If you’re a creative who’s ~slayed~ fortune 500 pitches, conjured slick OOH, or built beautiful, gorgina decks—but can’t shake the vibe that showing up to team stand-up is Oscar-worthy method acting in a Big Brother–meets–creative-industry hellscape you never auditioned for—this is for you.
Unfortunately (or fortunately?) I do get the weirdness of this moment. LinkedIn says you’re ~thriving~. Your headshot and logo-sprinkled profile beams “competent, hireable.” Your parents have finally relaxed—the punk-to-creative-professional pipeline did work out! But at 3 a.m., between doomscrolling and side-eying that dusty meditation cushion, it hits: you’re playing the Sim you designed at 12 who is really good at going to work, checking the mail (and paying those student loans) except the fun meter is permanently in the red and Rosebud;!;!;!;!;!;! isn’t coming to save you.
Here’s the secret no one told you: there’s another way.
A way of working, creating, and actually living that doesn’t require selling your nervous system to the highest tech-conglomerate bidder or Julia Cameron-ing your way through morning pages you’ll never read again. A way to burn the “circle back” scripts instead of designing new custom emojis for the team Slack.
Imagine moving through your days with that early-aughts, pre-Spotify-Discover-Weekly buzz—back when you spent entire afternoons deep in Last.fm rabbitholes, burned CDs with Sharpie’d tracklists for your crushes, and built moodboards the old-fashioned way: magazine clippings, glue sticks, and stolen wi-fi at coffee shops where everyone was reading Hipster Runoff and no one was selling a course. When “algorithm” wasn’t a word in your vocabulary and you made things because you were possessed by the idea, not because it would perform well or move the needle on your personal brand.
Imagine your creativity returning like that. The creatively feral version of you—the one who knew what they liked before LinkedIn told them what to optimize for. Not the production-ready content bot you stitched together from thought leadership, a Young Guns application, and imposter syndrome.
That shift? It’s not hiding behind an MFA or an AI bootcamp promising to make you irreplaceable (by making you indistinguishable). Or becoming a DJ. It’s closer than the gap between who you LARP as in Zoom and who you actually are.
If you’re ready to flirt with your next timeline, book a free intro session. I’d love to help you find a story that actually fits. Not like that Jacquemus Chiquito you convinced yourself was practical—a story that actually holds your life, not just your lip gloss and existential dread. A story that fits for the long run, even if you don’t yet know what it looks like.