• 15 Dec, 2025 *

In the age of abundant content and the endless opportunities built around it, everyone wants to join the bandwagon and make some money from it. That becomes the ultimate goal for most people. Creating content is a way to express your creative side and discover an audience for your art and craft. Some seek distribution. Some see it as an escape from the rat race. Some view it as a catalyst for fame. Some simply want to make a lot of money.

Your objective matters because it shapes your entire approach to your craft. Social media used to be a great place—a space where those who genuinely had something to say could say it and find the right audience. Now everyone is on social media, and because they’re there, they feel compelled to speak. It has become a kind of obligation. Naturally, everyone is creating content in one form or another. From sharing thoughtful ideas to posting whatever crosses the mind, we have collectively killed the joy of social media. It has even become a place to ignite revolutions.

The internet amplified creators by giving them the largest distribution network humanity has ever seen. Which is why it has become easier than ever for anyone to become popular. For an artist, it’s difficult to stay committed to the craft while knowing that mediocrity pays quickly—and pays well. The problem with that approach is longevity. If you’re not in love with your creative work, you won’t last. Longevity requires love. Without it, burnout is inevitable. There’s only so much mediocrity you can produce before you become a mediocre artist yourself.

Imagine a creator who speaks only about abstract concepts in his videos. You think you can talk too, so you buy a microphone and start sharing your thoughts about the world. You might see success; you might create beautiful videos with perfect sound editing. But if the other creator is doing it out of genuine love, he will outlast you and make you appear mediocre. You are doing it for views; he is doing it for the craft.

The good thing about mediocrity and beauty is that both are reflective. No matter how hard you try, people will sense them, distinguish between them, and eventually judge them. This isn’t about social-media tactics. It’s about discovering your true objective behind creating something, assuming you will also handle the practical aspects of distribution.

The internet is filled with noise because people imitate whatever brings quick success instead of creating from love and passion. I write because I love writing. I have been doing it for more than a decade—still learning, still improving, but still writing. I don’t have a massive readership, but my love for books and writing is strong enough that the lack of audience doesn’t bother me. I will write for as long as I live.

You achieve authentic success only when you love the craft so deeply that you would rather elevate it to its highest standards than chase whatever yields higher returns at the moment. Be an artist, not a shopkeeper. Don’t indulge in things that don’t align with your personality just because someone else is getting more attention. An artist succeeds only by making the craft better than he imagined. That passion is contagious, and the audience feels it.

You can always avoid the cycle of mediocrity by refusing to contribute to mindless content consumption. The problem isn’t in participating. The problem is in not knowing why you are participating. We are lazier than we realise, and the world is more dynamic than we give it credit for. There are countless ethical ways to make money. If you think otherwise or can think of only a handful of examples, it reflects your perception of the world—and of yourself.

For an artist, how he perceives the world matters more than how the world perceives him. The worst damage you can inflict on your craft is accepting mediocrity.