I’m lying in my camper van reading a book when I get a tap on the door from a random man.

He senses my hesitation straight away and says quickly, “We’ve followed each other on Instagram for ages. I recognise your van.”

A familiar name clicks into place. A mutual friend. Someone who’s quietly cheered me on since the early days of sharing my work online.

“How are you going with van life?” he asks. I pause, deciding how much truth to give a stranger.

“Yeah, doing okay! How are you going?” feels polite enough.

He hesitates. “Can I be honest?”

“Sure.”

“I’m really not enjoying it.”

Relief spills out of me. “Oh thank f***, because I’m not either. Let me put the kettle on.”

We sit outside, two strangers in camping chairs, tea cooling in our hands, finally saying what we hadn’t dared to.

How we were surrounded by beauty and still struggling to feel it.
How the open road somehow made us feel more lost than free.
How everyone told us we were living the dream and yet it didn’t feel like one.

Saying it out loud felt like unclenching a fist.

At the time we both had brand deals that revolved around van life. Mine supposedly allowed honesty, but I never felt I could really show the mess that was simmering underneath. He couldn’t either.

We were both telling the truth, just not the whole of it.

Online, van life looked effortless. Golden light, ocean views, breakfasts by the water. I posted some of that story too. But it wasn’t the whole picture. When I met others on the road, I realised many of them felt the same.

Later I saw the same pattern everywhere. People moving to Cornwall sharing only the peace, not the isolation. Business owners posting about overnight success while skipping the years that built it. Coaches teaching clients to be louder, sharper, more divisive, even when that wasn’t who they were.

The world seems to reward certainty. It likes the quick take, the bold line in the sand.

But most people I work with don’t live like that. Their truth changes shape. It grows. Sometimes it contradicts itself.

They don’t want to shout. They want to be understood.

Nuance has become almost rebellious. It asks you to slow down, to see the layers. It invites people in instead of pushing them to pick a side.

When we leave room for nuance, our marketing starts to sound more human.

It stops performing and starts communicating.

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.

Because we’re not the problem when we can’t fit our work into a headline. We were just never supposed to create the kind of work that fits into 50 characters with an instantly obvious sexy sell.

When you stop forcing your marketing into black and white, it begins to look more like you.
And that’s when people start to feel you.

I talk about this in more depth in the latest episode of Marketing Musings. It’s an exploration of how to bring more humanity, honesty and nuance into the way we show up.

Because the world doesn’t need more hot takes. It needs more truth.

🎧 Listen to the full episode: The Art of Nuance → [here]