A Snapshot of 2025: The Creation Myth

There used to be a point in the immediate post-pandemic years where, every month, I would know when rent was due. As someone who collected TikTok personalities a bit too impulsively, the few I respected enough to carry over to Instagram would reveal how shortsighted their larger vision was. What could be construed as fun, disposable entertainment in 2020 can now become a trap that’s initially lucrative but develops into an identity crisis frenzy. Those who were never more than dance challenges and “a look” now resorted to monthly lingerie videos demanding people subscribe to their OnlyFans. This isn’t to say they’re the only ones who did – marginalized creators were also prone to this – but it became clear that the future would be difficult to survive unless you had a sustainable gimmick.

We are officially five years on, and the choices that doe-eyed creators made are settling into place, albeit in an ecosystem that has continually concerned me. On the one hand, I am always for self-expression and making art for the sake of personal growth. I still randomly subscribe to vloggers who I think have perspective less because I agree, but think it paints a more intricate view of life. I’m not someone who cares for the affluence chasers, who exist for the digital version of product placement (which is different from paid sponsorships) than creative challenges that come with writing and filming videos on a regular time scale with hopes of reaching an audience. It’s a rigorous challenge, of which I admire anyone who can crack that code. 

In the months following my initial concern regarding “dead internet theory,” the problems have gotten worse. Before delving into the personal side of things, the infrastructure has lost a certain purity. There’s a losing competition against A.I.-generated material that’s produced by the minute and, despite its poor quality, often reaches wider audiences than the academic voices that put in hours of effort. There are bots that keep conversations from ever feeling totally sincere. More than that, platforms like YouTube have been called out for a variety of offenses, including unbalanced censorship between problematic hosts and those who criticize their talking points. They have gained notoriety for the decline in revenue for creators who would normally be raking in a decent chunk of change. Suddenly, the barrier to success is much higher and difficult because nobody without marketing skills could survive.

This wasn’t the first year defined by creators admitting burnout, but it felt even more potent. Along with the persuasion to join sites like Nebula or Patreon, there has been a push to get away from the headache of YouTube’s limitations. While many have found loopholes around this, certain censorship and shadow-banning gambits have stalled creators from truthful work. It’s a fact that the media landscape was always doomed to have a monolithic view of what is and isn’t acceptable for profit, but YouTube’s rare chance to dig into something personal and homemade felt closer to the old Wayne’s World sketches, where we were seeing some cable access shows truly go nuts. That’s long been gone, but I wanted to believe that personalities wouldn’t break under the pressure to balance pleasure with the inevitable realization that, as Benjamin Franklin once wrote, time is money. Are we using ours wisely by making shitposts and spontaneous banter? So few could think to needle that thread for a long period.

It’s disheartening to watch TikTok creators try to find that next step and sometimes get stuck in the same box they’re known for. Sure, there were some, like Kallmekris, that transcended their popularity and made a movie that played in theaters, but there are many who reached a breaking point in the ideas bucket. Can one really pull out enough Millennial nostalgia to keep making 30-second videos mocking teenage fashion choices? Sure, the more enduring personalities found a replenishing resource, but it feels like the same idea over and over, which, for some, I can see as being tolerable, but it also feels like it’s keeping any greater authenticity from being explored. It gives audiences what they want, but does it fulfill the creator?

I’m not wishing to judge anyone who makes these videos and actually has a good time. Part of me is convinced that any skepticism derives from the shifting reputation of quick content that comes and goes with the flick of an index finger. It could also be that I’m looking for people who have passion and sincerity, which tends to be more of a YouTube thing when it’s not suppressed or manipulated. I am not an economist. I can’t even tell you what makes a video go viral. I want to believe I can tell when something’s genuine or at least human. 

