10 Strategies for Maintaining Artistic Integrity and Sanity
Reflections on resisting audience capture
In our first piece on audience capture, we explored the phenomena of audiences influencing creators through a philosophical lens, the second through a pop culture lens, and this final one through a personal lens.
I find myself in a constant struggle with audience capture.
It’s likely because I’m a creator who also studies the sociological effects of emerging technology. I'm also a marketing strategist, hyper-aware of brands, audiences, and perceptions. My professional POV makes audience capture even more obvious.
But I’ve opted out.
Like the Apple execs who refuse to give their kids iPads, I refuse to allow myself on Instagram, Facebook, TikTok, BeReal, or whatever the new app is.
As creators, we often forget this is an option. But removing myself from various platforms has only minimized the effects of audience capture—not entirely eliminated them. As long as you exist online, its effects linger.
Over the years, while I left most social platforms, I’ve leaned heavily into one: Substack. I thought a newsletter would be the best medium for my work.
In 2020, I created ZINE, a publication analyzing overlooked cultural trends.
To me, a newsletter guaranteed 100% reach and no algorithm to worship. Anyone who signed up would receive my email. They didn’t have to read it, but I could rest assured that my work was at least reaching them.
Another reason I opted for email as my go-to medium was because of its environment. Sure, most inboxes are cluttered, but at least my emails aren’t publicly on display, fighting for attention in a gauntlet or trough called a feed. Emails are private, direct, and personal. They’re literally addressed to you. As a result, intimate dialogues are more likely to be formed.
Funny how one technological step backward could really be two forward. Since I created ZINE, I’ve had more intimate and insightful conversations than I’ve had in my entire decade of existence on social media. So, while doubling down on this medium and using writing as a method of organizing my random cultural observations, I’ve found (relative) success. Not just hundreds of thousands of readers, but new friends, and speaking and consulting opportunities.
This is not a brag as much as it is evidence that by carefully approaching our platforms and content, success as a creator is viable. Amid our crumbling platforms, booming echo chambers, and an endless long tail of content, breaking through is not a mirage-like milestone. It’s still very much possible.
Nonetheless, as thousands more subscribed to what was originally meant to be a direct outlet to peers, a global publication was born.
Despite identifying and making for a niche—lengthy essays analyzing social shifts—an exciting but intimidating audience soon gathered. You. In my attempt to escape audience capture, it found its way back to me. A lesson: It always does. Executives, authors, and professors I looked up to and whose books I was literally buying were now requesting to receive my musings via email. As a result, rounds of revision lengthened. Word choice became more calculated. Hitting send became nerve-wracking.
Per Cooley’s looking glass, I started to re-read my drafts through the eyes of others: “Is this how I want to be perceived?” Per Goffman’s stage, pressing publish became a much bigger deal. The stage grew, and bylines reached people and places I no longer had control over. And per Bentham’s panopticon, I feared a published hot take would be an opportunity for harsh criticism. The more who read, the more judgment there was, and a higher likelihood of disagreement. Writing was about to become an exercise in hedging risk.
But I remember I only obtained this audience by not thinking about these things. Why should I consider them now?
I know I’m not the only creator who mulls over these thoughts. For too many, these voices hinder and prevent. Today, however, they are no longer restricted to artists, politicians, or celebrities. Now these voices affect us all. Doubt kills more of us than failure. On an increasingly global stage, audience capture is the most important challenge for any modern creator to overcome.
According to Pew Research, the share of teens who say they use the internet “almost constantly” has gone up from 24% in 2014-15, to 46% in 2022.
With more people than ever before creating on the internet, talking about this experience and sharing tips on how to mitigate audience capture is worth our time.
How do we ignore the positive signals of performance—the very things we’re all after—and healthily exist between the tension of two radical approaches: touching grass and saying “screw it” vs. listening to their every word and letting them manipulate us?
Here’s what I’ve come up with through my own struggle—10 strategies to resist audience capture while maintaining my integrity and sanity:
Attention, views, and fame will never satisfy. They’re faux values. Nicholas Perry, the once unknown YouTuber, finally got what he wanted: millions of subscribers. But if we were to ask if he’s any happier today than before his viewership “success,” the honest answer would be “no.” Let his success be a lesson. What we think we want is not actually what we want. I also cannot measure an increase in happiness, surpassing many expectations as a creator. While there’s been professional opportunity, unfortunately, I am by no means a more fulfilled or happier person.
