The bad news is, no one cares about you. The good news is, no one cares about you.

That’s the beautiful part about being a beginner. You can make something weird. You can post something cringe. You might say something completely useless. You can make mistakes, and because no one’s watching, it’s actually very liberating.

You’ve got zero audience. Zero reputation. Zero stakes. You’ve got nothing to lose.

So you should feel completely free to make what you want, post what you want, say what you want.

Instead you feel paralysed. And I think there are five reasons why.

One: the main character delusion.

You’re walking around like you’re the main character. You think everyone cares about what you’re gonna say, what you’re gonna post, what you create. In reality they’re all thinking about themselves. The moment you realize that no one is thinking about you is the day you can start being free. You can start being yourself. The fear is of looking like an idiot is real. I’m not going to pretend like I don’t care what others think. Some people might be judging you. But, who gives a fuck? Their judgment comes from a place where they’re judging themselves and projecting it onto you.

Two: the potential trap.

As long as you haven’t tried, you can still believe you’d be great. The moment you create something real, you have to confront the gap between who you imagine yourself to be and who you actually are right now. It’s almost like if you don’t try, you can live in this dream scenario of potential rather than taking the action to become what you want to become. I do this. I always put off creating videos because I’ve got this vision of myself as a great communicator, a great “YouTuber”. The moment I hit record, I have to deal with the fact that I’m not there yet.

Three: comparison.

You’re comparing your beginning to everyone else. You see the result of five to ten years of practice and experience from the people you admire and compare that against your day one. That’s the issue with social media. It has given us unlimited opportunities to build a career doing what we love, but it also bombards us with highlight reels. So, it’s easy to feel left behind when you’re going through your boring day-to-day routine and the struggle of trying to build something and all you see is other people’s end result.

Four: the identity risk.

When you share something with the world. It isn’t just sharing a piece of content. You’re saying “I made this. This is what I think is good. This is me.” and if nobody engages, if nobody even sees it, it feels like a verdict on you, not just the post. The stakes feel existential even though they don’t exist at all. You have to separate yourself from your ideas and the things you share. You are not your output. If something doesn’t land, maybe you just need to improve or learn how to get people to notice. I don’t necessarily think that’s a bad thing.

Five: productive procrastination.

You’ve been thinking about creating for so long. Researching, planning, consuming content about how to do the thing. Then the actual act of making has to carry the weight of all that buildup. The first thing you make can’t possibly satisfy years of fantasy, so you delay it another day. It has to be perfect. It has to match the vision you’ve been holding in your head. Which is insane. Nobody starts amazing. Even the ones who seem like they did probably had years of unseen experience behind it, or they deleted the evidence.

So here’s what I’m doing about it.

Starting messy. Sharing the shitty version. This video I’m making right now isn’t the most well-planned thing. I’m reading notes off screen. I’m making mistakes. I’m keeping them in. I’ve also wanted to delete all my old videos, but I think having a library of failures will be something nice to look back on, to see how far I’ve come. This could be very shit. But at least it’s finished and out in the world.

The day you realise nobody cares is the day you can finally make anything. You have nothing to lose. Zoom out. We all only have one life. Why hold back what you want to create just to satisfy a stranger on the internet, or someone close to you?

Live your life for yourself. Create for yourself. Help other people.

Stop waiting for permission you already have.

Posts that inspired this post:

Why it’s a good thing that nobody’s watching:

On starting:

On finishing:

That’s it for today.

— Karl

I’m not saying that because I’m in denial and pretending everything is fine. I’ve just spent the last couple of years watching this whole thing unfold, genuinely not knowing where it was headed, and that’s the conclusion I keep coming back to.

Every time a new AI model dropped, the conversation was the same. “That’s it. Creative jobs are done.” And for a while I didn’t know what to think either. I’ve been a creative and designer for most of my working life. This has been the biggest disruption I’ve ever seen (actually, in most industries. But I work in the creative industry, so that’s what we will talk about here).

I currently work as a creative for a fashion company. I’ve seen full campaigns generated in seconds. Images that genuinely look as good as professional shoots. Things that used to take a whole team, a lot of money, and weeks of planning. Done. Just like that.