If anything is driving this essay, it’s natural-born sympathy tying me to the plight of creators. As someone who puts themselves into a public sphere, I’m aware of the fear that comes with attempting to stand out and be judged. I’m mostly in the realm of short fiction, but I know that everything doesn’t happen overnight, nor does what works for you work for everybody else. I sympathize with failures, anxieties of doing something that bled from your soul and received 10% of your projected goal. There is something soul-crushing about being an artist, and I think anyone who overcomes the initial setbacks and finds success deserves some credit. 

It may be why my heart goes out to those who use their bodies for art. The broadest example is Jackass, but it can encompass anyone who isn’t on an assembly line. It’s the quest to use personal innovation for a greater good, to start a conversation, to share ideas, and make the world feel more bizarre than it already is. I fear culture is regressing to a more conservative, less challenging time, and it may be why stuff like Sarah Sherman’s stand-up special resonated with me despite not liking one minute of it. There’s an effort to provoke, no matter what the response is. In fact, the risk of being a complete disgrace is part of its appeal. For better or worse, it’s why I find Bonnie Blue a fascinating study of independent creators corporatizing their bodies and how it psychologically alters their relationship with the world. It may create personal agency, but what happens when it’s the only thing people will expect from you in discussion ever again?

The people I will talk about from here to the end are not that established. If they are, I’d argue they were never in a place of security within YouTube’s confines. Not everything qualifies as traditional “burnout,” but enough feels like a push to gain the system and profit from an algorithm that requires constant attention to get anywhere. It’s almost a requirement to be detached from reality in order to live the financial lives of internet kings. 

IYKYK

The first example is one I’ve been too sheepish to discuss publicly, but it has been a story I’ve sympathized with. I’ve never been one for YouTube drama. And yet, there was something about Brad Taste in Music that I couldn’t turn away from. As much as I’ve settled into not supporting him now, there’s a pang of guilt because I feel like we both went through a similar struggle. Mine was more microcosmic, but his ultimately swallowed him whole to the point he says he’s in rehab, but I’m choosing not to analyze his story any deeper.

As I’ve discussed before, 2020 was a year when I was addicted to social media and attempting to capture a bigger audience. The result was a burnout that also created an identity crisis that threatened my career as a writer. When you can’t write after 25 years of doing so, you begin to panic. There is no Plan B for something that gave your life direction and purpose. I’ll admit my career is more complementary to other facets of a normal life, but it took a lot of soul searching to realize that seeking validation from the internet was not helping my emotional state.

Brad may as well have been the poster child for being terminally online. Even when he tried to limit his livestreams, he seemed to go almost half a day when he was on. The gimmick was simple. He’d react to songs and often had a soundboard to add amusement. As someone who hasn’t fully outgrown that sound effect charm, I saw something basic in his style that was fun in moderation. I chose to believe he knew what kind of YouTuber he was, even if I disagreed with the price structure by which he made a living.

And then, for anyone who was around this summer, everything soured so quickly that I’ll be surprised if he regains any meaningful platform. It was the mental breakdown of the year, where audio leaked of domestic abuse, and, in a state that could only be described as a psychological break, he released a 40+ minute diss track in response to everyone he deemed mad at him. Never mind that it unburied other problematic allegations, but it was an example of someone being so online that even the recesses of stray thoughts had to be recorded. There was no room for intrusive thoughts to merely exist in a notebook and be kept private. I regret exposing myself to the domestic abuse audio because you knew it would only spiral from there. Every poor decision that the group made was now public for Reddit to scrutinize. It also doesn’t help that, in a sincere apology video, he suggested losing the creators at Hivemind was worse than losing his girlfriend. 

I won’t chronicle much else about that debacle other than he had his fits and starts, where it felt like his “year-long hiatus” was defined by hours at times. Even so, I saw a man desperately trying to connect with others. I recognize that struggle because I used to lash out on Twitter in an attempt to fulfill some lacking emotion in my life. I needed strangers, of whom I had no historical rap sheet to fall back on, to make me happy. I realized quickly that was for minutes and, when my mood wasn’t right, that could only make things worse. 

