Why do I only enjoy my hobbies when I publicize them?
I was fulfilling my high school dreams and nearly solving the plot holes in my career path when my penchant for writing evolved into real adult work.
Yet, after each piece I worked on, prayed for, and cried over, I found myself just waiting for the next article I could post on Instagram and the next news outlet to chase. Despite not having enough room on my plate, I kept accepting assignments and pitching pieces only to reductively flex them on social media. I was no longer writing out of passion or enrichment, with the same burning spark I used to have. These motivations were easily outweighed by the rewarding dopamine loop I got from likes, comments, and shares.
The reality check that writing was now an inseparable part of my life, both as a hobby and profession, took a toll on me. I felt I had to at least be extremely gifted at and engaged with it—as if I had to reassure everyone that I liked what I was doing, I was good at it, I looked good doing it, and I stood out.
Online, I was diversifying my identity as a writer and reader in unfeasible ways to assert my integrity and authenticity—in the eyes of an audience who never even pressured me.
The fear of becoming a one-hit wonder
We wear various personas on the internet, scanning them through a compass of likability and clinging to the shiniest ones to not dim out. Such personas are now called “aesthetics.”
We’ve reshaped (misused) this philosophical concept in pop culture to define someone’s presence or style. Examples include the iconic vaporwave aesthetic that epitomizes distorted Greek statues and cyberpunk visuals; the serene cottage-core aesthetic that romanticizes rural cottage life, planting and picnics; and so on.
With internet culture’s rabbit hole of aesthetics that aims to define and categorize who we are and what we like doing, hobby-optimizing online platforms inevitably became hobby-pressuring. I was LinkedIn-conscious, Spotify-conscious, Letterboxd-conscious, Pinterest-conscious, and Goodreads-conscious.
The admin of meme page Edgar Pinoy Astrology Personality Cultural Philosophical Youth blog also observed this “natural pressure to appeal to others.” The sharer of popular “Wong Kar-wai vibes” memes and Manic Pixie Dream Girl starter packs weighed in. These apps “became a medium to show one’s credibility. (They’re) used as an instrument to impress, show one’s uniqueness or interestingness.”
It’s unavoidable to rank ourselves on the invisible “indie to mainstream” social ladder, where the mainstream is lame while indie reigns superior. I am personally attacked by this line from Substack princess Rayne Fisher-Quann’s essay: “Everyone is jostling for attention in a crowded room, struggling to differentiate themselves within an algorithm that exists to turn their personhood into a commodity.”
The admin of Sapiosexuals Film Club Surigao, another pop culture page that satirizes “film bros,” “sigma males,” and “sad girl music,” noticed that we use online algorithms to feel a “certain belongingness.” They described aesthetics as “more than a mere vessel but are borne from social and historical contexts” that help us get rid of the FOMO.
True enough, I don’t lag behind what the other cool people are doing. I ensure I get a copy of the latest “unhinged girl” book being advertised online. I draw subpar realistic sketches when I need to impress someone new. I refuse to share my Spotify wrap-up or any playlist if it’s full of Barbie sing-alongs or embarrassing popular songs that don’t match my “esoteric” books on Goodreads.
All because I don’t want to be a victim of the next mainstream hate train. It’s so chronically online, yet I refuse to be exposed as an empty shell.
The reality check that writing was now an inseparable part of my life, both as a hobby and profession, took a toll on me. I felt I had to at least be extremely gifted at and engaged with it—as if I had to reassure everyone that I liked what I was doing, I was good at it, I looked good doing it, and I stood out.
Letting go of that tightrope
A daily nagging voice still compels me to publicize every pleasing crevice of my life and the vicious cycle of labels I’ve willingly boxed myself into. But between impressing and expressing, it’s a relief to realize I’ve been leaning more towards the latter. If I can name all Hitchcock or Tarantino movies, that’s great. But if I can’t, that’s also great! If this article gets a few corrections, that’s cool! But if this goes through more edits than usual, that’s also cool, because I’m finally aiming for progress, not perfection.
It’s great to use aesthetics to find subcultures and styles that resonate with our identity. After all, we’re multifaceted beings meant to explore. But like everyone else, my desire to constantly be appreciated, known, and loved is irrevocably human. I used to perceive this as a character flaw I had to strip, but it never was. I just had to mend my love for writing in a less manufactured and performative way, little by little.
In Mirrorball, a relatable song for people like me who are eager to impress, Taylor Swift sings: “Spinning in my highest heels, love / Shining just for you.” She subverts this woeful imagery into an uplifting epiphany in Bejeweled: “And I miss you / But I miss sparkling.” Although not all of us are in our Bejeweled era yet, to acknowledge that our identity has always been remarkable and was never congruent with who we amaze online is already brilliant in itself.