So, when AI actually started getting good, I was scared.

I thought I was going to lose my job any day now. I started researching “jobs that won’t be replaced by ai” and “how to become a plumber”. Because all I saw was a machine doing eighty percent of what I do in two percent of the time.

So, yeah, it’s definitely got me thinking. What does this mean for my job? What does it mean for all creative jobs? What value do I actually bring? What am I actually being paid for?

But sitting with these questions, and being someone who’s used these tools, has made me grateful for AI in a weird way. It’s made me realise what it means to be creative and has changed how I think about creative jobs going forward.

The problem with how everyone talks about AI and creativity is it’s completely black and white. Either AI is stealing everything and we’re all screwed. Or AI is the best thing in the world and our lives will change forever. I don’t agree with either.

There’s definitely a stigma around AI, especially in the creative fields.

But, I feel I can offer a unique perspective because I’m someone who works in a creative industry and is encouraged to use AI for their work. Does that mean I am responsible for taking away jobs from people? Or do I refuse to use it and get fired myself?

I still don’t know if using generative AI is something I’m fully okay with. There’s the environmental side of it. There’s the creative integrity side. Some days I use it and I feel fine about it. Other days I feel like I’ve cheated and I’ve single-handedly destroyed the environment because I generated a few images. I think sitting in that ambivalence is the right place to be. This is all relatively new. Nobody actually has it figured out. Anyone who tells you they do is probably selling something.

But, here’s what I do know. The fundamentals of being a valuable creative worker haven’t changed. The tools have. That’s it.

If you get paid for a creative service, and I’m not talking about an artist making art here, I mean a working creative, then your boss, your client, whoever signing the cheque, they don’t really care how the thing gets made. They care that it’s high quality and it’s on time.

AI might get a better result than you would on your own. It might not. But either way, it still needs someone to point it in the right direction. It still needs taste. It still needs someone who knows what “good” looks like.

That’s why you’ve got to shift how you see yourself.

You are not your job.

You’re not a set of skills. You’re not how good you are at a particular piece of software. You’re a person with a specific set of tastes. A specific way of seeing things. A gut feeling about what looks right, what feels honest, what actually communicates something.

AI cannot do that. It can copy styles. It can pump out endless variations. But it can’t want anything. It can’t have an opinion. It can’t look at two options and go “this one, because it feels more honest.” Not in a way that means anything.

The creatives who are going to be fine are the ones who get that their value was never in their ability to make the thing. It was in their ability to see the thing. To judge it. To direct it. To know when it’s finished versus when it needs another go.

Execution can be automated. Taste can’t.

And if you’ve spent years building your eye, your instincts, your sense of what works and what doesn’t, that hasn’t disappeared. It’s actually more valuable now. Because the gap between someone who can just generate a thousand options and someone who can pick the right one, is massive.

You’re not a machine. You’re a person with a perspective. Start acting like it.

“But AI is cheating”

Yeah. It does feel like that sometimes. AI can feel kind of anti-human. Like you’re getting the machine to do it all for you. Like you’re skipping the craft, the effort, the process that made the whole thing meaningful to you in the first place. I feel that too.

But, the more I use these tools with intention, the less I feel like I’m cheating. Cheating is when you don’t care about the result, you just want it done. Intention is when you know what you wanted and you used whatever got you there.

If you type “make something good,” as a prompt and accept whatever comes back, you didn’t do the work. You outsourced your taste along with your execution. But if you have a vision and you use AI to get closer to it, refining until it matches what you saw in your head, that’s creative work. You just used a different tool to get there.

“AI is ruining the environment.”

These AI models use an insane amount of energy. If I’m being honest, that’s probably the thing that makes me hesitate the most. I don’t have a clean answer for it.

I think using generative AI is genuinely wasteful. We don’t really need it. OpenAI made a whole app dedicated to generating slop, what was the point of that? (thankfully it’s been discontinued).

Honestly, if everyone just stopped using it tomorrow, I think that would probably be a net positive.

