Practice in Pixels

Addison Rae, and Why 'Cringe' Is a lie

" IT'S COOL TO CARE" 

You’ve heard that often recently, right? Because, same.
 I’m glad it’s finally gaining traction in pop culture and on meme pages. 
Well, at least that’s what my algorithm shows me. Algorithms are such dangerous bubbles and echo chambers.
Anyway, that’s for a different essay.

It’s cool to care.
Many have written on this before me. But hear my side of it.

I was proud to call myself a hater. A cynic. A critic. You get the idea.

I was really good at it, too. Armed with a razor wit, a sharp tongue, and a way with words, I once made a boy in seventh grade cry with some verbal venom I spewed. 
(Not proud. Okay, maybe a little proud.) 

Perhaps it was the social environment of middle school, the clout chasing (of the wrong kind), or general teenage hormonal angst — but I became a hater par excellence in a very short amount of time.

But I wasn’t always a hater.

Until about age 11, I kind of liked everything and everyone. Well, almost. What or who I didn’t like, I simply didn’t interact with. Classy. But more importantly: happy.

I was a happy kid.
Was,  a happy kid.

How sad to put it in past tense.

I have umpteen photos, grinning madly with my toy cars as evidence. Until middle school happened. And from then on up until very recently, I was caught in the maelstrom of “cringe,” of being “cool,” of being nonchalant.

Such nonsense, really.

Enter, Boy Regina George Energy. 
This Boy Regina George act was cute, for a bit. It helped — to survive other vicious fourteen-year-olds. But honestly? As I’d head home, there was no one applauding me for my mean words and sharp one-liners. Just me, my grumpiness, and my trademark sullen swagger, which I was fully convinced was soooo attractive. (As if. Lol.)

But the fact is: I was unhappy.
Worse — I was catatonic.

I always wanted to create. Ever since I was a little boy, I’ve been creating worlds to inhabit and play god over with cardboard and tape. I made my own castles with elaborate plots. Wrote stories that cheaply imitated my favourite books. Painted how my day felt. Some days were stripes of blue and green. Others, a mash of brown with flecks of orange.

But all this was evidence that I was born a creator. NOT in the meta sense of the term. Ew, no. I was a born creative. 
So naturally, when middle school rolled around 
(take a shot every time you read "middle school" — I dare you), 
I gravitated toward Vine, YouTube, and Musical.ly (as TikTok was called back then). Yeah, I'm that old.

I wanted to create. And the YouTubers I watched — in the golden era of minimally edited, speaking-to-your-webcam-in-your-bedroom videos — seemed quite like me. Or rather, I saw myself in them.

I had stories I wanted to share.
I wanted to try 3 a.m. challenges and film them.
I wanted to make slime with no glue, no borax.

So I did what any kid would do: I made a YouTube channel. Sure, I didn’t get any views at first, and I was okay with that. I'd get some eventually, with time. But it all went up in flames very quickly. Mortifyingly so.
My ratty classmates found my account and one day, — with a particularly indulgent math teacher egging them on — decided they would show my whole class my videos.

ON THE PROJECTOR. 

Mind you, I was in no way the class clown or even remotely popular. I was the kid always reading during lunch or awkwardly doodling eyes in English class.

At the time, it very nearly became my thirteenth reason. Exams and life rolled around and, honestly? We all forgot about it. Well — *almost* all of us.
 I never truly lived that down. And as a reaction — a survival tactic, even — I became the meanest little 14-year-old you'd find. Tongue-lashing everyone who came my way.

Worst part?
It worked.

By the end of eighth grade, I had a *bit* of social clout. I was even on the list of “most handsome guys of eighth grade.” Lowest on the list, mind you. But still. 
People forgot I had once uploaded YouTube videos showcasing my “Inktober” sketches. But I didn’t.

Now, some 9 years later, I giggle at our antics. We were *waaay* too young to be acting like E! News interns and starting “MiddleSchoolConfessions” pages and whatnot. It’s all laughable now. But it was very serious back then.
And the damage? It stuck.
It taught me something toxic: it’s cool to have no feelings. To be non-committal. To never try. To bunk classes. To hate, endlessly. But honestly?

I was frozen. I wanted to create — I just couldn’t move.

All I could do was consume. In a slightly less vicious version  of who I once was, I watched and scrolled and double-tapped and rewatched and subscribed — all while thinking,

 “I could do this better than him.”

But I didn’t. I was so convinced I was ugly. So twinky. So not conventionally attractive. That if I posted a reel with my face in it, the moon would fall out of the sky.
(And by the way? All lies. Twinks are all the rage nowadays. 
Thank you, Timmy Chalamet and that one edit of him in a blue polo tee.)


