tears.
Don’t even get me started on the paradox of ‘engagement.’ Apparently, if you want to get more engagement, you need to be more engaging! I just love these circular arguments.So-called ‘online engagement’ is nothing more than a self-fulfilling prophecy designed to drive you insane, where you’re chasing interactions that are only there to fuel more interactions. It’s the digital version of throwing spaghetti at a wall and hoping it sticks, only to realize that the wall is a hologram and the spaghetti is what’s left of your dignity.
So, when you don’t get the validation and the numbers don’t add up, you start to question everything. Was my content bad? Am I losing my touch? Have I become irrelevant? These are the crises the modern content creator faces, all thanks to the neat little numbers in the corner of the screen. It’s like high school all over again, except now the popularity contest is run by faceless algorithms, and instead of a prom king or queen, you’re hoping to have a post crowned with a “trending” badge.
Ultimately, content creation has become a vicious cycle. You create, you post, and you wait for the metrics to roll in. But when they don’t, you convince yourself that maybe you’ll just do better next time. So, we continue chasing validation from a system that couldn’t care less about our creativity, originality, or even our collective humanity. It’s just another head of the Big Data Hydra, seeking more cold hard engagement stats to feed the machine.
So, while it’s OK to check your analytics once every couple of days, you likely got to chill out on it. Don’t seek out the post that finally validates your existence. No matter what, you’ll be back tomorrow, trying again. But stop worrying so much about hitting that next milestone. Just create and stop wasting energy on making billions for tech company stockholders.
The Irony of Going ‘Viral’
‘Going viral’ has become the modern-day equivalent of the Cinderella story, except instead of a glass slipper, you’re hoping to be handed a few million views and maybe a brand deal with a teeth-whitening company.Every content creator secretly (or not-so-secretly) fantasizes about that one post that blows up, catapulting them into internet stardom.But the hard reality is that going viral is less about creating something brilliant and more about sheer, dumb luck. It’s like buying a lottery ticket with slightly better odds but an even worse prize: fleeting fame and the constant threat of irrelevance.
The thing about viral content is that it’s almost never the stuff you intend to go viral.You could spend months crafting a brilliant, thought-provoking essay, painstakingly edited for maximum impact. But that will get a grand total of 13 views and maybe one comment from your cousin. So, instead, accidentally drop your phone while filming your dog doing something moderately amusing, and congratulations, you’re internet famous. Your Instagram short will get a million views, none of whom will care about your other ramblings. Meanwhile, your inbox will be flooded with requests for more dog content. Welcome to your new life as an accidental dog influencer.
The irony of going viral is that, when it happens, you’re no longer in control. Your content takes on a life of its own, spreading across the digital landscape like an uninvited guest at a party.It’s shared, reshared, and memed into oblivion until it’s no longer even recognizable as your own creation. Sure, you’ll get a moment in the spotlight, but don’t get too comfortable. Just like a cheap bottle rocket, that fame will explode and disappear before you’ve even had a chance to enjoy it. Also, the sad truth is, most of that content is never monetized, so all you get is primarily unwanted attention.
On that note, let’s not forget the wonderful array of ‘new followers’ you’ll gain from your viral moment. But these aren’t the loyal, engaged fans you’ve been dreaming of, though. These are people who clicked follow because they thought your viral content was funny or relatable for half a second. They don’t care about your other work, your carefully curated persona, or your next post that means something to you.They’re just here for the one thing that made them laugh while they were doomscrolling mindlessly on the toilet. So, the minute you post anything remotely different, they’ll disappear faster than your post-viral relevance.
The post-viral hangover is real and brutal. After the initial euphoria wears off, you’re left with the crushing realization that, unless you somehow manage to bottle lightning again, you’re about to fade back into obscurity. Ever the cruel master, the algorithm demands that you keep the viral momentum going, as if you can just whip up another million views on command. But viral success is like a mirage. The more you chase it, the further it slips away, leaving you stuck in an endless cycle of trying to recreate something that was never really within your control.
Then, even if you somehow do go viral again, the irony deepens. Each time, you’re pigeonholed further into whatever narrow box the internet decided you belong in.You’re no longer just a content creator —you’re a brand, a meme, and a product. The thing that made you go viral becomes a trap, because now you’re expected to repeat that same magic trick repeatedly until you can’t stand the sight of it. Going viral might seem like a dream come true, but it’s just a kind of prison—albeit one with more thumbs-ups.
Ultimately, viral fame is a flash in the pan, but the damage it does to your creative soul is long-lasting. You’ll spend the rest of your days trying to recapture that fleeting high, wondering why your subsequent work, which you actually care about, never gets the same attention. The internet will have moved on, of course, probably to the next cat video or TikTok dance craze, while you’re left staring at your analytics page, wondering where it all went wrong. Just remember that going viral isn’t a validation of your creativity, talent, or worth. In the grand scheme of things, the internet is a chaotic void that rewards randomness over brilliance.
Closing Thoughts: A Love-Hate Relationship with Content Creation
So, if you’ve made it this far in our absurd little journey through the wild, unpredictable, soul-crushing world of content creation, congratulations. You either have the stamina of a marathon runner or you’re a glutton for punishment. Either way, you’re probably starting to realize that this whole content creator thing is less about living the dream and more about surviving the never-ending nightmare of algorithms, metrics, and performative authenticity.
It’s a love-hate relationship, really. We love the idea of being creative, of sharing our art, thoughts, and half-baked ideas with the world. But the moment you step into the digital Colosseum, it’s less about the art and more about feeding the algorithmic beast that never sleeps. Sure, we get little hits of dopamine every time someone engages with our content—those sweet, addictive likes and comments that convince us we’re doing something right. But really, we’re just hamsters on a wheel, running faster and faster, hoping to catch the elusive cheese of validation.
Truthfully, content creation can be both exhilarating and exhausting. It’s like a toxic relationship where you keep coming back for more, even though you know it’s slowly draining the life out of you. You tell yourself you’re doing it for the joy of creating, but deep down, you’re just hoping that this time, maybe this post will be the one that finally breaks through the noise. When it doesn’t, you tell yourself it’s time to dust yourself off and try again tomorrow, because the content machine never stops—and neither can you.
If you’re going to survive the content creator economy without losing your sanity, stop chasing the numbers. Create what you love, post what you believe in, and try to remember why you started in the first place. Yes, the metrics are always there, looming over your shoulder like some sort of digital Big Brother, but they don’t define you. The algorithm might decide who gets to see your work, but it doesn’t get to decide your worth as a creator—or as a human being, for that matter.
At the end of the day, content creation is like a rollercoaster that you didn’t exactly sign up for, but now you’re strapped in and there’s no getting off. There will be highs—brief moments when it feels like it’s all worth it—and there will be lows, where you wonder why you’re bothering at all. But if you can manage to find joy in the process, in those rare moments of connection with your audience, then you’re better off than the vast majority of this postmodern content creation economy.
~ Amelia Desertsong
