Remember when brands just… sold stuff? (Pepperidge Farm remembers.)

When car ads were about the vehicle’s performance, not how it’d transform you into a better person? When you could buy a pair of shoes without feeling like you were entering a long-term relationship, complete with the inevitable disappointment when they don’t live up to your expectations?

Somewhere along the line, brands decided they needed to be our besties, therapists, and moral compasses all rolled into one. We've got Wendy's social team roasting competitors and customers harder than they roast their beef, Duolingo’s owl stalking users on TikTok, and countless others trying to slide into your DMs like that girl from high school selling essential oils.

These brands are using humour and relatability to seem more human and approachable. It's as if they’re saying, "Hey, we're not just here to sell you stuff. We're here to entertain you, commiserate with you, and maybe even gently bully you into using our products.” Because nothing says “buy our stuff” like owl memes. Sure, it’s entertaining sometimes, but it also blurs the lines between genuine connection and marketing strategy.

What's ironic is that while brands are striving to appear more human, many of us are grappling with how to present ourselves online. I catch myself doing it, too—posting the perfect "imperfect" selfie on Instagram or overthinking a casual tweet. When did being ourselves become yet another item on our to-do lists?

This constant curation comes at a cost. We're so busy crafting our “authentic” image that we might be drifting farther from it. The pressure to always be ‘on’ can lead to burnout, and the fear of revealing our true selves might leave us feeling isolated and inadequate.

We're creating a world where everyone seems perfectly imperfect, making it harder for anyone to admit to real, messy problems. Maybe we're all just desperate to connect. The world feels so disconnected these days. We're wired to want to bond with people, right? Or maybe we're just afraid of being alone with our thoughts for more than five minutes.

But in our desperation, we've latched onto the idea of authenticity and vulnerability being a lifeline. I’m no exception—I wrote about authenticity being your “secret weapon” a few years back. Brands playing our BFFs have confused the performance of authenticity with the real thing.

And here’s the kicker: the more we strive for authenticity, the further we get from it.

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Today’s creative industry is a far cry from when I started freelancing. A decade ago, you could land clients with a solid portfolio and a firm handshake. Now? You need a compelling personal brand story, a consistent social media presence, and a “unique voice” that somehow stands out among a sea of hot takes.

It's no longer enough to be skilled; you need to be a personality.

This shift has turned us creatives into reluctant micro-celebrities, each expected to cultivate and maintain a fan base alongside our client list. Forget honing your craft—your real job is to become a walking, talking, tweeting billboard for your personal brand.

Clients and employers don’t just want to see your work anymore. Oh no, they want to “know” the person behind it, peeking behind the curtain as if your creative process is some sort of Wizard of Oz spectacle. Authenticity isn’t just valued; it’s demanded.

But hot damn, humans are messy. We’re all over the place, full of contradictions and imperfections. Some days, we’re productivity machines; others, we’re binge-watching "The Great British Bake Off" all day and calling it "market research." (Hey, those bakers know a thing or two about personal branding, okay?)

By trying to fit ourselves into an “authentic” brand, we're not just being inauthentic to our audience—we're gaslighting ourselves. We're stuck in this bizarre authenticity arms race, each trying to out-real the other while secretly wondering if we're the only ones who feel like imposters.

And let's be real (pun intended)—keeping up this façade is exhausting. Our work has become so intertwined with our identities that separating the two is harder than prying apart those tiny Lego pieces your kid somehow glued together. Am I being authentic enough? Am I being TOO authentic? Is this tweet relatable or just weird? Oh, hi, anxiety and impostor syndrome! Fancy meeting you here… again.

Then there's our relationships. This whole "authenticity" game isn't just annoying; it's harmful. To our mental health, relationships—everything. We're all becoming increasingly cynical, always looking for the hidden agenda behind every "vulnerable" post or "honest" brand message. We curate our lives online so meticulously that when we meet face-to-face, we're almost strangers to ourselves—and to each other. It's loneliness wearing a party hat.

