when does appreciation turn into conformity?
and other fleeting thoughts as i drive down the highway
This month, journaling in public will very much be a collection of notes to self, sometimes gentle and sometimes harsh, from current me to future me - hope you enjoy! 🍀
There’s a content creator here in Sydney who initially, and still to a certain extent does, centred their content around food.
He covered newly-released restaurants with spectacular offerings, old-school joints with a fresh air of enthusiasm, hidden gems known only to local communities with less than 50 Google reviews, secret menus/hacks at fast food joints and chain franchises, and the occasional bit of lifestyle, tourism, and product content to spice up the timeline.
From how generic the above description is, it would seem that I’m describing literally any creator ever — if you have any semblance of Asian, having one social media account, and live in Sydney, Australia; I can guarantee you know exactly who I’m talking about.
However, there came a point, when I more or less disconnected for this creator.
He didn’t do anything woefully wrong. He didn’t change his editing style or aesthetic. He didn’t ramp up the level of marketing or revamp what he was about. Well, mostly. There was a pivot away from solely food to a more 50/50 split across food and lifestyle — and perhaps that was the turning point that made me suddenly untrusting of his opinion.
Overnight, what I regarded as a cheerful personality of man as nothing more than six Labubus in a trenchcoat, caked in the halo of trend-chasing and sponsored marketing.
I appreciated, but no longer trusted his food recommendations, because they had nothing to do with the quality or value or even his own personal opinion but instead who was willing to drop three grand for a one-minute video.
And whenever I saw him cover something along the lines of a McFlurry hack, swirl ceremonial matcha into a bubble tea, or stuff a giant Labubu with smaller Labubus — I imagined how in his pocket these big corporations are and how much it encourages this uncharacteristic spending.
(Fully respect him getting the bag though. He’s got an enviable operation and I have no qualms whatsoever with money-making.)
It’s not that that the fame changed him. He’s always been a marketer. He’s always been a creator. He’s always loved food, and continues to share food, just perhaps not the ones that he loves. I still think he has excellent things to cover and is a great source of information and should always be taken with a grain of salt as it is not really his voice to which he speaks; and when you try the food, it is via your own tongue.
It’s spectacular that there comes a point where fame becomes unfamiliarity, a point where follower count no longer signals credibility but a mass appeal to NPCs.
Disclaimer: I still follow the guy and sometimes end up at places he recommends — so despite everything, the marketing still works on me. Also, if I knew people like this personally I would not have these feelings whatsoever and instead be wholeheartedly supportive.
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People say I’m a patient person, but is it because I’m tolerant and careful and forgiving, or because 1) I am negligent of many matters 2) do not exercise agency 3) don’t give a shit anymore.
I’m pretty non-confrontational. I just want peace and acceptance, not necessarily on the same page, but understanding enough and tolerant enough and forgiving enough to let things slide, let people live things down. In good scenarios, this is interpreted as appreciation or calmness or optimism in perilous times. In bad scenarios, this is called conformity, the shirking or responsibility, disrespecting myself, perhaps even settling.
A thought that occasionally hits my minute-to-minute, I’ll be honest, is thinking about the choices I’ve made and whether I’m even happy about them. I try not to regret any of my decisions — but isn’t that just called deluding yourself? I don’t know if that’s the right way to operate.
You see, throughout this newsletter, there is an undercurrent of being intentional with your time, of taking ownerships of your faults, of acting with wisdom but fundamentally acting — but the fact of the practical matter is that I’m not really that attuned to that. There are plenty of instances where I made choices that I am not proud of and struggle to defend, promises that I cannot keep or that hurt me to maintain; I tell myself I’m being accommodating but if I watched my friend do the same thing, would I not accuse them as being disrespectful to themselves?
(Well, I wouldn’t. I would just say it’s not what I would have personally chosen. Non-confrontational, remember?)
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There are a lot of Substack articles and thinkpieces out there which criticise the society of which our forefathers have built and this capitalistic machination we find ourselves in. I’ll admit that I don’t really have the data nor examples to back it up but I get the same energy here as I do to the social commentary video essayists who find their home and audience in YouTube.
A good one I listened to, literally right before I sat down to edit this, was The Recession of Creativity by Nicky Reardon.
