3 months ago
7
Today’s post is by writer and leadership consultant Blair Glaser.
I’ve got a print-on-demand memoir (This Incredible Longing: Finding Myself in a Near-Cult Experience, Heliotrope) coming out in February, which means that it won’t automatically be distributed to bookstores. If I want to walk into a store and see my book on a shelf, I’m going to have to recruit readers who demand it.
But how?
Social media is the default way to build a platform, but I’m not great at it. I’m a sloppy poster. I’ll write intros to share my articles but forget to add the link. I proofread my posts, but apparently my eyes have gotten lazy and I make embarrassing typos (their, they’re, there, anyone?). I have spurts of posting, then get tired and give up for months, even though I know it’s an algorithmic setback. Plus, the attention economy is flooded, and I’m overwhelmed with how hard I have to work to get attention.
When contemplating other ways to grow my audience and my leadership consulting business, I decided to give in-person networking a try. Relationships are how things get built, and once I get over the dread of standing around awkwardly searching for a conversation, I like making local, in-person connections.
But deep down I’ve been wondering. Is it also avoidance?
At my first networking event, slumped with my hands in my pockets, I scanned the room for a conversation. A man in a sharp grey suit approached with a friendly smile and interesting questions. We chit-chatted about the panel, his business, and the networking climate in LA. He took a sincere interest in my business and book, but then advised me to do the exact task I’ve been trying to skirt: “You should really be on TikTok speaking directly to the moment. You’ll sell tons of books and be asked to speak in places like India and Singapore.”
I nodded, as something like bile made its way to the back of my throat.
Every few months, my husband, a filmmaker, tries to push me towards video. “People need to see you to trust you,” he says. My TikTok-loving nephew agrees. I know they have a point, but I’ve ignored them, along with the business coach who I paid to ignore eight years ago when he told me, “You. Need. To Be. On. Video,” punctuating each word with a clap. When I think about being a regular reeler, it activates my nervous system worse than chewing tin foil.
Why so much Sturm und Drang?
First off, I, like so many, can’t stand to watch myself on film. My face moves a lot when I speak, and my forehead appears to be lined with ramen noodles. I could ostensibly get over my vanity and focus on making a bigger impact. But as I imagine myself perched in front of a fancy ring light, I realize even with a Bachelor of Science degree in theater from a reputable university, I don’t know how to talk to a phone like it’s a person. It makes me feel silly.
That being said, I’ve had therapy. I even became a drama therapist! I should have tools to push through this. But I don’t push through, in part because my leadership work is geared toward helping people develop the relational skills that are eroding as we interact less with embodied people and more with our phones. I want to look people in the eye. I want to share conversation, not talk at people like I am the expert (OK, my husband would probably balk at this, but with him I am the expert). I like having conversations that spark new ideas in real-time, not just in 2D comment sections. Plus, I know that if I post videos, I will be online a lot more than I already am, checking the stats and watching to see what others are doing. I don’t want to support the tech addiction in myself or others.
My colleague, after publishing a gorgeous reel of her travels which got a lot of views, thinks it’s the way to go. “But maybe I’m just not a reels person,” I balk. She reflects that maybe I just don’t want to work so hard to build readership, which made me sound awfully entitled and privileged. If I were super hungry, without a husband and savings, wouldn’t I push past my introverted tendencies and just be out there on video, influencing all the time?
Later that day, I clicked onto a reel in which a young person was taking a break from a TikTok marketing workshop. Without irony, they share how conflicted they feel about the workshop’s push to constantly hustle and promote oneself in this late-stage, capitalistic culture, especially while the world is on fire. Suddenly, I feel my resistance to reeling and posting is validated. Maybe I’m not just an old GenXer conflicted about promoting my talents as a writer and consultant. There are many who are fed up with having to constantly feed the machine to make a living. There’s a real systemic issue at play. The attention economy isn’t for everyone. The model is broken.
Broken as it may be, it’s the only one we’ve got right now, and I do want new readers and clients. Will I eventually make reels or simply continue to reel from the thought of it? I’m not sure yet. The desire to disconnect from my phone, curb my social media addiction, and connect with real people in real time is leading me to stick with in-person networking for the time being. It’s slow, but I’ve met people who will not only buy my book, but have also expressed interest in attending launch events.
But the joke may be on me: So far, from about ten hours of networking, I’ve made about 25 new connections … on LinkedIn.