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So I’ve been wondering: Can we (or should we) ever really bring our whole messy selves to work? Especially when we work for ourselves?

I've been thinking about this a lot lately, especially since I stumbled on Internal Family Systems (IFS) therapy. Now, before you roll your eyes and think I've gone full kumbaya, hear me out.

IFS is a way of looking at ourselves as a collection of different 'parts'—like an ensemble cast where each character has its own quirks. Picture a freelance writer (hello!) facing a deadline. The 'creator' part wants to perfect every sentence. The 'business' part urges them to submit the work and invoice the client. Meanwhile, their 'perfectionist' part is paralysed by fear of criticism. And their 'procrastinator' part? It’s already scrolling Instagram.

These aren’t just hats we wear. They’re parts of our psyche, all jostling for the spotlight. A rowdy family dinner where everyone's trying to get a word in. Each part has independent (often conflicting) goals, needs, desires, and fears.

When we present only **one part of ourselves—the one we think is most marketable—we’re not being fully authentic. True authenticity comes from acknowledging and integrating all of these parts, even the ones that don’t fit neatly into our personal brand.

Those hidden parts are just as much "you" as the highlight reel. And the magic only happens when they all get a chance to play. By hiding them away, we're not only limiting our full potential; we're setting unrealistic expectations for ourselves and others. We're all walking around with a "Best Of" compilation playing while the deep cuts and B-sides collect dust.

And by constantly pushing those parts aside in favour of our #authentic brand, we're not just being inauthentic to the world—we're being inauthentic to ourselves.

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So what if there’s no one "real" version of us? What if, instead of squeezing ourselves into some perfect mould, we let all our weird parts coexist? What if we shared not just our successes but our struggles, too? Not for the sake of engagement or likes but because it's part of who we are.

Authenticity, from this perspective, isn't a marketing tool. It's not a way to attract attention or build a brand. It's about aligning with our true values and ethics.

Now, I'm not here to critique anyone’s choices or to suggest we all start oversharing every fleeting thought or emotion online. There's no authenticity police coming to knock down your door if you decide to keep curating your Instagram feed. (Though if there were, I imagine they'd wear some fabulous, yet effortlessly casual, uniforms.) There's value in privacy and in being intentional about what we share.

What I am suggesting is that maybe we need to take a beat and ease up on the pressure to present a perfectly authentic persona. To question why we feel the need to perform our realness, and what we might gain by embracing our full, messy selves instead. Because let's face it: we're all a bit of a hot mess sometimes.

This could look like sharing a social media post about struggling with writer's block alongside your polished portfolio pieces. Writing a blog post about how you balance your creative ideals with business realities. Or simply admitting to a client that while you're excited about their project, you're also feeling a bit overwhelmed with your current workload.

Authenticity isn't a destination or a checklist item; it's an ongoing process of self-awareness and expression. By letting go of the need to portray ourselves in a certain way, we open up space for genuine connection—both with others and within ourselves.

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So here I am, after all this talk about authenticity, realising that maybe the most authentic thing I can admit is that I'm still figuring it out—just like everyone else. Perhaps that's the point. We're all navigating this maze of memes, marketing, and manufactured "realness," trying to find something genuine.

I'm no longer trying to be the "authentic marketing guy" or the "vulnerable freelance writer." I'm just... me. Sometimes insightful, sometimes goofy, sometimes a bit of a mess. And you know what? It feels a whole lot better than constantly second-guessing whether I'm being "authentic" enough. It's freeing, and it's led to more genuine connections and opportunities.

So the next time I catch myself staging an "impromptu" candid photo or overthinking a tweet to sound effortlessly witty, I'll try to pause and remind myself: maybe authenticity isn't about perfecting an image but about letting ourselves be, well, ourselves. Flaws and all. And perhaps, in doing so, we create space for others to do the same.”

After all, if brands can pretend to be our besties with owl memes and sassy tweets, surely we can cut ourselves some slack. Maybe embracing our imperfect selves is the most rebellious—and authentic—act of all.