It's only embarrassing until you're famous

Making your friends and family cringe is the price to pay for internet success

If it were up to me, concerts would begin at 6pm, end by 7:30 — just in time for a cutie little dinner after — and most importantly, there would be no opener. That’s just one of my little Sheldon Cooper-esque requests for the universe. Joe would have us going to concerts every week if it were up to him. I find the experience somewhat daunting depending on who’s playing, but I’m a Sagittarius so I’m always down for a good time. I’ll go with you to the gyno as long as I’m getting out of the house.

The last time we went to a concert together was when we saw The Cure in Tampa. I don’t even remember if they had an opener because the concert went on for what felt like a full week. We sat ground level, and everyone around me was 100 feet tall, so I couldn’t see the stage. The band made us suffer through every new and niche song before allowing us to hear all the old school stuff that everyone was there for. It didn’t help that I also hit Joe’s weed pen too hard and got lost coming back from the bathroom. And who knew that today’s youth was so obsessed with The Cure? I saw so many teen goths I forgot I wasn’t in a mall.

We recently saw the Sublime tribute band Badfish. Joe’s been following them for a while and has been to a few of their shows. The concert situation in Orlando is bleak. No one comes through unless they’re Sabrina Carpenter or someone else super mainstream, so it was like the event of the year for us. We settled into our spot at the House of Blues at Disney Springs, perfectly situated between the bar and the bathroom. It’s a small venue, and these days I stay away from the weed pen so I could escape as often as needed, especially during the two openers. One was a Grateful Dead-ska cover band situation, which was not my cuppa tea, and the other was a rapper named Grieves. I see this white dude in a black hoodie step on the stage, and I’m thinking ohhh here we fucking go. Time to chug my beer and head to the bar to kill some time. Yet to my surprise, this guy was great. After the first song, I looked to Joe and said “Is it weird that I’m enjoying this?”

Why was it my initial reaction to want to make fun of him? Because he’s a white rapper in his 40s opening for a Sublime cover band in Disney World? Sounds kinda funny when you say it out loud, right? But the funnier thing is, one of his songs could go viral on TikTok tomorrow, and he could be a Grammy winner by this time next year. Then, everyone would think he’s cool. His talent and music and stage presence probably wouldn’t change that much. The only thing that would change is that he finally “made it.”

Joe, Mom, and me at Badfish. Peep our proximity to the ladies’ room.

With my extra time off, I’ve made it a priority to post more on Instagram. My clients are going viral, why can’t I? Contrary to popular opinion, I don’t think it’s embarrassing to be an influencer or a content creator. In 2026, having a personal brand has the potential to bring in the wildest of opportunities: gifting, travel, paid collaborations, Substack subscribers, and I want a piece of that pie. I’m not afraid to admit that. I no longer lie and say “I’m just doing this for fun.” Yes, it’s fun, but I also see the immense opportunity. There’s so much money to be made online and I’d like to have some. My recent posts have been performing well, with a few of my reels hitting over 100,000 views. I’m posting mostly skit content and hot takes, but people are following and relating, with most of the comments being people saying how funny they find my videos.

But there is a noticeable silence from my close friends. There are a handful who reach out to acknowledge and encourage me, but from the rest there are crickets. At the time of writing this, I have less than 3,000 followers on Instagram. I’m not being paid from my social media and nearly all of my Substack subscribers came from Substack (I love it here), so I’m still very much in the “trying” stage. I haven’t made it. So I can’t help but wonder if the lack of support is due to my friends thinking I’m cringey and embarrassing. It’s not cool when you’re trying. It’s only cool once you’ve made it.

It’s possible that this is all in my head. Most of my friends are busy mothers with their own lives. There’s no reason to bring it up, and at the end of the day, they’re not my target audience. Our friends and family don’t need to support everything we do, especially when you’re someone like me who’s tried many different things in the last few years. I’m sick of myself, too. It’s all good.

There’s part of me that knows I’m clearly projecting, because I’ve judged people who’ve been cringey. It’s jarring to see your friends pop up in your FYP dancing with a green screen background. I was ready to write off a rapper because he wasn’t famous. Imagine how much more cringey we’d think Drake is if he wasn’t Drake? None of us are immune to this level of judgement.

So, if you’re a close friend reading this, I have a couple of things to say:

1. Hi! What are you even doing here? I didn’t know that you read my Substack because you’ve never once mentioned it. I didn’t think you even knew what a Substack was!

2. I love you, and I don’t care that much about your lack of interest in my ever-changing creative endeavors, but it reallyyyyyy helps when you click the like button. No pressure.

If you want to cringe or make fun of me or leave a hate comment or form a parasocial relationship with me, follow me on Instagram.