Jan 12, 2023·edited Jan 12, 2023Liked by Valorie Castellanos Clark
(Do more voiceovers. I love how animated you got as it went on. 😁 Quality rant.)
Yes, I agree with your concern here. And it's...the hardest thing to tackle, in whatever form of writing you're doing, because most of everyone is asking "what's the best way for me to do this?" which really means "what's the most socially acceptable and therefore least weird way?" (which also means "how can I stand out the least?").
I used to attend travel blogger conferences, and almost their whole schtick was "here's the best way / the least weird way which you NEED to learn to get anywhere." And - I kinda get it. Especially with conferences trying to make a profit. Weirdness is so hard (nearly impossible?) to teach. And asking folk to gamble on their own creative experiments is also a hard ask - even though I reckon it's the ask everyone really needs to get somewhere fast? (Fortune favours the farter-around.)
(As for the rise of AI - as you suggest, again, isn't it just taking the average of everyone? The least weird through-line of everything?)
The job of any creative artist is to be a pattern-interrupter. Or at least that's *part* of the job. (Maybe another part is, eg, being really good at convincing a client that the work you're doing for them needs to be weirder. Or having that talk with yourself.)
"How could this be weirder?" said not enough of us, not enough of the time, always. (Myself very much included. Still working on that every day, because I think I need it more and more as I get older.)
Hahaha, I definitey got *in my feelings* about this one the longer I talked.
You're absolutely right that things like AI and the conferences are all about taking the average of everyone. But average is--by definition--not what stands out! Asking ourselves "How could this be weirder?" might be a really good question to start asking.
That is a super-interesting question! I guess there's also a question over what kind of weird you could be: the quiet, behind the scenes weird, or the public, performative weird? I mean, the public version is a great way to attract attention, which helps draw people into your orbit and improve your opportunities for further weirdness. Or there's the behind-the-scenes version where you're just looking for ways to surprise yourself, instead of the rest of the world...
But also: I think sometimes being the opposite of weird* (conventional? boring?) is, for some people, a great help in being weird in their work. It gives them the bandwidth, because they've turned the rest of their life into something that requires relatively little creative input. A lot of famous writers are like this! (Mason Currey's Substack is a good place to look for examples: https://masoncurrey.substack.com/) And I remember how President Barack Obama had a wardrobe with lots of identical suits and shoes, so he would never have to spend any of his precious willpower each morning in deciding what to wear. If weirdness requires extra effort, where can you get that energy from?
*I am deeply boring in real life, in the hope it helps me be weirder in my writing. If I later discover that my WRITING is boring as well, I'm going to have a huge existential crisis because that's *years* wasted when I could have been raising absolute hell in my offline life.
I have your comment! It came through as an email notification:
"Hmm, I'd argue that in this context, the weirdness should stem from authenticity - weirdness for the sake of a reaction becomes performance, and slides back into the Instagram-weird category. And I agree wholeheartedly! The most potent people I know aren't necessarily blessed with boundless energy, they just spend their spoons well. I think these habits that loosen up bandwidth don't really exist on the weird-normal axis, though. It feels more symptomatic. Which goes back to the question of the nature of weirdness - does one Be weird, or does one Do weird? I feel like being authentically weird shakes out as far less effort in the long run. (I doubt this highly. I've found people think they're far less interesting than they are. Likely because they've heard all the stories already.) (Also this is turning into an essay; I thank you deeply for being the kind of conversation that helps me think.)"
I abandoned social media years ago because it felt a lot like my high school cafeteria. Both deeply hierarchical and very, very loud -- everyone talking at once, trying to both conform and stand out just enough at the same time. It’s hard to hear yourself think and originality or complexity of thought isn’t generally rewarded in this environment, anyway. Sometimes it is, but it so hard to predict it, and the alternatives, either being shouted down or simply ignored, can be so devastating.
Simply abandoning social media isn’t the right answer for everyone, I get that. But in my experience, getting off it does reduce the overall noise and some of that sameness you’re describing.
I felt this one so deeply. Both in terms of writing and design. I was lucky to travel to Colombia in 2019 a month before going to Indonesia, and pink neon signs covered bars & cafes in both countries. It was... disheartening. I mostly blamed instagram, but of course it's deeper than that too.
Globalization has definitely homogenized a lot of things, and I really don't think for the better. When I first got really into social media in the early 2010's, people really knew how to stand out, and now it's all about playing algorithms. I've not left America since I was very young, and that was for a day trip to Canada. But a lot of what I'm seeing is many countries, at least in the urban areas, are looking more and more like US cities every day. There's cultural sharing, and the melting pot effect, and then there's a loss of individuality and cultural identity. We're seeing too much of the latter.
I cannot imagine the pain of losing a parent. My heart is with you.
I started my Substack as a personal essay and feel that it has been and is growing or morphing. Into what I'm not sure of yet. Approaches such as the one you are taking here are inspiring. I got stuck on my latest post and reading this helped unstick it.
As an aside, I've been playing around with narrating my posts - I'll give you my impressions after listening.