But I still use it for my job. It’s useful and can do a pretty good job. I don’t have a way to resolve that contradiction, and I’m not going to pretend I do. The best I can say is that I think about it. I try not to use it for things that don’t matter. Maybe that’s the bare minimum, but it’s where I am.

“AI is stealing work from artists.”

I don’t like the fact that all these models are trained on artists’ work and images of people who didn’t consent to any of this. I hate it as much as you do. But the models are trained. That damage is done. The question now is what we do next.

I don’t think artists, people making things to express themselves or their ideas, work that exists because a human needed to make it, are replaceable by AI. Good art, to me, is deeply human.

But most working creatives aren’t making art in that sense. They’re making stuff for a brief. And the person paying for that stuff cares about quality and speed. How you get there is secondary.

“If you don’t use AI you’ll fall behind.”

I disagree. I don’t want to be another person sharing that constant fear-mongering message. There are paths that don’t involve AI at all, and I’ll get to those.

But here’s what I do think. This isn’t really about AI. This has always been true. If you’re a working creative whose only value is executing someone else’s idea exactly as briefed, no taste, no judgment, no direction of your own, then you were replaceable long before AI showed up. By someone better, cheaper, or faster. That’s not new.

What is new is that AI makes it harder to hide from that question. It forces you to ask: what do I actually bring?

And if the answer is taste, judgment, a point of view, an ability to know what “right” looks like and steer the work there, then you’re fine. Whether you use AI or not. Because those things can’t be automated. They never could.

So with all that, I see basically three directions you can take.

The Artist.

Makes stuff purely for themselves. Their work is expression. They share what they do online, or they don’t, and they make a living from people who connect with their vision. They don’t need AI. Their value is literally their humanity. And the more AI stuff floods the world, the more rare and valuable actual human expression becomes. If this is you, lean all the way in.

The Analog Creative.

Hand-drawn branding. Illustration. Craft-driven work where how it’s made is the whole point. These people use methods that are intentionally human, and their clients pay for that specifically. AI doesn’t threaten this. It actually makes it stand out more.

The AI-Integrated Creative.

Uses AI as part of how they work. Still leads with taste and direction, but isn’t precious about how the output gets made. They choose to use AI or not. They can work faster, take on more or less, and focus on the interesting decisions. This is where I’ve landed on most days for my job. But I’m working toward becoming a mix of all three.

I know it may seem like I’m defending AI. I disagree with a lot of how AI is being used and kind of wish it didn’t become a thing, but it’s here now and I’m trying to be realistic about all of this.

I know this is a touchy subject, especially among creatives. And I get why. People are losing work. People feel like something they spent years getting good at is suddenly worth less. That’s real. I’m not going to pretend it isn’t.

But I also think the conversation has gotten so loud and so binary that it’s hard to find any space between “AI is the end of creativity” and “AI is the future, get on board or get left behind.” Neither of those feels true to me. Most things aren’t that simple.

This just seems to be what happens every time the tools change.

Think about the internet. When it took off, people said the same things. It’ll destroy jobs. It uses massive amounts of energy. It’s changing how we communicate and nobody asked for it. And they weren’t wrong. The internet did kill some jobs. The energy footprint of data centers and global infrastructure is enormous. Those concerns were real and they still are.

But the internet also created jobs that didn’t exist before. Entire careers built on infrastructure that wasn’t there thirty years ago. The people who defined themselves by the old way struggled. The people who could see what was happening and adapted found their place.

The internet comparison isn’t perfect, I know. The internet changed how things were distributed. AI changes how things are made. That’s very different. But the pattern is similar.

And I don’t believe AI is going anywhere anytime soon. But that doesn’t mean you have to use it. It just means you have to be honest about where you fit.

Whether you use AI or not, just remember this:

Taste over speed.

The world doesn’t need more slop. It needs better decisions about what should actually exist. Your ability to know what’s good, that’s the thing. Protect it. Work on it. That’s what AI can’t touch.

Direction over execution.

Stop defining yourself by what you can make. Start defining yourself by what you can see and where you can take the work. The people who do well are the ones who direct. Whether that’s directing AI, or directing a team, or just directing their own process.

Be adaptable.

You don’t have to use AI. You don’t have to like it. But you do have to be honest about the fact that your industry is changing, and make an actual choice about where you fit in that.

