I hate the idea of influencer marketing,
I hate that there’s some dumb idea that to be recognised as good at what we do we have to parade ourselves as something “aspirational.”

I don’t wanna be seen as “aspirational.”
I wanna be seen for what I am; good at what I do.

The only person I want you to aspire to be like is your best self. The one you see in your head when you close your eyes. Instead of the one mindlessly necking the third beer, eating shit and just wishing today would fuck off, so you can do it all again tomorrow.

The way I see it, I don’t have that much to aspire to.
Broken relationships, a bunch of bad decisions, more than enough debt, unhappy with my weight and an uncanny ability to recite every line from Grease. (“Whadyou mean, whaddo I mean??”)

I mean, some would consider this as me being “hard on myself” and a bunch of other negative Nancy bullshit, but actually I’m just being realistic, and honest with myself. And with you! I know, you’re used to pretty filters. Truth is a weird flex, I get it.

I can’t pretend to be something I’m not.

I can’t pretend that I want you to “be” or “live” like me.

Hell, I don’t want this life for me, never mind you.
I want “ease and flow” and to never worry about money and some other magical bullshit, but that’s not fucking life! And it’s sure as shit, not real life. Not for the majority. (It’s OK, I listened to the privileged bitches too, I felt bad, but I’m over it)

I bought into this idea, I listened when people said “you need to show up as your best self!”
“You need to be seen as “aspirational” if you’re going to make it work.”
You should lean back and la-la-la your way through life and masturbate your way to millions.

I mean… what kinda 21st Century social-media-like-me-validate-me bullshit is that? Seriously? Who the fuck are you tryna be? A Kardashian? No, thank you.

FYI – most “influencers” are broke as fuck. It’s not a real job.

Are you trying to tell me that everyone in the history of people who made shit happen only had it that way because they showed up “as their best self?”
Get lost, there is no fucking way.
Last I checked Richard Branson was successful before he got his private island. What he, and the rest of ‘em, did was showed up and did the thing they were good at, and in most cases that was some form of sales (cos they all sold someone on something, right?)

Here are the facts; I know what I need to do. I probably know what you need to do. The difference is I’m not gonna act like my life’s “all that” in a bid to try and convince you to work with me. And I’m sure as shit not gonna parade around and pretend to be all glam to try and woo you into listening to me because my life’s so fabulous and you should all wanna be just like me. Cos that’s bullshit.

I don’t even want you to do what I do in the way that I do it.
It probably won’t be right for you.

I don’t want you to be like me, fuck that, the world already has enough of me.
Be your own bitch! Light shit up your own fucking way.

“Swearing’s tacky, and unnecessary, and unprofessional!” OK, fine. Don’t do it then! But I’m gonna.

I do not need to “present a certain image to be respected in my field.” No. I need to be good at what I do (which I am) I need to get results (which I do) and I need to help others get results (which I fucking do).

What I need to do, above all things and everything, is be ME. The REAL fucking me. The one you’ll like, the one you’ll hate, the one you can’t turn away from because you’re stuck in some twisted voyeuristic tryst thinking “what the hell is that crazy bitch doing now? And who does she think she is??” While you’re drawn in by my words, unable to turn away while I blow your brain cells into oblivion by talking sense through the bullshit you’ve been buying into all along (and I know you have because I bought into it too)

I don’t give a fuck if you wanna wear flower crowns and dance in circles in a meadow, being all pretty and magical, shoot your face full of fillers, or if you wanna go au natural getting sweaty throwing horns at a metal gig. (I’m there with you on that last one.) I don’t care about what you drive, what you wear, or how you take your tea (milk goes LAST, you monsters!)

None of that is important to me.

None of that matters. (Except the milk thing.)

But I am gonna bring the peep show.
And you should get your hopes up.

But it won’t be me you see behind the curtain.
Oh, no.
I’m going to tap into the fantasies within you.
Draw back the curtain on who you really are.
Cut through the noise and the ideas of what you think you should be thinking to what’s really going on (away from the conditioning)

And that’s when we’re going to start having some real fun.



And I don’t need makeup, an all new wardrobe, lipo, a lobotomy, and a £2000 photoshoot to do it.

So… You ready?

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