Of course there aren’t weird people in LA. You don’t find interesting people in places where the environment isn’t actively trying to kill you.
Hm. I noticed this homogenization in restaurants, too. I have a theory that the problem, as usual, is capitalism.
Creative work for money is always going to have to be marketable - the nature of money is quantity over quality. There’s very little motivation for a creative to do more than the bare minimum to get a check and then hustle to get the next one. No security means no time to rock back on your heels and figure out what to do next, much less how to.
Being weird, like anything else, takes practice, and that generally doesn’t jive with today’s hustle culture. And even weirdness isn’t a guarantee of uniquity - there are only so many tropes and archetypes we can slap together to make a story; at this point all we do is change the order.
Firstly, I love your voice. You sound so professional and lovely. I have tried to record my newsletter but always think I sound weird and too Australian. But maybe weird is good, right?
Writers are often advised to write a book that is similar to other books so that it will sell. I always thought this sounded very boring. Why would I want to write a book that's exactly the same as another book? Too tedious for words.
What I hope comes out of where Medium started, where Substack is, where writers forging a new way are headed, is a new publishing structure where the cream of quality does rise to the top and is available to a hungry readership. We all love everything about printed books, but loathe the difficulty of getting fresh viewpoints that communicate well, that are impossible to put down, into the hands of readers, through traditional publishing pipelines.
How often do we belabor and label the up-and-comers by the disparaging descriptors forged in popular media. I find hope in up-and-comers, in their reluctance to accept the status quo. I find hope in being an up-and-comer, being part of a new publishing world that sifts through quality for the best quality, without defaulting to an obsolete canon or pop-culture media frenzy.
Maybe the sameness can be viewed like a labor union on strike. The working body of writers won't be suppressed, demands excellence, demands fair critique, and is moving together with a united mind toward a goal of improved writing and improved opportunity. That's what I hope.
I keep thinking about the paradox of choice driving the consolidation of taste. The long tail of unique and marginalized voices comes up hard against our algorithmically curated and dopamine fuelled herd tendencies. We're seeing more LGBTQ romance in the mainstream as well as more diverse voices but at the same time Colleen Hoover held six of the top 10 spots on The New York Times’s paperback fiction best-seller list. Spotify enables maximum choice while Taylor Swift becomes the first artist to secure the entire Billboard top 10 with her latest album. It's like we need to be told what to like.
(Do more voiceovers. I love how animated you got as it went on. 😁 Quality rant.)
Yes, I agree with your concern here. And it's...the hardest thing to tackle, in whatever form of writing you're doing, because most of everyone is asking "what's the best way for me to do this?" which really means "what's the most socially acceptable and therefore least weird way?" (which also means "how can I stand out the least?").
I used to attend travel blogger conferences, and almost their whole schtick was "here's the best way / the least weird way which you NEED to learn to get anywhere." And - I kinda get it. Especially with conferences trying to make a profit. Weirdness is so hard (nearly impossible?) to teach. And asking folk to gamble on their own creative experiments is also a hard ask - even though I reckon it's the ask everyone really needs to get somewhere fast? (Fortune favours the farter-around.)
(As for the rise of AI - as you suggest, again, isn't it just taking the average of everyone? The least weird through-line of everything?)
The job of any creative artist is to be a pattern-interrupter. Or at least that's *part* of the job. (Maybe another part is, eg, being really good at convincing a client that the work you're doing for them needs to be weirder. Or having that talk with yourself.)
"How could this be weirder?" said not enough of us, not enough of the time, always. (Myself very much included. Still working on that every day, because I think I need it more and more as I get older.)
Hahaha, I definitey got *in my feelings* about this one the longer I talked.
You're absolutely right that things like AI and the conferences are all about taking the average of everyone. But average is--by definition--not what stands out! Asking ourselves "How could this be weirder?" might be a really good question to start asking.
Should the question be how to make a work weird, or how to BE weird, then let the work be weird by nature?
That is a super-interesting question! I guess there's also a question over what kind of weird you could be: the quiet, behind the scenes weird, or the public, performative weird? I mean, the public version is a great way to attract attention, which helps draw people into your orbit and improve your opportunities for further weirdness. Or there's the behind-the-scenes version where you're just looking for ways to surprise yourself, instead of the rest of the world...
But also: I think sometimes being the opposite of weird* (conventional? boring?) is, for some people, a great help in being weird in their work. It gives them the bandwidth, because they've turned the rest of their life into something that requires relatively little creative input. A lot of famous writers are like this! (Mason Currey's Substack is a good place to look for examples: https://masoncurrey.substack.com/) And I remember how President Barack Obama had a wardrobe with lots of identical suits and shoes, so he would never have to spend any of his precious willpower each morning in deciding what to wear. If weirdness requires extra effort, where can you get that energy from?
*I am deeply boring in real life, in the hope it helps me be weirder in my writing. If I later discover that my WRITING is boring as well, I'm going to have a huge existential crisis because that's *years* wasted when I could have been raising absolute hell in my offline life.
Well, I replied, got olive oil on my phone, deleted the comment somehow, and sighed heavily.
