This idea that we need to lump people with more in the name or marketing makes zero sense. It makes even less sense for more to be written by a robot, scheduled to land at 2:12 on a Tuesday afternoon, because that’s the time the “metrics” suggest it will be received.

Humans were never supposed to be optimised. They were never supposed to strip the very things that make them feel alive until only a shell of themselves remains. They weren’t supposed to work faster and harder and innovate the shit out of every system until they’ve extracted themselves out of it entirely.

 I also didn’t create a lead magnet, build a funnel or set up a sellable system to lure people in (I actually forgot to leave a link in a place you could find it, a follower had to chase me for it - that has to be the opposite of launch 101, right?). And yet, I ended the sale almost tripling my target and achieving the highest “stats” I had in years.

When you position yourself as the fix, as the solution, as the one with all the answers, you unknowingly take something away from the people you're trying to help. You create a hierarchy that says "I know more than you" without ever actually saying those words. And what that does, even with the best intentions, is have people outsourcing their wisdom to you in a way that becomes disempowering for everyone involved.

Sat around a table with 14 other women, I felt something I didn't expect: unoriginal. And instead of that feeling being a problem, it was one of the most liberating moments I have had in a long time. It got me thinking about how much of the marketing industry is built on this relentless pursuit of differentiation, and how chasing that can actually strip us of the very magnetism that makes us memorable in the first place.

The ways we outsource our genius: through endless investments, qualifications, AI, psychics, business coaches, cookie-cutter strategies, all in a bid to escape the discomfort of not knowing. But what if that discomfort is actually the gateway? 

Visionaries really need voids. They need space in the calendar where nothing is expected of them and they get to explore outside of the confines. They need to switch off from the way the world currently operates to imagine one that makes far more sense.They need to tend to themselves to carry the weight of what the world begs from them.

confession: I'm an avid doomscroller. I get swept up in the scroll so damn easily that I'm ashamed to admit it out loud. I see my screen time stats and I spiral, then scroll to escape that shame. Make it make sense. And in doing so, the hermit in me ends up screaming at me to stop. To have space. To consider how unnatural all this information is and how much it's stealing my capacity, my best ideas and my visionary thinking.

From the moment Cass found her way to my screen, I was in awe of how she built a creative career by truly owning her style. And not the kind that arrived right away. But the one that found its place from following nudge after nudge of what lit her up, until that radiance shone so bright that people wanted to collaborate with it.

4 words that feel like both a contraction and expansion in equal measures. Because I want to let it to be shit, but I can’t. I’ve never willingly let anything be shit, but I know I need to. I want to. My creativity is begging me to…

The muse is only fragile when we treat it like it is. When we contort it and control the conditions it creates in. When we make it believe there is a right way to create. But when we give it the space it creates, we realise that the muse isn’t fragile at all. In fact, it’s infinite in its resources.

Because the truth is, marketing had been misaligned way before robots got a grip on it. It had lost its core, its expression, its purpose, its power, its artful nature. That happened before ChatGPT became the top tab in every marketer's browser.

This year feels different. Not in a “new year, new me” way, but in a quieter, more grounded sense of being asked to commit to what feels true without needing certainty, to create without knowing how it will be received, to let yourself draw something, rub it out, redraw it, and still call that devotion rather than failure.

The biggest barrier to marketing I see for so many founders is seeing it as separate from the service they already know how to deliver so seamlessly. They know their work has impact, but they doubt that when it comes to sharing it. Not because they don’t have the right things to say, but they’ve forgotten to let the ways they are of serivcr lead the way they market it.

Claiming the truth of what our work is really here to move, sometimes means losing resonance with those it doesn’t truly serve. And that can feel like isolation, until it morphs into the deepest sense of resonance and belonging imaginable.

When I work with clients now, most of them aren’t struggling with marketing tactics. They’re struggling with permission.

Permission to say what they really want to say.
To show the parts of their work that feel too deep, too emotional, too “different.” But that’s exactly where your magic lies.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying ChatGPT or other AI tools aren’t helpful.

ChatGPT has claimed third place in my multitude of tabs that I never close, and it isn’t budging anytime soon.

But when it’s at the cost of the very voice people want to invest in, I think we need to reconsider.

your vision exists in a realm that others haven’t yet experienced. It’s your imagination that gets there first and your role is to translate it into something people can feel.

That’s what visionary marketing is all about.

Perfectly polished posts might attract attention, but they rarely hold it. The moment someone recognises themselves in your honesty, that’s when real connection happens.

Maybe that’s what we’re all craving - not more clever hooks, but more space for our humanity to land.