Accepting and rejecting audience feedback is not a binary. All feedback need not be considered and integrated, nor should it be ignored and ridiculed. Deciding how to interpret feedback is a choose-your-own-adventure. Recognize who you’re being shaped by, and further, that some individual voices don’t represent your entire audience. Do you even know or trust this voice? Approach feedback with skepticism.
Numbers lie and are a hedonistic treadmill. Most available metrics don’t signify what we truly value. What would you rather have: 1,000 readers who won’t share your piece, or 10 readers who sing your praises from the top of a mountain? Or how about just one reader who’s willing to hire you? We only care about what we can measure, and only measure what’s available. Consider what numbers you’re holding yourself to. Do they signify what you find most important? We can hit 10, but imagining 11 is inevitable. As soon as we finally work towards, surpass, and celebrate 1,000,000, 1,000,001 awaits us. We often forget numbers are infinite. If we worship digits, we’ll forever be disappointed. There’s always one figure larger. Fight the tyranny of metrics. They lead us nowhere good.
Watch out for the money trap. When money is involved, a new dynamic emerges. A “purchase” creates a customer—there’s a formal exchange. Getting paid for one’s work is an incredible feat, for as long as the creator remains mindful of any expectations that emerge. Feedback and influence is harder to ignore when the audience is paying you.
Build for niche. When you market to all, you market to nobody. Universal scale is only achieved when there’s traction from a core tight-knit community of fans. This can only be achieved by consistently showing up and being remarkable at just one thing. Lil Nas X and Lizzo aren’t known by all because they tried to be for all. The opposite is likely true. Being for everyone means being for no one.
Embrace some silence and friction. Look around. Can you find anyone else doing what you do? No? Good. You’re doing something right. It’s new. You’ve found the white space. If you’ve found detractors or skeptics, you’re onto something too. From Monet to Jobs, our greatest artists and disruptors have all faced the same “no way” from detractors. When there’s friction, there’s change. Keep at it. That’s fuel. I once cringed when I received "unsubscribe" notifications. Today I embrace them. I'm making something not for everyone—there's a distinction. Defiance to the pulls of expectation is attractive in itself, and having competition means a lack of originality.
Reflect on who you are, what you stand for, and which audience you’re after. Envision your reader, listener, viewer, or fan. This may change over time, but without determining who you are creating for, you’re at risk of making for whichever audience shows up. As the writer Gurwinder says in his newsletter, The Prism, “Having the wrong audience would be worse than having no audience, because they'd constrain me with their expectations, forcing me to focus on one tiny niche of my worldview at the expense of everything else, until I became a parody of myself.” There is such a thing as bad company. Avoid it. While it may sound paradoxical to the prior point on embracing silence and friction, we’re not dealing in binaries. We can both strive to make something new, and still have an idea of who it’s for.
Content is sentient. For Tom Krell, Ph.D, a philosopher and musical artist, content has its own agenda. We don’t know what that is, but it’s evident that “content” has some agency. We’ve come to serve content. Like oil wanting to be extracted from our soil and put to use, content has sway over us. We continue to make more and more content, but why? Where’s this energy coming from? Learning to resist or at least be mindful of content’s spirit and dictation is healthy. Recognize not just the pull of the audience, but the compounding pull of more and more content wanting to be produced.
Audiences pose the same risk to us as they did for Henry Ford. “What do you want?” “A faster horse.” Audiences never know what they want. As creators, if we comply with what audiences think they want, we’ll miss out on what’s possible. Substitute “audience” with “algorithm” and the advice still holds. The only way to beat the algorithm is to stop playing its game.
Care more about others and less about yourself. Ego is the demise of any creator. Helping others and giving back is the only surefire solution to getting outside of yourself. Minimize self-centeredness to free yourself. Audience capture is an ever-present trap. And while others are required to feed the self, selflessness breaks the cycle. Remember: your existence and creations are not everything. And that’s okay. Fighting against audience capture and being selfish are two different things. You can possess a strong artistic integrity without being self-centered. Doing for others quietly and selflessly is the only way to break this whole spell.
Thanks to Gurwinder, Tom Krell, Ph.D, and Adam Arola, Ph.D.
Jan 23, 2023
·
8 min read
10 Strategies for Maintaining Artistic Integrity and Sanity
Reflections on resisting audience capture
In our first piece on audience capture, we explored the phenomena of audiences influencing creators through a philosophical lens, the second through a pop culture lens, and this final one through a personal lens.