Thank you for the link!
I have your comment! It came through as an email notification:
"Hmm, I'd argue that in this context, the weirdness should stem from authenticity - weirdness for the sake of a reaction becomes performance, and slides back into the Instagram-weird category. And I agree wholeheartedly! The most potent people I know aren't necessarily blessed with boundless energy, they just spend their spoons well. I think these habits that loosen up bandwidth don't really exist on the weird-normal axis, though. It feels more symptomatic. Which goes back to the question of the nature of weirdness - does one Be weird, or does one Do weird? I feel like being authentically weird shakes out as far less effort in the long run. (I doubt this highly. I've found people think they're far less interesting than they are. Likely because they've heard all the stories already.) (Also this is turning into an essay; I thank you deeply for being the kind of conversation that helps me think.)"
Great essay and like Ali, I completely agree!
I abandoned social media years ago because it felt a lot like my high school cafeteria. Both deeply hierarchical and very, very loud -- everyone talking at once, trying to both conform and stand out just enough at the same time. It’s hard to hear yourself think and originality or complexity of thought isn’t generally rewarded in this environment, anyway. Sometimes it is, but it so hard to predict it, and the alternatives, either being shouted down or simply ignored, can be so devastating.
Simply abandoning social media isn’t the right answer for everyone, I get that. But in my experience, getting off it does reduce the overall noise and some of that sameness you’re describing.
I totally agree. Cutting back on my social media usage has really helped reduce the pressure to conform my writing/creativity to everyone else!
I felt this one so deeply. Both in terms of writing and design. I was lucky to travel to Colombia in 2019 a month before going to Indonesia, and pink neon signs covered bars & cafes in both countries. It was... disheartening. I mostly blamed instagram, but of course it's deeper than that too.
Totally agree with everything you and Amelia are saying. Globalization has definitely homogenized culture in a way that can feel very depressing.
Globalization has definitely homogenized a lot of things, and I really don't think for the better. When I first got really into social media in the early 2010's, people really knew how to stand out, and now it's all about playing algorithms. I've not left America since I was very young, and that was for a day trip to Canada. But a lot of what I'm seeing is many countries, at least in the urban areas, are looking more and more like US cities every day. There's cultural sharing, and the melting pot effect, and then there's a loss of individuality and cultural identity. We're seeing too much of the latter.
This is a great essay. Lots to think about here!
Completely agree!
I cannot imagine the pain of losing a parent. My heart is with you.
I started my Substack as a personal essay and feel that it has been and is growing or morphing. Into what I'm not sure of yet. Approaches such as the one you are taking here are inspiring. I got stuck on my latest post and reading this helped unstick it.
As an aside, I've been playing around with narrating my posts - I'll give you my impressions after listening.
Of course there aren’t weird people in LA. You don’t find interesting people in places where the environment isn’t actively trying to kill you.
Hm. I noticed this homogenization in restaurants, too. I have a theory that the problem, as usual, is capitalism.
Creative work for money is always going to have to be marketable - the nature of money is quantity over quality. There’s very little motivation for a creative to do more than the bare minimum to get a check and then hustle to get the next one. No security means no time to rock back on your heels and figure out what to do next, much less how to.
Being weird, like anything else, takes practice, and that generally doesn’t jive with today’s hustle culture. And even weirdness isn’t a guarantee of uniquity - there are only so many tropes and archetypes we can slap together to make a story; at this point all we do is change the order.
Firstly, I love your voice. You sound so professional and lovely. I have tried to record my newsletter but always think I sound weird and too Australian. But maybe weird is good, right?
Writers are often advised to write a book that is similar to other books so that it will sell. I always thought this sounded very boring. Why would I want to write a book that's exactly the same as another book? Too tedious for words.
What I hope comes out of where Medium started, where Substack is, where writers forging a new way are headed, is a new publishing structure where the cream of quality does rise to the top and is available to a hungry readership. We all love everything about printed books, but loathe the difficulty of getting fresh viewpoints that communicate well, that are impossible to put down, into the hands of readers, through traditional publishing pipelines.
How often do we belabor and label the up-and-comers by the disparaging descriptors forged in popular media. I find hope in up-and-comers, in their reluctance to accept the status quo. I find hope in being an up-and-comer, being part of a new publishing world that sifts through quality for the best quality, without defaulting to an obsolete canon or pop-culture media frenzy.
Maybe the sameness can be viewed like a labor union on strike. The working body of writers won't be suppressed, demands excellence, demands fair critique, and is moving together with a united mind toward a goal of improved writing and improved opportunity. That's what I hope.
I keep thinking about the paradox of choice driving the consolidation of taste. The long tail of unique and marginalized voices comes up hard against our algorithmically curated and dopamine fuelled herd tendencies. We're seeing more LGBTQ romance in the mainstream as well as more diverse voices but at the same time Colleen Hoover held six of the top 10 spots on The New York Times’s paperback fiction best-seller list. Spotify enables maximum choice while Taylor Swift becomes the first artist to secure the entire Billboard top 10 with her latest album. It's like we need to be told what to like.