They want their style back.
Like, is it just me, or is every influencer starting to look, sound, and act the same?
For instance:
Tattoos are a must.
Guys gotta have big muscles and a manly beard.
Girls gotta have big boobs or neon hair or a nose piercing… or all the above.
Everyone’s got a sweet office view.
A “sick whip.”
“Icy watch.”
Designer clothes.
Stories of first class flights.
Pictures of scrumptious meals and epic vacations and breathtaking views and meetups with other internet celebs.
Vlogs showing off their amazing cribs.
Right?
And with each update, you’re left feelin’ like a big bag of dicks.
Cuz you don’t fit the mold.
And your life’s not quote-unquote perfect.
So how do you compete?
Go get spray-tanned?
Lease a Lambo?
Forearm tat?
Dude.
F*ck no.
Not if that’s not you.
You’ll look like a total phony.
Instead:
You figure out who you really are (which is harder than it sounds, since you’ve spent the last however-many decades trying to fit in) and you showcase it and you say, “Take it or leave it, b*tches.”
Trust me, there’s a market for: “Ignore the Play-Doh bomb that went off on the kitchen counter – my kids are assholes – but I’m gonna film this video anyways.”
Or, “Yeah, I drive an ’03 Camry, so what. I’d rather have a million in the bank than a fleet of exotics. Deal with it.”
Or, “I’d rather kill a man – a decent, hard-working man – than be fake friends with other gurus just so I can steal some of their followers. A, I’m antisocial. And B, not a sellout. So yeah. It’s just me you’re stuck with.”
Or, “Yep, haven’t showered. Hair’s a little greasy. Wore this shirt in last week’s pic. But it’s honest… so… f*ck it… I’m gonna selfie-away.”
You get the idea.
You can make just as much money being real as you can trying to be something you’re not.
And you’ll sleep better too.
