The Algorithm Is Not Your Audience

There is an exhausting experience that comes with having to constantly create. At some point, the process becomes less about creativity and purpose and more about doing the algorithm dance because, apparently, those who show up the most are the ones rewarded with “visibility.” And isn’t that what every artist, in every discipline, ultimately desires? At least those confident enough to put their work out there.

The early periods are exciting. New people discover your work. Some tell you how relatable it feels, how much they enjoyed it, how it made them think. It feels good, even when you still haven’t shaken the feeling that the piece they are praising isn’t your best work. But you take the applause anyway.

Then, slowly, you begin to crave that same attention.

You do more. You post more. You refresh more often. The numbers trickle in, your excitement rises and falls with your expectations, and soon enough, your creativity begins to feel less like art and more like performance. You crave the attention but cannot openly admit it, because there is something uncomfortable about admitting that you want to be seen. Say it too loudly, and someone might call you vain.

But the desire for visibility isn’t inherently bad. Neither is the validation that comes with going viral. For an artist or creative, being seen can mean opportunity. It can mean finding an audience, meeting collaborators, getting paid, or simply discovering that something you made reached someone you would never have met otherwise.

The problem is what happens when visibility stops being a consequence of the work and becomes the reason for making it.

That is where the crack begins to form in the creative process.

Artists and creators can slowly begin to think of their craft not as bodies of work, but as bits of appearances: something to put out today, something else tomorrow, another thing by Friday, all to keep up with a never-satisfied engine—the Algorithm.

Creating can be exhausting, and people often forget that a creation needs a creator. Creating takes time: time to observe, time to think, time to compose, and sometimes, perhaps most importantly, time to hate what you’ve made before deciding whether it is worth sharing.

The internet, however, rewards speed.

Post consistently. Stay relevant. Keep people engaged. Don’t disappear.

There is nothing inherently wrong with any of this. The problem is the tradeoff we don’t always notice: somewhere between trying to keep up and trying to remain visible, we can exchange depth for gratification. Not because great work cannot be made quickly—it can. But “quickly” is relative, and it should not always be dictated by a content calendar.

Sometimes the best thing a creator can do is disappear for a while.

Not because they have nothing to say, but because they are still figuring out what they want to say.

We have become so accustomed to measuring creative output in posts, views, likes, and shares that it is easy to forget that some of the most meaningful creative work has never been made with the expectation of immediate applause. A song can take years to find its form. A book can take years to write. A filmmaker can spend months shaping a story that audiences will consume in two hours. A photographer might take hundreds of photographs before finding the one worth keeping.

The work does not become less valuable because it took longer to make.

Perhaps this is the part of the creative process worth protecting: the ability to make something without immediately asking how it will perform.

The Algorithm counts posts. It counts frequency, engagement, and retention. It can tell you what people clicked on yesterday and what they might click on tomorrow. But it cannot tell you which body of work will still matter years from now.

And maybe that is the distinction worth remembering.

We are not only here to appear. We are here to make things.

The Algorithm Counts Posts, but History Remembers Bodies of Work.—Eliza (@elizadoinglil)

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