Every Hobby Is Now A Side Hustle

Every pastime requires branding. Every hobby needs a logo. Every creative outlet apparently deserves its own Instagram account, YouTube channel, Facebook page, TikTok profile, email newsletter and a podcast for good measure.

The funny thing is, most of them never amount to anything. They keep us busy for a week or two before quietly joining the ever-growing graveyard of abandoned channels and forgotten dreams.

And why would you even want to be an influencer?

One bad post. One joke that lands badly. One opinion that half the internet decides to hate and suddenly you're public enemy number one. Imagine living your life knowing that every sentence could end up on a thousand angry Facebook pages.

No thanks.

I'd much rather enjoy my hobby than spend my life worrying whether strangers approve of it.

God forbid you simply enjoy doing something.

We No Longer Own Anything

I miss buying things.

Remember that? You walked into a shop, handed over your money, took the thing home and, in a radical concept that now seems almost quaint... it belonged to you.

You bought a lawnmower. It was yours.

You bought a record. Yours.

You bought a television. Yours.

If it broke, you fixed it. If you didn't like it anymore, you sold it. If you wanted to keep it for twenty years, nobody turned up demanding another monthly payment before allowing you to switch it on.

Somewhere along the way, ownership quietly disappeared.

Now everything is rented. Music? Monthly subscription. Movies? Monthly subscription. Television? Three monthly subscriptions because apparently each company has decided it deserves its own streaming service. Software? Subscription. Cloud storage? Subscription. And that’s just off the top of my head!

It's a strange arrangement. We pay more than ever before yet own less than ever before.

Our movies can disappear from streaming services overnight. Our eBooks can be removed from our libraries (if we had any; I prefer the old fashioned book in hand). Our music exists only while someone keeps billing our credit card.

Half the things in our homes work only because a server somewhere, owned by someone we've never met, continues to exist.

We've become permanent tenants in our own digital lives.

Nothing is ever finished. Nothing is ever fully ours. Everything renews automatically, expires unexpectedly or asks for another payment just when you thought you'd already bought it.

I don't mind paying for things that genuinely need ongoing support. That makes sense. What I object to is buying something only to discover I've entered a long-term financial relationship with it. I don't want a monthly commitment with my software. I don't want one with my television.

I'd just like to buy something again... and have the outrageous expectation that it's actually mine.

"AI-Powered." My Toothbrush Will Probably Ask Me To Prompt It Next.

I don't know exactly when it happened, but apparently, we've reached the point where absolutely everything is now powered by Artificial Intelligence. Not just the obvious things. Everything.

I swear if I walked into Bunnings tomorrow, I'd find an AI-powered garden hose that analyses my lawn's emotional wellbeing before deciding whether the roses deserve watering.

Every advertisement now has the same sales pitch. "Now with AI!" Wonderful. What was wrong with it before?

It used to be enough to tell me a vacuum cleaner sucked. That was literally its entire job. Now it apparently maps my house, learns my cleaning habits, predicts where the dust will appear next Tuesday and sends me performance reports. (While I don’t have a dust prediction system, I do have a robot vac lol)

All I want it to do is to vacuum the bloody floors!

Even toothbrushes are getting in on the act. Somewhere, someone is brushing their teeth while an app congratulates them for achieving an above-average molar performance score.

I don't need feedback from my toothbrush; I need it to remove yesterday's coffee stains.

Everything now promises to "learn." My television learns. My car learns. My phone learns. My coffee machine probably knows more about me than the Squeeze; and frankly, that's a little unsettling.

The funniest part is that companies don't even explain what the AI actually does anymore. They simply stick those two magical letters on the box and add another hundred dollars to the price.

It's become the modern equivalent of "low fat," "organic" or "gluten free."

AI mattresses.

AI pet bowls.

I'm waiting for AI toilet paper.

"It anticipates your needs before you sit down."

At some point we've got to reach peak stupidity. We'll buy an AI-powered kettle that refuses to boil because it has analysed our caffeine intake and decided we've had enough for the day.

Meanwhile, I'm still standing in my kitchen yelling at my robot vacuum because it's trapped itself under the same chair for the seventeenth time this month.

Apparently it's intelligent.

I'm not convinced. 

The Problem With Donald Trump Isn't Donald Trump

The problem with Donald Trump isn't that he says outrageous. ridiculous things.

Politicians have been saying outrageous things since somebody first discovered that outrage gets attention. The problem is that he proved being a fucking nutcase running a country, works.

Before Trump, there was still a vague expectation that presidents should occasionally sound... presidential. They didn't always manage it, but at least they pretended to aspire to it.

Now politics often resembles a never-ending online argument where the loudest person wins. Insults have replaced debate. Nicknames have replaced policy. Every disagreement is treated like a heavyweight title fight.

Winning the news cycle has become more important than solving world hunger.

Trump didn't invent division, but he has become one of its greatest beneficiaries. Every inflammatory comment guarantees another twenty-four hours of headlines. Every confrontation becomes another loyalty test.

Every criticism becomes evidence of a conspiracy. And somewhere in the middle of all the shouting, the actual issues quietly wander off unnoticed. The issues remain.

What worries me most isn't Donald Trump himself.

One day he'll leave the political stage.

The style won't.

Future politicians have watched him dominate attention and learned a dangerous lesson. You don't need thoughtful speeches if outrage keeps people watching. You don't need compromise if conflict raises donations. You don't even need people to like you. You just need them to never stop talking about you.

That's a terrible lesson for democracy.

Democracy depends on disagreement.

It doesn't survive very well on permanent warfare.

We should expect more from our leaders than the ability to trend on social media. We should expect honesty, restraint, respect for institutions, and the ability to admit when they're wrong.

But those qualities don't generate viral clips.

History won't judge leaders by how many headlines they created. It will judge them by whether they left their nation stronger, calmer and more united than they found it. And that's a much harder test.

And it's the one that really matters.

The Death of Being Average

Being average has become embarrassing.

Somewhere along the way, we decided that ordinary wasn't good enough anymore. I sometimes think the worst thing social media ever did wasn't making us compare ourselves to celebrities. And I mean real ones – not “influencers”. 

It convinced us that being ordinary was some kind of personal failure. Apparently, we're all supposed to be exceptional now. Not just reasonably competent. Exceptional.

You can't simply enjoy cooking anymore. No. You need a food channel, a cookbook, a knife range and an opinion on Himalayan salt.

You can't go for a walk. You're on a wellness journey.

You can't have a garden. You're creating an outdoor sanctuary.

You can't own a dog. You're a pet parent raising a fur baby with emotional intelligence.

Everything has become a brand.

When I was younger, nobody expected greatness from everyone. Most people simply hoped to have a decent job, raise a family, own a house if they were lucky and perhaps retire before their knees completely gave up (and most don’t get to). That wasn't considered failure. That was considered life.

Now every second person online claims to be an entrepreneur, an influencer, a thought leader, a mindset coach, a digital creator or a visionary. I'm never quite sure what half these people actually do. They seem to spend their time teaching other people how to become people who teach other people.

It's like watching an endless pyramid scheme built entirely from motivational quotes.

The pressure to stand out is exhausting. Every photo has to be perfect. Every holiday has to be breathtaking. Every meal has to be restaurant quality. Every birthday has to look like a Hollywood movie premiere.

If your life doesn't attract strangers on the internet, apparently it barely counts.

Meanwhile, most of us are just trying to remember where we left the bloody car keys…