In our enigma era

Plus the eco-thriller I couldn't put down and the must-see theatre of 2023 (no, not James Norton's penis)

Have we called time on the cult of the personal brand? It’s something I’ve been hearing whispers of recently among my media friends, some of whom have grown tired of the diminishing returns of turning every aspect of your life into marketable content as the pandemic and cost of living crisis has shifted our priorities. 

Last week, Farrah Storr, former editor of Elle and now successful Substacker, wrote about the “end of brand me”, linked to Gwyneth Paltrow’s recent PR rollercoaster, reasoning that even the most famous personal brands can burn down in an instant, and warning that becoming your own publicist can distort the ego. “When you’ve built a career on PR over talent, that leads to imposter syndrome at best, profound disillusionment at worst.”

I think the media is currently in a period of hard  disillusionment as so much of the industry crumbles around us. Only last week, the wonderful gal-dem announced its closure. There are redundancies everywhere, budgets are being squeezed. In journalism, the glamour of the personal brand isn’t what it once was. 

That said, it’s always been a bit of a sham. As I’ve written about here before, work that elevates your personal brand – social media, event hosting, partnerships, a personal essay in a glossy magazine – is often work you get paid very little for, if anything at all. (The other month I was asked to moderate a panel abroad with a successful musician, for no fee or even travel expenses covered; other hosting fees can be as low as £100 for an entire evening, not to mention previous hours of prep.). And, as my generation of creatives is hitting 30, free work isn’t something we can really fit around trying to put a deposit down on a flat. 

More journalists I know are popping the hustle culture bubble and the most romantic ideas of being a writer, which is both reassuring and depressing. This year I’ve heard several times from exhausted authors that publishing a book is not the glorious journey they may have presented it as on Instagram. The reality is a miniscule advance for years of hard work, and while the endless book promo across panels and festivals and podcasts may look glamorous, they barely got paid for that, either. 

As Emma Gannon wrote in a recent edition of her newsletter The Hyphen: “I’m fed up with authors not having their expectations managed properly and find that the book they worked on for three years for hardly any money is a) not in one bookstore b) has endless typos c) has not being marketed or invested in d) they are expected to sell it themselves via their dwindling Instagram account.”

It seems writers are prioritising more humdrum, stable things as many of them are starting families or buying a property. Several I know have left traditional journalism altogether and are working as heads of content for brands or tech companies like TikTok or Substack. There is less time for the passion projects that once looked so good on Twitter or Instagram, and besides, nobody seems to be posting much anyway.  

The other day, I remembered a moment two years ago, when I chastised a young writer I was line managing for not cultivating a “personal band” on social media. What do you mean you don’t have Twitter, I demanded, quite literally aghast, before lecturing her on how the platform was her “shop window”, recycling the phrase from another journalist who had said it to me. 

This phrase seems ludicrous now — my own Twitter is a wasteland. Partly it’s because Twitter is a mess (links that navigate away from the platform are downgraded by its algorithm and our feeds have been thrown into chaos by a certain pesky egomaniac) but I also think it’s that frankly, no one can be bothered anymore. Because most people have now realised that ‘cultivating their Twitter shop window’ hasn’t actually translated to significant opportunity. The reality is most successful people in-the-making are too busy actually working, while those who have made it often have better places to be.

There has also been a mood shift: it’s not so cool to brag these days. While a couple of years ago hustle culture required us to shout every achievement from the rooftop, these days it can feel cringe. Perhaps it’s the new social media aesthetic which fetishes authenticity to the point where even a beautifully presented plate of food looks naff – Dua Lipa posts hers half finished, the tablecloth covered in stains. Or perhaps it's because our hollowed out hustle culture no longer feels aspirational – if we’re doing it at all, we’re doing it in secret.

As Kaitlyn Tiffany wrote in the Atlantic last July: “When I was 21, the cool thing to be was famous on Instagram. Now the cooler thing to be is a mystery. Anonymity is in.” She goes on to quote one Gen Zer who is tired of “presentation culture” and how “The idea that everything you do has to be a representation of your personal identity”. Now it’s all about being a sexy enigma.

Will the cult of the personal brand come back around? Probably, when social media re-enters its flaunt era. But by then, many of us may have outgrown it. 

This week in links

I’ve been writing about the economic and mental burdens weighing on aspiring actors today, struggling to maintain their vocation when the pandemic and cost of living crisis has crippled much of the creative industries. I interviewed just under 20 different actors, casting directors and agents and they all circled around the same topics: class, nepotism, and race. Read it here. 

I wish I’d written this excellent and very funny Esquire interview with Succession star Kieran Culkin, who sounds just like Roman. There’s plenty of BTS Succession gold here, from Brian Cox’s ‘on-set outbursts’ to how the cast reacted after the finale, though I have to say I read it in a state of fuming resentment because my boss had just gleefully told me two giant Succession spoilers for the next two episodes. Spoilers in the workplace: truly the dark side of culture journalism nobody talks about enough. 

I’ve been reading Birnam Wood by Eleanor Catton (who won the Booker for The Luminaries in 2013), an enormously entertaining “climate change thriller” which follows an activist collective in New Zealand as they accidentally become swept up in a corrupt billionaire’s secret plan to extract rare minerals from the earth. Catton recently said in an interview that we have lost the art of the plot, and if you read this propulsive, mile-a-minute novel after, say, Sally Rooney’s Beautiful World, Where Are You?, you’ll know exactly what she means. 

I’ve been watching Blue Lights on the BBC, the Belfast police drama which has more than filled my Happy Valley hole. The writing is excellent – warm, natural and whip-smart dialogue with characters you end up thinking about day-to-day as if they might be a friend – and Richard Dormer is fantastic. I’d love to read a piece about how accurate the show is on the tensions between the police and Belfast communities – a recurring theme is how many areas are ‘OOB’ (out of bounds) for response officers, who often have to take their name badges off while policing for fear of personal threats. 

I’ve been listening to the new album Timeless by Nigerian superstar Davido. If the sun dares to RSVP this bank holiday weekend then sit outside with a cocktail and put this on. 

I can’t stop thinking about For Black Boys Who Have Considered Suicide When The Hue Gets Too Heavy – an extraordinary piece of theatre from writer and director Ryan Calais Cameron about the pressures of masculinity – specifically on black men – which transferred to the West End last week after a successful run at the Royal Court. Six characters, each with varying perspectives on what it means to be a black man today, share personal, gut-wrenching experiences about everything from relationships and sexuality to education, fatherhood, friendship and social expectations, alongside tightly choreographed dance and song. But it’s brilliantly funny too, with snippets of meme culture undercutting solemnity when you least expect it. There are still tickets available here. 

Have you grown tired of pruning your personal brand? Let me know what you think by replying to this email, or sending me a DM @eleanorhalls1 on Twitter and @elliehalls1 on Instagram. Or comment below.

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