I Failed As A Content Creator.

It's time to move on.

I’ve always been horrible at making content. Even when social media was only still photos, I could never get the hang of photography. Photography is an art form, but I personally feel like it also requires an analytical eye to really set the juxtaposition of objects off. I created social media content because I thought it would help sales, teach people about Puerto Rican food through a different medium, give clear direction to some of the book’s recipes for people who are more visual learners and I thought it would be fun. I thought it was the next step in ensuring my book, and me, stayed in the public eye and was not forgotten.

Morning during a Sunday drive

For as much as I’ve been blamed for the disruption of the traditional publishing industry there are still parts of the past food system that I relish. I still watch contemporary social media content of Marco Pierre White cooking lentils with a delirious amount of Italian olive oil until the confluence of legume liquor and oil have shifted into a concentrated serum. I carefully study his squinty smolder and wild mane and I am delighted in his perceived “meanness.” He moves along as handfuls of trolls comment, “I love lentils with stockpot.” A swipe at MPW’s past involvement in the advertising campaigns for Knorr’s bouillon cubes. Can “meanness” and being labeled an enfant terrible take someone from being the youngest chef to earn three Michelin stars…giving the world protégés like Gordon Ramsay…someone who helped changed the landscape of English food…to someone remembered as a bouillon cube ambassador?

My Instagram has been deactivated for nearly two months and I don’t miss it. It got to the point where it just made me sad. My mutuals were flourishing and I was getting reprimanded by a parasocial for “gatekeeping” the location of a breakfast burrito. It felt pointless to be schlepping in my little kitchen, recording extremely poor quality videos that really didn’t see the light of day after I spent 12 hours to create it. I felt like I was gambling with scared money and whatever I was working towards was coming up snake eyes.

Why did I create the content? Admittedly, I wanted to showcase Puerto Rican food while working with brands. That’s actually fun. I’m super grateful for the brand work that was offered to me. In those fleeting moments I felt extremely valued because there were no quarrels, or negotiations over worth. I love being able to teach people how to cook my food and I know having a visual helps a lot. After spending six years working on the book and trying to kick it into the goal net passed the gatekeepers…I got what I wanted; the book and the Beard. And I did it before the publishing industry aggressively and unapologetically shifted towards social media farming for creators with cooking skills and millions of followers. Somewhere along the way I got lost.

We went to The Olive Garden for the first time and it was absolutely disgusting. Words that I don’t think I have ever muttered. The alfredo tasted like curdled eggs. I sent it back and got angel hair scampi. And now know why a fleet of Americans now think scampi is a pasta dish, when it’s a shrimp garlic and butter dish. I hate Olive Garden.

I’m not a fucking content creator. I never was. I never wanted to be. I got trapped in this weird cycle of being seen. You have to create the content to be seen and you have to be seen to attract opportunities. I have a website. Brands do not go to websites. They go straight to your social media page. And if you’re not active, you’ve lost an opportunity. That cycle pushed me so far away and disconnected me from what I really am that I forgot what actually made me happy…writing. I’m most happy when I’m jotting away my thoughts after I’ve experienced and consumed. I’m a writer.

Speaking out against injustice, posting screenshots of industry sentinels’ naughty behavior and harvesting information in order to share it with an online audience was my thing for years. It earned me the title of being “difficult,” and my big mouth earned me reputation of being an enfant terrible. It’s also what kinda catapulted my career. Somewhere along the journey it became passé and I didn’t get the memo. A BIPOC reserving information for monetary advancement would have been celebrated five years ago. The hustle respected. Now? It just feels like it’s been filed away with the other trends of 2020, including the WAP challenge and “Bored in the House.”

Everyone forgot 2020.

Props to some of the content creators that have become mutuals. You’re doing the work of 11 industry jobs: marketing, lighting, photography, videography, editing, producing, directing, food styling, prop styling, cooking and cleaning. These are actual real jobs in the industry. You have both democratized the publishing industry, but also made it standard for every author to have a minimum social media following of 500,000 followers. Some of us are not content creators. Some of you are not writers; some of your contracts come with a contingency clause where the publisher requires you to hire your own co-writer.

Props to some of the women on the traditional media side that I look up to: Sunny Anderson, Padma Lakshmi and Marcela Valladolid. Hardworking superheroes in the food entertainment world that I wish I could model my public persona after. I just don’t know how they’ve managed to keep up their poised pageantry with a smile and grace through some very public scrutiny during their long existence in the industry. The more I’ve experience the entitled behavior of some parasocials, the more I’ve realized that simply existing in a public position is not for the weak…or for the manic.

All of my bridges have been burnt in the traditional publishing world. I burned them. Good and charred. Honestly, there probably wasn’t much left for me there anyway. I have no desire to soften the edges for those cosplaying as an ecclesiastical authority. I had slithered my way through the cracks of an industry that never wanted me until one person…one mensch…believed in me. It’s true, it only takes one.

You can do all the things: be on all the lists, be a bestseller, get the fame, get the awards…and people will forget about you anyway. Solely being remembered as an ambassador for bouillon cubes and not celebrated for “changing the landscape of traditional food media.” Whether I burnt the bridges accidentally, strategically, or burning bridges is just my personality default…it was necessary to move on to what I’ve been too scared to do.

I’m focusing on a new project that’s loosely based off the memoir chapters of my book and heading into a different direction.

Whether the social media content I created helped push sales, or gave clear directions to some of the recipes for people who are more visual learners…I don’t know. It was wonderful to see people recreate those recipes and share their photos and their thoughts. That part I will miss. I’m still cooking for myself and will occasionally share a recipe for the newsletter. I’ll try and find a way to move the Sunday drives over here. I have to admit, I haven’t been doing too many of those lately either. The engagement is addictive and the withdrawals are real; FOMO, depression, jealousy, envy and anxiety. I’ve taken to hiding in my newsletter. Back to the comfort of the analog.