I find myself in a constant struggle with audience capture.
It’s likely because I’m a creator who also studies the sociological effects of emerging technology. I'm also a marketing strategist, hyper-aware of brands, audiences, and perceptions. My professional POV makes audience capture even more obvious.
But I’ve opted out.
Like the Apple execs who refuse to give their kids iPads, I refuse to allow myself on Instagram, Facebook, TikTok, BeReal, or whatever the new app is.
As creators, we often forget this is an option. But removing myself from various platforms has only minimized the effects of audience capture—not entirely eliminated them. As long as you exist online, its effects linger.
Over the years, while I left most social platforms, I’ve leaned heavily into one: Substack. I thought a newsletter would be the best medium for my work.
In 2020, I created ZINE, a publication analyzing overlooked cultural trends.
To me, a newsletter guaranteed 100% reach and no algorithm to worship. Anyone who signed up would receive my email. They didn’t have to read it, but I could rest assured that my work was at least reaching them.
Another reason I opted for email as my go-to medium was because of its environment. Sure, most inboxes are cluttered, but at least my emails aren’t publicly on display, fighting for attention in a gauntlet or trough called a feed. Emails are private, direct, and personal. They’re literally addressed to you. As a result, intimate dialogues are more likely to be formed.
Funny how one technological step backward could really be two forward. Since I created ZINE, I’ve had more intimate and insightful conversations than I’ve had in my entire decade of existence on social media. So, while doubling down on this medium and using writing as a method of organizing my random cultural observations, I’ve found (relative) success. Not just hundreds of thousands of readers, but new friends, and speaking and consulting opportunities.
This is not a brag as much as it is evidence that by carefully approaching our platforms and content, success as a creator is viable. Amid our crumbling platforms, booming echo chambers, and an endless long tail of content, breaking through is not a mirage-like milestone. It’s still very much possible.
Nonetheless, as thousands more subscribed to what was originally meant to be a direct outlet to peers, a global publication was born.
Despite identifying and making for a niche—lengthy essays analyzing social shifts—an exciting but intimidating audience soon gathered. You. In my attempt to escape audience capture, it found its way back to me. A lesson: It always does. Executives, authors, and professors I looked up to and whose books I was literally buying were now requesting to receive my musings via email. As a result, rounds of revision lengthened. Word choice became more calculated. Hitting send became nerve-wracking.
Per Cooley’s looking glass, I started to re-read my drafts through the eyes of others: “Is this how I want to be perceived?” Per Goffman’s stage, pressing publish became a much bigger deal. The stage grew, and bylines reached people and places I no longer had control over. And per Bentham’s panopticon, I feared a published hot take would be an opportunity for harsh criticism. The more who read, the more judgment there was, and a higher likelihood of disagreement. Writing was about to become an exercise in hedging risk.
But I remember I only obtained this audience by not thinking about these things. Why should I consider them now?
I know I’m not the only creator who mulls over these thoughts. For too many, these voices hinder and prevent. Today, however, they are no longer restricted to artists, politicians, or celebrities. Now these voices affect us all. Doubt kills more of us than failure. On an increasingly global stage, audience capture is the most important challenge for any modern creator to overcome.
According to Pew Research, the share of teens who say they use the internet “almost constantly” has gone up from 24% in 2014-15, to 46% in 2022.
With more people than ever before creating on the internet, talking about this experience and sharing tips on how to mitigate audience capture is worth our time.
How do we ignore the positive signals of performance—the very things we’re all after—and healthily exist between the tension of two radical approaches: touching grass and saying “screw it” vs. listening to their every word and letting them manipulate us?
Here’s what I’ve come up with through my own struggle—10 strategies to resist audience capture while maintaining my integrity and sanity:
Attention, views, and fame will never satisfy. They’re faux values. Nicholas Perry, the once unknown YouTuber, finally got what he wanted: millions of subscribers. But if we were to ask if he’s any happier today than before his viewership “success,” the honest answer would be “no.” Let his success be a lesson. What we think we want is not actually what we want. I also cannot measure an increase in happiness, surpassing many expectations as a creator. While there’s been professional opportunity, unfortunately, I am by no means a more fulfilled or happier person.