Humanity is your edge.

The more automated everything gets, the more valuable the human stuff becomes. Your taste. Your perspective. Your weird, specific way of seeing things. The thing you’ve been trying to smooth out to be more professional, that might actually be your biggest asset now.

Not by choice. My sisters got me a bungee jump for my 30th birthday. I’m pretty sure they were trying to get rid of me. Jokes on them because I’m still here.

But I remember this guy in the queue ahead of me.

You could tell he was freaking out before he even got to the edge. He had this blank stare while they strapped the rope to his feet. When he finally got up to the jumping off point he grabbed onto the rail and wouldn’t let go. Which is more dangerous than if you just jump.

The instructors and everyone on the viewing platform were super supportive. Telling him to go, you’ve got this. A pretty bizarre thing to say to someone standing on a ledge. But hey, that’s what we all paid for.

The longer he stood there, the worse it got. You could see him disappearing into his own head. And I remember thinking: there is no way I’m doing that. The second they say go, I’m gone.

It helped that a little kid in front of me had just done it without blinking. So there was no way I was going to pussy out after that.

I knew it was safe but the longer I waited the more my mind started running through all the things that could go wrong.

When I got up there I was actually pretty calm. Cracking jokes with the instructors, trying to distract myself. They attached the rope to my legs. I waddled up to the ledge. I stared down at the drop. Then my mind really started screaming at me: What the f*ck are you doing.

Before I could think, the instructor counted down. Three. Two. One.

And I just fell.

Fifty meters, headfirst, towards the Waikato River. Your body has genuinely no idea what’s happening. My arms are going absolutely everywhere as I try to control myself on the way down.

Then the bungee kicks in and yanks me back up. That was actually the worst part. Because now I’m thinking oh god I have to do that again, and you can see me flailing around trying to reposition myself on the way back up.

It did nothing. Once you’re on a bungee you just have to let go. There’s nothing to control. It’s going to take you where it’s going to take you.

It was all over very quickly, thank god.

My sister met me halfway up the path afterwards. She’d done it on her 30th so this was basically payback. She had a massive grin on her face. I was expecting some joke but instead she just gave me a big hug and said, “You can do anything now.”

And she’s right. You can.

If that thing you’ve been putting off entered your mind while reading this, here’s what I’d tell you:

Get yourself on the platform. This is the hardest part and there’s no way around it. I didn’t book the bungee jump. My sisters did. They handed me a date and a time and said you’re doing this. I just had to show up. Do the same for yourself. Book the thing. Tell someone. Put money down. Take the decision off your own plate. Once you’re on the platform, it’s happening.

Borrow someone else’s perspective. Looking at that guy frozen on the edge, it was painfully obvious what he should do. Just jump. When it’s someone else’s problem, you can see the whole thing clearly. When it’s yours, you can’t. So step outside yourself for a second. What would you tell a friend in your exact situation? Now follow your own advice.

Three seconds is all you get. The countdown worked because it stopped me from thinking. Once the instructor started, I wasn’t making a decision anymore. I was just following an instruction. Way easier. When you’re stuck, count yourself down: three, two, one, go. Before your brain catches up and talks you out of it.

You can’t control the outcome. On the way back up I was flailing, trying to reposition myself, trying to make it smoother. Did nothing. Once you’re in it, the flailing and struggle to stay in control just makes you tired. Let go. It doesn’t matter what happens now, you are not in control. The decisions that mattered were made before you jumped.

Do it with people you love. My sister meeting me halfway up the path meant more than the jump itself. Do the hard thing with people who’ll actually be proud of you, not just impressed or entertained. People who get how hard it is. And if you don’t have those people yet, be that person for someone else first. It comes back.

I didn’t see the guy from the queue afterwards. He did end up jumping and I can guarantee he would have regretted not doing it.

But I keep thinking about how long he stood there. How hard his brain was working to protect him from a danger that wasn’t real. You can wait on the platform as long as you want. But, the longer you wait the more unnecessary worry and fear you hold on to.

You may as well take the jump.

You just need to get on the platform, count to three, and let yourself fall.