There is a sentiment, that is somehow shared in both left-leaning progressive spaces and right-leaning hustle content, is that the corporate world (and sometimes school system) sucks out the independent think that we need to function like human beings, creating a compliant culture of short-sighted thinking — that there is only way route to a fulfilling life; got to school, work a job you hate, retire at 65.
My worry is not the environment I live in. Yes, I’ll admit the worldview here could be somewhat insular, and my upbringing is one that actively discourages deviation from the traditional path — but I’m honestly pretty past that.
My scare is that even if I had the resources to do anything I wanted, if money was no object, if judgement entirely off the table, if I could function solely on intrinsic motivation and choose where the wind takes me: that I wouldn’t do anything meaningful either.
I’ll fantasise about retreating to the forest lodge, armed with hot chocolate and an expensive notebook and a crackling hearth, to work full-time on an epic fantasy novel. I’ll dream about an upscale apartment in New York or London or Hong Kong from which I operate a unique studio or service. I’ll aspire to open a restauraunt or cafe or hawker centre or pizza joint, building it from the ground up as a place to creates joy at every bite.
But when push comes to shove and I’m tested not through hardship but via “Well, you have to start somewhere right?” — I’ll admit, my first answer is more akin to: “Not today.”
It’s not something that keeps me up at night, but I would be lying to say that it doesn’t occasionally hit me as I wait for a traffic light and find myself spacing out for three more seconds than necessary, silently wishing that I was driving elsewhere.
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There are days where I feel like myself operating this newsletter is nothing more than an intellectual charade, to stroke the ego and ascertain that I think deeper than everyone else because I put effort into structuring paragraphs and hitting send, when in reality I don’t have anything important to say — the equivalent to, you know, wired earphones and Shakespeare & Co1 tote bags and a Sylvia Plath where I’ve only read the first 12 pages.
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When I first moved to Sydney, I took the wrong bus.
I followed exactly what Google Maps told me. The number on the billboard was right. The location printed was right. It was, however, headed in the opposite direction — and I’m not sure whether that’s how most buses in the world worked but I didn’t come from a city that used public transport very much! I saw the “392: Little Bay” and went yep, looks about right.
But of course, just because it says 392 Little Bay doesn’t necessarily mean it’s going to Little Bay. It could very much be coming from Little Bay.
I sat in that bus for an extra five minutes, trying to justify that I was on the right path despite Google Maps gently but incessantly telling me that I was getting further from my destination. I thought maybe I could stay on the bus till it got to the end and make a turn but that would be just under one hour of, you know, delusion.
A wrong turn does not become right by driving faster in the wrong direction.
I’m not sure whether I need a gentle reminder or harsh reality check (controversially I actually DO prefer when someone can package and sugarcoat2 their words kindly), but I do think I need to have more awareness of when I’m in the wrong bus.
If it’s going off a hill. If it’s not going where I want to. If the air is stuffy and gross and full of people making me uncomfortable. If it doesn’t cater to any of my short-term needs and doesn’t promise much in the long-term — hand yourself the respect, pack your bags and go.
Staying on this bus is what the person in my anti-vision would do; he who lets the world happen to him and leads a wickedly ordinary life by all definitions including his own.
I’m not sure whether these are controversial questions but I know that I’m not alone in these. Like I said before, while none of them really keep me up at night or send my heartbeat flocking, they do enough to fizz out my hair, slow my step to the gas pedal, or cause red spots to appear against my skin (it’s either that or there are more bedbugs at my current place, which sucks, because I literally JUST bought this mattress).
When does commitment turn into settling? When does appreciation turn into conformity? At what point does authenticity turn into performance?
Am I on the right bus?
substacks i’ve enjoyed recently:
The Situationship Trap - by Lily Montasser ❣️
I DON’T WANT TO WRITE ABOUT THE INTERNET ANYMORE! by jessie rose 🐧
While I have technically left the paid subscription open on journaling in public, I’m not the biggest fan of paywalling my work. Instead, I’ve set up a buymeacoffee.com page so if you’d like to show support one way or another — any brown beverages donations would be very much appreciated! ☕☕☕
For better or for worse, I do actually own a Shakespeare & Company tote bag. Interestingly, it is mostly used for gym clothes.
This doesn’t mean I dislike criticism. Criticism is welcome, so long as its constructive and helpful — and being ‘blunt’ or ‘honest’ is no excuse to be an asshole.