Accepting and rejecting audience feedback is not a binary. All feedback need not be considered and integrated, nor should it be ignored and ridiculed. Deciding how to interpret feedback is a choose-your-own-adventure. Recognize who you’re being shaped by, and further, that some individual voices don’t represent your entire audience. Do you even know or trust this voice? Approach feedback with skepticism.
Numbers lie and are a hedonistic treadmill. Most available metrics don’t signify what we truly value. What would you rather have: 1,000 readers who won’t share your piece, or 10 readers who sing your praises from the top of a mountain? Or how about just one reader who’s willing to hire you? We only care about what we can measure, and only measure what’s available. Consider what numbers you’re holding yourself to. Do they signify what you find most important? We can hit 10, but imagining 11 is inevitable. As soon as we finally work towards, surpass, and celebrate 1,000,000, 1,000,001 awaits us. We often forget numbers are infinite. If we worship digits, we’ll forever be disappointed. There’s always one figure larger. Fight the tyranny of metrics. They lead us nowhere good.
Watch out for the money trap. When money is involved, a new dynamic emerges. A “purchase” creates a customer—there’s a formal exchange. Getting paid for one’s work is an incredible feat, for as long as the creator remains mindful of any expectations that emerge. Feedback and influence is harder to ignore when the audience is paying you.
Build for niche. When you market to all, you market to nobody. Universal scale is only achieved when there’s traction from a core tight-knit community of fans. This can only be achieved by consistently showing up and being remarkable at just one thing. Lil Nas X and Lizzo aren’t known by all because they tried to be for all. The opposite is likely true. Being for everyone means being for no one.
Embrace some silence and friction. Look around. Can you find anyone else doing what you do? No? Good. You’re doing something right. It’s new. You’ve found the white space. If you’ve found detractors or skeptics, you’re onto something too. From Monet to Jobs, our greatest artists and disruptors have all faced the same “no way” from detractors. When there’s friction, there’s change. Keep at it. That’s fuel. I once cringed when I received "unsubscribe" notifications. Today I embrace them. I'm making something not for everyone—there's a distinction. Defiance to the pulls of expectation is attractive in itself, and having competition means a lack of originality.
Reflect on who you are, what you stand for, and which audience you’re after. Envision your reader, listener, viewer, or fan. This may change over time, but without determining who you are creating for, you’re at risk of making for whichever audience shows up. As the writer Gurwinder says in his newsletter, The Prism, “Having the wrong audience would be worse than having no audience, because they'd constrain me with their expectations, forcing me to focus on one tiny niche of my worldview at the expense of everything else, until I became a parody of myself.” There is such a thing as bad company. Avoid it. While it may sound paradoxical to the prior point on embracing silence and friction, we’re not dealing in binaries. We can both strive to make something new, and still have an idea of who it’s for.
Content is sentient. For Tom Krell, Ph.D, a philosopher and musical artist, content has its own agenda. We don’t know what that is, but it’s evident that “content” has some agency. We’ve come to serve content. Like oil wanting to be extracted from our soil and put to use, content has sway over us. We continue to make more and more content, but why? Where’s this energy coming from? Learning to resist or at least be mindful of content’s spirit and dictation is healthy. Recognize not just the pull of the audience, but the compounding pull of more and more content wanting to be produced.
Audiences pose the same risk to us as they did for Henry Ford. “What do you want?” “A faster horse.” Audiences never know what they want. As creators, if we comply with what audiences think they want, we’ll miss out on what’s possible. Substitute “audience” with “algorithm” and the advice still holds. The only way to beat the algorithm is to stop playing its game.
Care more about others and less about yourself. Ego is the demise of any creator. Helping others and giving back is the only surefire solution to getting outside of yourself. Minimize self-centeredness to free yourself. Audience capture is an ever-present trap. And while others are required to feed the self, selflessness breaks the cycle. Remember: your existence and creations are not everything. And that’s okay. Fighting against audience capture and being selfish are two different things. You can possess a strong artistic integrity without being self-centered. Doing for others quietly and selflessly is the only way to break this whole spell.
Thanks to Gurwinder, Tom Krell, Ph.D, and Adam Arola, Ph.D.
Jan 23, 2023
·
8 min read
10 Strategies for Maintaining Artistic Integrity and Sanity
Reflections on resisting audience capture
In our first piece on audience capture, we explored the phenomena of audiences influencing creators through a philosophical lens, the second through a pop culture lens, and this final one through a personal lens.
