More Than an #Ad

It’s a Tuesday—my “content day”—and I am a coffee shop with the intention to get shit done. I’ve signed a new contract with Seed; I’ve selected my clothing picks for Vince; I’ve learned the ins-and-outs of Sezane’s foreign affiliate linking system; I’ve responded to countless DM’s; and I’ve added all the links to my newsletter.

Three years ago, when I started to post on Instagram, I never saw myself in this position — that is, needing hours to devote to my content. Between communicating with followers and brands, setting and negotiating prices, reading and signing contracts, taking, editing, and posting photos, and managing my website, it’s gotten to this point. I’m a “one woman” shop, and I need designated time to complete it all.

After a few hours, I go home to eat and to hang out with my baby. I’m halfway playing with my 9-month-old when I get an email from Jenni Kayne Ambassador.

It’s titled “Jenni Kayne Ambassador Status.”

I open the email to read the introduction of the new manager of the ambassador program, along with some adjustments the brand is making. It was a long email, and I had an eerie feeling that prompted me to scroll to the bottom to read:

Your last payment will be May 1, 2023, and

As of today, your code is no longer active.

I’m cut from the program? I thought to myself.

I suppose this wasn’t much of a surprise — I had heard, over the last few months, that a ton of big name creators were cut from the program, along with other internal employees (even the previous manager I communicated with for years was let go, I later learned).

So I wasn’t surprised, but I was a bit confused.

After all, Jenni Kayne was my first partnership. I felt special when I shared the #JenniKayneAmbassador hashtag and my discount code for the first time. I felt special when I was featured in their blog, and when my photos were used for their ads. I felt special when I received luxury knits every month, and I felt special to receive commission payments on top of that.

Now, I felt quite the opposite—I felt unspecial—and a bit insecure about my content and why I was cut amongst the rest. I also felt a bit sad, knowing all the things I thought I loved would come to an end. I even felt a smige angry, wanting to boycott the brand altogether.

…but then something unexpected happened.

All my ill feelings dissolved and I had an epiphany. I realized I way overvalued my partnership with Jenni Kayne. I realized I way overvalued all my partnerships, for that matter. With this realization, I literally felt lighter physically.

Ironically, the previous month, I created a reel for Jenni Kayne to enter into their monthly contest of “who can make the best styling reel?”. Each month, the brand selected their star reels to give us direction in what they were looking for — so, I took the direction and tried it out.

Thank God for background music, because my daughter cried the entire time I filmed that content. I felt so tense when I made that reel, hoping to create in a way that pleased the brand, but doing so at the expense of my fussy daughter and my own sanity. Perhaps this was one sign, among others, that I needed to pause.

From a creative standpoint, Jenni Kayne seemed more flexible than other brands I worked with. The “creative briefs” sent from brands are often anything but, giving direction on what to say, what to wear, what angle to shoot from, etc. Some brands are pinpoint particular, down to the look of my fingernails.

I began to realize that a lot of what I considered to be “creative endeavors” were truly more “commercial endeavors”. You know when you listen to a podcast, and there are all those ads that you just want to skip to get to the good shit? I started to feel more like the ad, rather than the good shit.

My commercial or “ad-like” mentality really took off months ago, after I worked with Everlane. The brand asked for my backend analytics—i.e., the views and clicks on my story post featuring their product. I was so embarrassed, because I was naive, and didn’t know how to provide those statistics. The brand had to send me a how-to tutorial to find those numbers.

Once I learned these tools, though, I looked at them more often, and over time, I found myself caring more about others’ response to my content, rather than the content creation itself. Over the last few months, I started to care more about my brand affiliations, performance, and commission figures.

Put simply, over time, my focus shifted outward, rather than inward, which happens to be the recipe that kills the creative process.

Yet, I still called myself a content creator — and I think, to some degree, this is what confused me. After all, a content creator creates, and I love to create, but over time, it felt like I was doing a lot less of that.

I did, however, have more growth, engagement, partnerships, and commission payouts. On the other side of the token, I had more commitments, obligations, stress, and ultimately, less space and time for myself and my infant daughter.

And for what? For money? Fortunately, I don’t need the money (and trust me, I have so much sympathy for those creators that do).

Okay, then for what? Free product? While free product is fun, I have to say it can really add up. I give a lot away, because the excess has a real energetic weight to it.

Maybe I do this to support the brands I love, I thought. After all, I only work with brands I actually love.

But then I realized, maybe I can use and love a product without having to formally advertise for it. For example, maybe I can simply share Seed (a brand I’ve supported for years) without having to make sure my language and manicure is perfect for their usage.

Maybe its less stressful to just buy the damn product and share it, rather than get it for free with any contingencies.

After all, that’s what I did three years ago, when I started my Instrgam. When there were less attachments, and I felt more in tune with my creative flow. When my content was more valuable than a sweater post (“you’re a lot more interesting than your sweater,” my husband told me).

That’s not to say I’m anti-sweater posts (because real talk, I freaking love a good knit). I’m not anti-product posts at all, actually. I mean, a good product is a good product, and I’m here to share good shit I enjoy.

But I am going to share product in a way that preserves my sincere expression, my creativity, and my time. I will continue to share product and work with brands, but in a slower, mindful method. I will have to say “no” to brands a lot more, and say yes to things I value more — my time, my wellbeing, and my family. The simple things I shared three years ago.

Funny enough, one of my fellow influencer friends recently told me how much she valued my older content — specifically, my simple feel-good practices.

My influencer friend, by the way, has taken a huge step off social media because it’s “fucked with her mental health,” and has taken time away from her daughters. It’s not just her, either — I have had dozens of private conversations with fellow influencers that feel insecure, depleted, and uninspired in the space.

Don’t get me wrong — despite it’s cons, Instagram, and social media generally, has its pros. It has taught me so much about myself and the world, and also, it has led to many beautiful connections and opportunities I would have never had without the platform.

It isn’t the app, but the person behind the app, that creates the experience they wish have with it. I am just learning, as a “micro-influencer”, the kind of experience I want to have with it.

I’m learning to move slower, to say no more, to put less focus on performance and more on creation. I am learning that what may appear glamorous isn’t always so, and to target my focus inward, rather than outward.

I am starting to see again: I am more than an #ad.