Today I'm off to Melbourne to do the step Mum thing!
I'm sure I can have a day of rest. If it's good enough for Jesus, I guess it's good enough for me!
The art of dating when you are in your 40’s is a perilous, soul destroying mission. I blame my misfortune with men on the 'fairy tale factor'... That never ending belief that love conquers all and that one day a prince will come. Reality isn't even close to the fairy tale. Especially when the prince doesn’t just come with baggage – he comes with a bitter, money grubbing ex-wife clinging to his back like a hump.
Today I'm off to Melbourne to do the step Mum thing!
I'm sure I can have a day of rest. If it's good enough for Jesus, I guess it's good enough for me!
Oh, it's a sad time to be alive as a human. We have information coming at us from every angle, every way it can come at you. And most of it is negative... Why? Because that is the way people keep coming back. It's like looking at an accident - people can't help themselves.
But everyone loves blaming social media. The apps, the
algorithm, the “environment.” It’s always something external, something out of
their control. But at some point, you have to admit what’s actually happening.
It’s not the app dragging your ass back. It’s you opening it again. And again. And
again. Refreshing the same feed 47 times a day and calling it “just checking
something.”
The truth is uncomfortable because it’s simple. Social media
doesn’t force anything on you. It responds. It gives you more of whatever you
react to. You pause on outrage; it gives you more outrage. You compare yourself
to strangers, it lines up more strangers. It’s not random. It’s a mirror that
keeps adjusting to whatever you feed it.
And you keep feeding it.
That’s the part no one wants to sit with. It’s easier to say
the platform is toxic than to admit you keep going back to things that make you
feel worse. You engage with it, you react to it, and then you complain about
how bad it is, like you weren’t part of the process.
You weren’t trapped.
You were involved.
People act like they’ve lost control, but most of the time
it’s just habit dressed up as helplessness. You pick it up without thinking,
scroll without noticing, and then wonder why you feel flat, irritated, or
slightly off. It’s not complicated. You’ve spent the last half hour consuming
things designed to get a reaction out of you.
Of course you feel like that.
And then comes the best part. Closing the app and saying,
“God, that place is toxic,” as if you weren’t just actively participating in it
five seconds ago. Even though you had to scroll at the dining table instead of talking to your partner. How many times have you been to a restaurant and watched people on their phones? Not speaking.
Social media isn’t the problem. It’s just very good at
giving you what you respond to. The more honest question is why you keep
responding to the same things and expecting a different result.
That’s where it gets a bit uncomfortable.
Because at some point, your feed starts to look a lot like
you.
Not who you think you are.
Who you actually engage like.
And that’s harder to blame on an algorithm.
“I’m just being real.”
With lighting, editing, and twenty-three takes.
Being “real” used to mean something. It meant unfiltered, unplanned, a bit rough around the edges. Now it means carefully controlled dishonesty, delivered in a way that feels natural but absolutely isn’t. The lighting is right, the angle is tested, and whatever you’re seeing has already been chosen as the version worth showing.
That’s not authenticity. That’s production.
The strange part is how convincing it is. People watch these moments and think they’re seeing something raw, something genuine, when in reality, they’re seeing something shaped just enough to feel real without actually being it. A bad day gets edited. A vulnerable moment gets framed. Even silence gets curated, so it lands the right way.
Nothing is accidental anymore.
And that’s where it flips. Because once “real” becomes something you perform, it stops being real at all. It becomes another version of the same thing - content designed to connect, not because it’s honest, but because it works.
You can feel it if you pay attention. That slight polish underneath everything. The sense that the person talking is aware of how it looks while they’re doing it. It’s not fake in the obvious way. It’s just managed.
And people still buy it. Not because they’re naïve, but because they want to. It’s easier to engage with something that feels authentic than to question whether it actually is. So, the cycle keeps going. More “real” moments, more engagement, more reward for getting the tone exactly right.
Until being authentic becomes a skill set.
Which is probably the clearest sign it isn’t anymore.
“Hey guys, just jumping on here…”
You can almost hear the whiney voice… Hell, they’ve been “jumping on here” for six
years. We get it!
Influencing is the only job where doing nothing somehow
looks exhausting. Every post comes with a sigh, a story, a quiet explanation
about how busy things have been lately, and yet from the outside it’s mostly
the same cycle repeating itself. Wake up, film yourself, talk about it, and
then explain how hard it is to keep up. No one is saying it’s zero effort. It’s
just not what it’s being sold as. Especially when you consider they’ve done
thousands of photos to capture that one shot.
Everything becomes content. Breakfast, a walk, a bad day,
even taking a break gets packaged, explained, and turned into something that
still feeds the algorithm. At some point, it stops being life and starts being
management. You’re not just living anymore, you’re curating, constantly aware
of how everything looks and whether it’s worth posting.
Then there’s the voice. That calm, slightly breathy tone
that suggests something meaningful is about to be shared, when in reality it’s
usually a product you “absolutely love right now,” which conveniently didn’t
exist last week and won’t be mentioned again next week. It’s not
recommendation. It’s rotation.
The relatability angle is where it really stretches. “I’m
just like you.”
No, you’re not. You’re filming yourself being relatable
under good lighting, with multiple takes and a clear sense of what will land.
That’s not real life. That’s performance dressed up as honesty.
And it never stops. There’s no off switch, because
everything has potential value. A normal moment can’t just be a normal moment
anymore. It has to be captured, framed, edited, and shared, otherwise it feels
like it didn’t count.
And maybe that’s the real issue. Not that influencing
exists, but that so much of it is empty and still treated like it’s important…
I think more needs to be said on this issue...
When Prince Harry and Meghan Markle turned up at Bondi, it
came with everything you’d expect - cameras, crowds, security.
And then there was the woman on the towel. She didn’t move.
She didn’t react. She didn’t even look particularly interested.
The rest of it felt more accustomed to. Phones out, people
watching, that shift where curiosity turns into something more intense, more
entitled.
The kind of attention that doesn’t leave much room for
anyone to just exist. And that’s where it stops being harmless, because this
isn’t really about a beach visit. It’s about the way Prince Harry has been
treated for most of his life.
He grew up inside a system that expected a version of him,
then stepped away and tried to build something different. The response hasn’t
been space. It’s been scrutiny, criticism, and a constant pull back into a
story he clearly wants out of. I find it mind boggling.
It’s hard not to think about Princess Diana when you see it.
Not dramatically, just in the repetition - the attention that doesn’t ease off,
the sense that stepping back doesn’t reduce it, it just reshapes it. We said we
learned from that. But attention didn’t disappear. It just became normal.
That’s why that Bondi moment works in my mind. Not because
it’s clever, but because it’s simple.
One person quietly opting out. No phones, no reaction, no need to turn it into content. Just space. And that’s probably all Harry has been asking for. Not attention, not approval - just room to live without everything being turned into something bigger than it is. Strip it back and it’s simple: two people walking on a beach, a crowd deciding it matters, and one person deciding it doesn’t. Maybe that’s the lesson.