I find myself in a constant struggle with audience capture.
It’s likely because I’m a creator who also studies the sociological effects of emerging technology. I'm also a marketing strategist, hyper-aware of brands, audiences, and perceptions. My professional POV makes audience capture even more obvious.
But I’ve opted out.
Like the Apple execs who refuse to give their kids iPads, I refuse to allow myself on Instagram, Facebook, TikTok, BeReal, or whatever the new app is.
As creators, we often forget this is an option. But removing myself from various platforms has only minimized the effects of audience capture—not entirely eliminated them. As long as you exist online, its effects linger.
Over the years, while I left most social platforms, I’ve leaned heavily into one: Substack. I thought a newsletter would be the best medium for my work.
In 2020, I created ZINE, a publication analyzing overlooked cultural trends.
To me, a newsletter guaranteed 100% reach and no algorithm to worship. Anyone who signed up would receive my email. They didn’t have to read it, but I could rest assured that my work was at least reaching them.
Another reason I opted for email as my go-to medium was because of its environment. Sure, most inboxes are cluttered, but at least my emails aren’t publicly on display, fighting for attention in a gauntlet or trough called a feed. Emails are private, direct, and personal. They’re literally addressed to you. As a result, intimate dialogues are more likely to be formed.
Funny how one technological step backward could really be two forward. Since I created ZINE, I’ve had more intimate and insightful conversations than I’ve had in my entire decade of existence on social media. So, while doubling down on this medium and using writing as a method of organizing my random cultural observations, I’ve found (relative) success. Not just hundreds of thousands of readers, but new friends, and speaking and consulting opportunities.
This is not a brag as much as it is evidence that by carefully approaching our platforms and content, success as a creator is viable. Amid our crumbling platforms, booming echo chambers, and an endless long tail of content, breaking through is not a mirage-like milestone. It’s still very much possible.
Nonetheless, as thousands more subscribed to what was originally meant to be a direct outlet to peers, a global publication was born.
Despite identifying and making for a niche—lengthy essays analyzing social shifts—an exciting but intimidating audience soon gathered. You. In my attempt to escape audience capture, it found its way back to me. A lesson: It always does. Executives, authors, and professors I looked up to and whose books I was literally buying were now requesting to receive my musings via email. As a result, rounds of revision lengthened. Word choice became more calculated. Hitting send became nerve-wracking.
Per Cooley’s looking glass, I started to re-read my drafts through the eyes of others: “Is this how I want to be perceived?” Per Goffman’s stage, pressing publish became a much bigger deal. The stage grew, and bylines reached people and places I no longer had control over. And per Bentham’s panopticon, I feared a published hot take would be an opportunity for harsh criticism. The more who read, the more judgment there was, and a higher likelihood of disagreement. Writing was about to become an exercise in hedging risk.
But I remember I only obtained this audience by not thinking about these things. Why should I consider them now?
I know I’m not the only creator who mulls over these thoughts. For too many, these voices hinder and prevent. Today, however, they are no longer restricted to artists, politicians, or celebrities. Now these voices affect us all. Doubt kills more of us than failure. On an increasingly global stage, audience capture is the most important challenge for any modern creator to overcome.
According to Pew Research, the share of teens who say they use the internet “almost constantly” has gone up from 24% in 2014-15, to 46% in 2022.
With more people than ever before creating on the internet, talking about this experience and sharing tips on how to mitigate audience capture is worth our time.
How do we ignore the positive signals of performance—the very things we’re all after—and healthily exist between the tension of two radical approaches: touching grass and saying “screw it” vs. listening to their every word and letting them manipulate us?
Here’s what I’ve come up with through my own struggle—10 strategies to resist audience capture while maintaining my integrity and sanity:
Attention, views, and fame will never satisfy. They’re faux values. Nicholas Perry, the once unknown YouTuber, finally got what he wanted: millions of subscribers. But if we were to ask if he’s any happier today than before his viewership “success,” the honest answer would be “no.” Let his success be a lesson. What we think we want is not actually what we want. I also cannot measure an increase in happiness, surpassing many expectations as a creator. While there’s been professional opportunity, unfortunately, I am by no means a more fulfilled or happier person.
Accepting and rejecting audience feedback is not a binary. All feedback need not be considered and integrated, nor should it be ignored and ridiculed. Deciding how to interpret feedback is a choose-your-own-adventure. Recognize who you’re being shaped by, and further, that some individual voices don’t represent your entire audience. Do you even know or trust this voice? Approach feedback with skepticism.