I imagine Brad did that for a dozen hours in an environment that rewards artificial connection, and it’s easy to assume he felt isolated even when he was most connected. If nothing else, it also made him readily available to people who wanted nothing more than to poke at his vulnerabilities until he cracked every week. What efforts to course-correct the show always failed because, for better or worse, he couldn’t overcome the cynics.

There were the complaint videos. Whatever creators collaborated with him pulled their content. He was dropped from his music label. Allegations emerged, and suddenly it was clear how hopeless the case could be. The common opinion was that he became a lolcow, which was made worse by the fact that he had “the easiest job.” He wasn’t even making thought-provoking essays. It was an immediate response, and he couldn’t do that without spiraling. 

It’s all probably due to addictive qualities and the realization that he would never have this level of fame elsewhere. He would, in wishful thinking, have a menial job. His formative years were spent on a computer punching buttons. For all creators, that reality is an everyday issue, and one that I think Brad represents on an extreme level. I’m not sure what he’s doing anymore, but I recognize that he’d probably be unhappy if he stayed and permanently disappointed if he left. The internet is a cruel, judgmental place that rarely rewards healthy causes. I’m not saying Brad is innocent, but the conundrum of losing one's moneymaking act has damaged many men.

And I get that, especially in 2025, when the economy is failing. The year started with complaints about the price of eggs rising. The president suggested “affordability” was a hoax and that people don’t need to buy a lot of dolls. It’s an economy of “A++++++” grading, and nobody believes it. Add in tariffs that have all but damaged immediate revenue, and you get an America where jobs are threatened, and serious change is distracted by culture wars. Some institutions have canceled traditional services while others have had no choice but to go out of business. The messaging isn’t aligned, save for the unfathomable support for A.I. corporations to take over, making it difficult for the larger job market to compete.

As a result, I’ve seen creators accept that YouTube is not worth their own financial strains. Shitposter Verytallbart says he’s at risk of being evicted despite refusing to give up on his artistic pursuits. Ben Brainard admitted that he worked so hard (in a more traditional manner) that he experienced burnout and wasn’t appreciative of his friends. Along with certain creators outright disappearing from the platform, this explains why it feels nihilistic. For example, Sam Collins spoke at length in 2024 about how attempts to please the algorithm made him depressed. He hasn’t uploaded a video since April, which is down from 19 entries the year prior. Similarly, vlogger and video essayist Graysons World has all but disappeared save for posting one seven-minute video in May. He’s far from retired, but even Caddicarus made a TED Talk about how he prefers making fewer videos for the sake of his creative fulfillment. 

Everyone mentioned has created work I’d argue is compelling and unique, but they have been driven away from regular uploads due to a lack of passion. Some of that is natural through finding a new hobby, but it’s also a passion turning into a grind defined by monetary value. Others have been bullied out of sincere efforts, but there’s something sad about seeing these voices retire. They were clever, unique, and releasing because they felt like it. To see them gone is to admit that the system won against personal expression. 

Many have put up a good fight, but I think it’s harder and harder to feel optimistic about creators’ futures online. I’m hopeful there will always exist somebody who grabs my interest, but it also comes at a cost. When food costs so much and imports are skyrocketing, who has the money to just make art? When you’re unable to turn to a camera and look jubilant, you may as well not try. There will be this document of misery entering your work, and while I think it’s important to push past the bad days, it’s important to not ignore when that lasts longer than a few weeks.

To conclude this story, I wanted to quickly highlight a recent creator who may embody the tragic irony better than anyone. I’m not totally sure why I subscribed to Splishbie near the start of the year. I want to say she posted a video about self-improvement that seemed genuine. I wasn’t aware of any larger story around her, so I took it as someone who was going to take me on a journey through personal growth. For as much as I disagreed with her weird videos decrying sex workers and meandering unboxing segments, I kept her around, hoping that something would emerge.

