Good Morning, Where Do We Draw the Line?
A Monday morning edition of A Few Minutes with thoughts on where works meets celebrity, and another bento box or articles, podcast, social stuff and more.
It’s Monday, and I finished today’s newsletter on a red-eye from New York to LA after spending the weekend at CultureCon. To say I’m tired would be an understatement.
In 2021, Beyoncé told Harper’s Bazaar, “A lot of who I am is reserved for the people I love and trust.”
Her straightforward, carefully curated answer resonated with Virgos, those with privacy kinks, and now me, as my ambition has hit a standstill, disillusioned by the "celebrity" of work.
The line between our private and public selves has grown thin and murky. Navigating this terrain has become increasingly complex when your résumé, reliability, and passion—combined with clever social media copy and an iPhone—can take you places our grandparents never imagined.
In this culture of radical authenticity, where influencers and professionals blur in the job market, I constantly have to remind myself who I am—apart from the people, places, devices, and platforms that compel us to perform.
At CultureCon this weekend, I popped in and out of a few panels. A significant portion of the programming, backed by Kensington Grey, revolved around the creator journey, working with brands, and, to put it plainly, the commodification of human life.
This isn’t a critique of the weekend, influencing, or the hard work of building a human-centric brand. I’m all for sharing and influencing—however you show up. It’s heartwarming to see how many of us connect virtually and in real life through our willingness to open our worlds, routines, and passions to audiences. And Black women uniquely deserve to monetize their ability to influence culture simply by being themselves. However, by design, we’ve shifted to a landscape where mobility is marked by our ability to monetize our identities and experiences while platforms and brands profit from user engagement. Success can be found by turning our daily life into content and currency. Hell, that’s what this Substack is—a bento box of my interests and thoughts that I’ll one day monetize.
But performance isn’t just for those in front of the camera or those looking to entangle influencing with their professional ambitions. It extends to anyone trying to stand out in their career, and for freelancers and media girlies, it's about simply trying to make a living.
In 2022, the BBC reported on the growing number of “career influencers” sharing advice, workplace woes, and successes while maintaining a 9-to-5. In contrast, Business Insider noted celebrities flocked to platforms like LinkedIn to showcase their business acumen. The rich and famous can’t rely solely on traditional marketing tactics; they must communicate that they’re just like us. They, too, must perform at the intersection of celebrity and work.
It's more true than ever that the platform and brand we build around our work are just as essential as the work itself.
This week, in her newsletter As Seen On, Ochuko Akpovbovbo writes about Beyoncé’s celebrity as aspirational yet not relatable, pointing out that her brand marketing efforts don’t foster an authentic connection with consumers like those of Rihanna or Selena Gomez, who are now “entrepreneurs first, artists second.” It’s a great read.
Her writing echoes that whether we are celebrities, influencers, or just people trying to create art or cool shit, the tides have turned. It’s almost required to enmesh our work, art, quirks, and passions with the culture of celebrity.
They say, “Let the work speak for itself.” While valid and important, can a creative—or anyone—truly thrive without visibility, persistent brand building, or a sprinkle of celebrity? Who would see my newsletter if I didn’t share it? Who would know my work if I didn’t assert its existence?
There’s comfort in believing the right people and opportunities will find you, that your name is being spoken in rooms you’ve yet to enter. Yet there’s naiveté in thinking you can sit on your hands and not advocate for the opportunities or communicate what you deserve.
At the genesis of your career (my career), when media jobs are unstable, and the gig economy dominates across industries, can we afford not to share, not to craft strong personal brands, and to keep our heads down and focus solely on the work?
Now, I find myself in a season where I crave more privacy, isolation, and less time spent sharing myself, my work, and my successes. Toni Morrison’s words—“For me, success is not a public thing. It’s a private thing. It’s when you have fewer and fewer regrets,”—echo loudly in my mind. The season I’ve entered in my career is where I want to follow the threads of my interests without a goal or outcome. The success is exploring what pulls at my heartstrings and honoring my curiosity.
It’s a blessing when what animates you aligns with your professional ambitions. I have a big heart; I love Black women, and I’ve been obsessed with podcasts since I was young. Producing a show like Therapy for Black Girls feels like destiny.
I wonder if I—and many others—have sacrificed the intimate relationship we once had with the things we love, twisting the basic concept of earning a living into something more profound than necessary for success or mere survival in this competitive job market. There’s tension in figuring out which parts of my life—my interests, my talents—I want to keep exclusive in a world that socially, professionally, and financially rewards how much of yourself you share.
Circling back to LinkedIn’s evolution, I created an account as a bright-eyed high school intern to stay connected with old bosses and executives. Almost a decade later, the platform has shifted into a creator marketplace where the product is how catchy, engaging, and attractive your content about work, balance, or passion is.
In a previous newsletter, I asked: Where is the time to be—not to plan for a better life, strategize, or optimize, but to exist? In that state, perhaps we’ll find a moment of life to reflect on with genuine meaning.
My anxiety about work, platforms like LinkedIn, and the creation of personal brands around work led me to my journal— as most of my anxieties do. This week, I’ll be thinking long and hard about:
Who are the people, and where are the places where I can just be—free from the constant pressure to perform?
What would I do without fleeting rewards of status, career success, money, followers, or fans?
Where is the line between the joy of sharing for connectivity and the professional pressure to constantly package, promote, and perform our identities for an audience?
Now, here are some articles, podcasts, social media stuff, and more that caught my eye this week
In Atmos, Rabbi Elliot Kukla—an activist, trans, non-binary, disabled, anti-Zionist Jew who offers spiritual care to the ill and grieving—reflects on Jewish loss and pain on the anniversary of October 7, urging it to inspire the fight against Palestinian oppression after a year of violence and decades of persecution. Read here.
This article by Meecham Whitson Meriweather on what men can learn from Adam Brody’s “hot rabbi” era.
My Libra season affirmations.
If you’re into finance bros, love Wolf of Wall Street, or can’t stop thinking about Industry, this is for you.
Law Roach and Keke Palmer’s chemistry >
Tiktok failed to load.
Enable 3rd party cookies or use another browser“Made in Africa” is a monthly column by “Rolling Stone” staff writer Mankaprr Conteh that celebrates and interrogates the lives, concerns, and innovations of African musicians from their vantage point.” Read the latest installment, which explores Lupita Nyong’o’s new podcast, Mind Your Own, and more.
Jordan Peele and Ryan Coogler chop it up for the In Proximity podcast.
Ta-Nehisi Coates went head to head on CBS Mornings with Tony Dokoupil. If the exchange made you uncomfortable, read this.
Andre 3000 tells us why rap should always sound like the future.
Last week, I saw the Hulu and Andscape film She Taught Love, directed by Nate Edwards. Hulu’s description of the film tells us that Frank Cooper, an actor spiraling with distractions, meets Mali Waters, a sports agent living for the present. Drawn together at the worst possible moment, as Mali faces her mortality, they must learn to love and live in the moment. After watching the film at a screening in Burbank, I was deeply uncomfortable with the tropes and harmful narratives the film reinforces about what Black women deserve in love and partnership.
These Q4 questions from @daviasymone
Shots from inside Renell Medrano’s solo exhibit LAMBÓN. Read about it here.
Shoutout to the team at All The Smoke. Excellent interview.
That’s all for today! Is there anything specific you’d like me to write about? Article recs? Please email me: ellisellice@gmail.com.