Numbers lie and are a hedonistic treadmill. Most available metrics don’t signify what we truly value. What would you rather have: 1,000 readers who won’t share your piece, or 10 readers who sing your praises from the top of a mountain? Or how about just one reader who’s willing to hire you? We only care about what we can measure, and only measure what’s available. Consider what numbers you’re holding yourself to. Do they signify what you find most important? We can hit 10, but imagining 11 is inevitable. As soon as we finally work towards, surpass, and celebrate 1,000,000, 1,000,001 awaits us. We often forget numbers are infinite. If we worship digits, we’ll forever be disappointed. There’s always one figure larger. Fight the tyranny of metrics. They lead us nowhere good.
Watch out for the money trap. When money is involved, a new dynamic emerges. A “purchase” creates a customer—there’s a formal exchange. Getting paid for one’s work is an incredible feat, for as long as the creator remains mindful of any expectations that emerge. Feedback and influence is harder to ignore when the audience is paying you.
Build for niche. When you market to all, you market to nobody. Universal scale is only achieved when there’s traction from a core tight-knit community of fans. This can only be achieved by consistently showing up and being remarkable at just one thing. Lil Nas X and Lizzo aren’t known by all because they tried to be for all. The opposite is likely true. Being for everyone means being for no one.
Embrace some silence and friction. Look around. Can you find anyone else doing what you do? No? Good. You’re doing something right. It’s new. You’ve found the white space. If you’ve found detractors or skeptics, you’re onto something too. From Monet to Jobs, our greatest artists and disruptors have all faced the same “no way” from detractors. When there’s friction, there’s change. Keep at it. That’s fuel. I once cringed when I received "unsubscribe" notifications. Today I embrace them. I'm making something not for everyone—there's a distinction. Defiance to the pulls of expectation is attractive in itself, and having competition means a lack of originality.
Reflect on who you are, what you stand for, and which audience you’re after. Envision your reader, listener, viewer, or fan. This may change over time, but without determining who you are creating for, you’re at risk of making for whichever audience shows up. As the writer Gurwinder says in his newsletter, The Prism, “Having the wrong audience would be worse than having no audience, because they'd constrain me with their expectations, forcing me to focus on one tiny niche of my worldview at the expense of everything else, until I became a parody of myself.” There is such a thing as bad company. Avoid it. While it may sound paradoxical to the prior point on embracing silence and friction, we’re not dealing in binaries. We can both strive to make something new, and still have an idea of who it’s for.
Content is sentient. For Tom Krell, Ph.D, a philosopher and musical artist, content has its own agenda. We don’t know what that is, but it’s evident that “content” has some agency. We’ve come to serve content. Like oil wanting to be extracted from our soil and put to use, content has sway over us. We continue to make more and more content, but why? Where’s this energy coming from? Learning to resist or at least be mindful of content’s spirit and dictation is healthy. Recognize not just the pull of the audience, but the compounding pull of more and more content wanting to be produced.
Audiences pose the same risk to us as they did for Henry Ford. “What do you want?” “A faster horse.” Audiences never know what they want. As creators, if we comply with what audiences think they want, we’ll miss out on what’s possible. Substitute “audience” with “algorithm” and the advice still holds. The only way to beat the algorithm is to stop playing its game.
Care more about others and less about yourself. Ego is the demise of any creator. Helping others and giving back is the only surefire solution to getting outside of yourself. Minimize self-centeredness to free yourself. Audience capture is an ever-present trap. And while others are required to feed the self, selflessness breaks the cycle. Remember: your existence and creations are not everything. And that’s okay. Fighting against audience capture and being selfish are two different things. You can possess a strong artistic integrity without being self-centered. Doing for others quietly and selflessly is the only way to break this whole spell.
Thanks to Gurwinder, Tom Krell, Ph.D, and Adam Arola, Ph.D.
Jan 23, 2023
·
8 min read
Lens in your inbox
Lens features creator stories that inspire, inform, and entertain.
Subscribe to our weekly newsletter so you never miss a story.
Lens in your inbox
Lens features creator stories that inspire, inform, and entertain.
Subscribe to our weekly newsletter so you never miss a story.
Lens in your inbox
Lens features creator stories that inspire, inform, and entertain.
Subscribe to our weekly newsletter so you never miss a story.