She has embodied the nadir of content creation. I look for people less for zazz, but more curiosity. There needs to be something that drives this person to make videos beyond paychecks. I’m sure Splishbie had this at one time, but everything I’ve read suggests she is on the side of pandemic era creators who couldn’t adapt to a world that returned to normal. I’m aware that this is a byproduct of her being depressed and essentially uploading videos of her walking around her messy apartment. It feels closer to a tragic art piece than any sincere reason to donate money.

The mystery was pulled back too far, and, unlike Catieosaurus who used her flaws as a lesson point on ADHD, it was getting too hard to engage with her. I’m not even talking on a topic level. Her videos became increasingly rant-heavy and were redundant cycles of unedited thinking that included a lot of dead air or background noise. These weren’t short videos, but 20ish minutes that never built a better talking point. All they did was suggest a self-importance that contradicted what drew me to her, even as passively as it had been. That, and maybe like Brad, she had no idea how to process her personal torment when she was alone.

In an incredible turn of events that I don’t feel comfortable mocking, she has recently announced that she’s being evicted. The money hadn’t been coming in from fans, and efforts to keep the dream alive were failing spectacularly. This came during the same week when she attempted to sell A.I. images of herself, including one that was portrait-sized. To anyone attempting to find said video now, it may require some moolah as it’s behind a paywall. I was able to watch during a time when it was publicly available and, unsurprisingly, mocked in 85% of comments for not being authentic. One can guess now why that happened, but it still spoke to this tragic crash-out that faded synonymously with her decreasing energy. Beyond the transparent attempt at easy money, it was an effort to sell her image in a way that felt personal yet irrational. To reject this sale was to say something about her being, that you didn’t want to see her face – even in its altered state – in your personal life. It’s absurd for many reasons, but also must be tragic to realize that, at its core, there is nothing you could offer anymore that a computer couldn’t do better. I don’t even see this in the typical huckster way of riding NFT grifts. This was someone who had lost the drive and was holding onto a dream that no longer suited her. 

I’m stopping my story about Splishbie there mostly because I don’t know how valuable it is to speculate on the most vulnerable aspects of personal tragedy. Like Brad, I think there was a cry for help buried inside that could never be reciprocated. What is her future going to look like, especially since she didn’t even have what Brad had (a consistent brand)? Maybe there will be a deus ex machina, but her case seems more hopeless, less willing to engage with a reality that she’s even less suited for content creation. I fear she’ll show up in the next phase of her life having not learned how to project a positive image, forever groveling for pity because she can’t accept a healthier alternative. Please let me be wrong.

It’s rough to follow your dreams in 2025. Even as I continue to publish material regularly, I don’t have a joke about quitting my day job. If anything, my biggest conflict has been thinking that I need an outside world to give me inspiration. I’ll need conflict, to be in environments where everything is not catered to me. Part of that is reading too much into the desperation and exhaustion of these people who have put their art out there and came up short (whether financially or personally). It’s also because it’s clear that even with genuine intentions, there might be a chance that your honesty gets lost in translation. Maybe your drive disappears altogether because you need groceries. There’s no freedom to just have fun, and while that’s been true of anyone who makes content as a job, it’s less desirable a skill to pick up now. After all, people with careers once deemed more stable are now out of work because of institutions larger than themselves unable to manage the economy. What good will it do for someone just entering with limited field experience nowadays?

Which is a shame. It’s a sign of self-expression that may slowly die if we’re not careful. As we continue to push ourselves into competition with a rival who doesn’t exist, what is stopping us from just appreciating why we set out to do this in the first place? It may swallow you whole, take away your sanity, and make you a laughingstock of the internet. Even still, will the risk be worth it if your greatest work is mocked by people who gut you with a simple “I’m not reading all that?” How do we strive for something better in a world celebrating the TLDR version of life?

The best I can do is ask creators to create. Don’t think of it as a paycheck unless you have to. It may produce a mediocre drawing, but it builds character to notice mistakes and want to grow. It’s only when one enters stagnation or validation from the wrong people that everything falls apart. Make of the world what you want when you can. It won’t be enough to change it, but odds are it will make you a little happier having one thing not ruined by the misery outside your control.