So anyway-- Cringe? Yeah, it’s unfortunately a little real. 
Some of my old content is heavily filtered, sloppily shot, and horribly formatted. Yes — embarrassing. That’s why it’s archived. But you know what else that cringefest is? Learning. It’s practice. In pixels.

I tried. I cringed. I archived. I tried again. 
No one comes out of the womb with 4K-quality videos and a thriving following. You grow. You evolve. In doing so, you have your embarrassing moments. Your “epic fail” compilations. Your archived reels with 111 views. That’s life. That’s learning.

 What’s scarier than that?
Never trying at all.

The funniest thing in all this? My big creative awakening didn’t come from Rumi or Sartre. It came from Addison Rae.
(No, hear me out, I swear)

For the longest time, I — like many others — had a parasocial relationship with the trending TikTokers of the time. Addison, often seen as a bimbo who did ‘stolen’ dances on Fallon, was the butt of every joke. Anytime I’d post a reel and it wouldn’t do well, I’d think,

“It’s okay, it’s not like I’m trying to be Addison Rae.”

Except now? I am.

Because Addison went from "TikTok girl" to concert opener for Lana Del Rey. 

She released a well-rated debut album. She said TikTok was the “staircase” — her goal was always music. Her first single? Trash. I heard it once. Never again. Everyone dismissed her. So she disappeared. Studied. Watched. Networked. Pretended to read Britney Spears’ memoir while crossing the road to generate media buzz. Then she released Aquamarine. I made fun of the song without hearing it.
Then I heard it.

And… it was good.
She was... good? She is good. And she’s only getting better.

Off camera, Addison slogged. She did whatever it took to keep the eyes on her — and it worked. The media and general stan twitter is still unsure and unwilling to let go of the set image they have of her in their minds, but all of them agree, in admiration, that they never expected her to be serious about this and put in genuine effort. 

As her instagram bio says “effort is ritual”. 
(Love that)

She decided to take the embarrassing path, quit hype house, pursue her music, get made fun of. And now, her much ‘cooler’ hype house roommates are washed up tiktokers clutching at straws trying to buy back their fifteen minutes of fame and while it may not be 'Addison summer' just yet, she? was just invited to join the Recording Academy. 

After ONE album. 

(Wondering how this became a rolling stone article? Yeah me too.)

Anyway the point is, for me, this was a wakeup call. It taught me two things:

 First, if you want something, you must be dogged, ruthless, and unflinching in its pursuit. Do whatever it takes to get to the place that will get you what you want.
 Drink all wines. That is how you come to know which ones taste sweet and which ones are bitter, and you learn to pick between them. 

Second, being a creative now means being a creator, (yes in the meta sense). 
It means  being seen. They want your reel views. Your click-through rate. 

I can’t simply turn up to auditions or send in manuscripts to publishing houses out of the blue. I’m quite sure I’m mathematically right in saying that, I have a much higher chance of getting a book deal if I approach a publishing house with a thriving substack and instagram following.

It sucks. But it’s the game.

So — I play. 

As artists, writers and creatives in general, we must create more than we consume. 
We simply, MUST.  Else, we sink and we die. 

I take 50 videos on my phone daily anyways, of my outfit, of the birds around, the sun glinting off a skyscraper. Why not post them? So now I do. 
I post the birds and the buildings. The outfits. The reflections. I post for the few eyes that linger, and maybe — just maybe — get pulled toward my writing.

I do it for the version of me that once stopped trying.
And the version that’s starting again. So, It’s Cool to Care

It’s cool to have your life together. To show up on time.
It’s cool to try. Even if your reel gets only 111 views.

That’s a hundred and eleven more than the person who didn’t post.
But, there’s also always going to be someone with 11.1K views on ONE reel. 

There always will be. But there IS room enough on the stage for everyone. 
Well, everyone who tries that is.

Always remember that there are a lot of things that you are above, 
yet there will always be a lot of things that are above you. And that’s okay. That’s life. 

That doesn’t mean you don’t try. Don’t give up your spot at the table.

So anyways, tl;dr-- I’ve always wanted to create. Now I will. 

I’m not brave enough to start a YouTube channel just yet.
But I have plans. A spooky podcast. A gallery. More. MUCH more.

As Addison says 

 There's no mystery, I'm gonna make it, gonna go down in history. 
Don't ask too many questions, God gave me the permission
And when you shame me, it makes me want it more
It makes me want it more, more


Yes, it's dark--but just a game. so play it like a symphony
( Lana AND addison lyrics in ONE essay? Twink final boss much) 

Anyways, if you made it till the end, you deserve a prize. congrats.
If you’ve got a dream — embarrassing or not — chase it like a pop star in a blue wig

See you on the socials! - - one reel at a time

Yours truly, 
            with a decent chunk of my Love, 
                                                                       P.