Part 31: The Capitalist vs The Practicalist

aka: Why My TikTok Career Never Took Off

So, a job opportunity – shiny, new, and with a siren song of a salary – landed in my inbox. Naturally, my inner capitalist, who dreams of early retirement and unlimited champagne, pounced. Cue the interview circuit...

Things were progressing smoothly, the usual corporate dance, until the recruiter dropped a question I'd never encountered before.

“Sooo,” she chirped, "you'd be comfortable with our Search Team seeing your social media presence?"

Well, bless her optimistic heart.

*Social Media Review by a Corporate Board^

Let’s be real, my social media isn't some lucrative OnlyFans empire, but clearly she hadn't stumbled upon UnexpectedlyBald yet. Are employers these days truly ready for the unvarnished truth, served with a side of self-deprecating humor? Let's find out.

"Out of curiosity," I asked, channeling my most innocent corporate drone voice, "who on the Search Team will be doing this social media deep dive?" My internal betting pool was on the summer intern.

Nope. Turns out, it was someone who likely signs the checks. Well, crap.

But it got me thinking…

Would I lose sleep if a corporate overlord stumbled upon this blog? Honestly? Nah. This is me, unfiltered and occasionally f-bomb-laden. If that's a problem, we were never going to be a good fit. I've evolved beyond caring if my truth aligns with corporate gloss. ( Wow, I’ve come a long way from my consulting roots, baby. Hello, Accenture friends, I see you out there.)

This social media review, though, did spark a different kind of thought, the capitalist kind: why the heck aren't I monetizing this baldness on TikTok? My inner capitalist whispers sweet nothings of TikTok fame, IG influencer riches, and yacht life on the daily. But I can’t seem to get myself to do it. So what's my issue? Why aren't I all over that? Girl, just make some damn money so you can buy a whole closet full of luscious wigs.

Just too damn practical

The cold, hard truth?  The algorithm probably isn't salivating for a 50+ year old bald woman when it could be showcasing the 20-year-old bikini brigade. I've been in marketing long enough to know where the eyeballs (and the dollars) usually go. I'm likely better heard than seen, and frankly, my sanity appreciates that. 

And those pesky adjectives from my past - “Logical”, “Rational”, “Analytical”, “Practical” - keep popping up in my subconscious, stubbornly refusing to let me fully embrace my inner glitter-bomb social media persona.  It's this practicality that keeps the capitalist dreams at bay. Just too damn practical. Because this blog is good for my soul and why stop now.

It's the messy, lol-worthy, and sometimes gut-wrenching true story of hair loss getting out of my brain so I can sleep at night. You can't distill that into a 15-second sponsored post. The practical me knows this rawness has a different kind of value, even if it doesn't translate to immediate dollars.

I want to spend my time spilling these chaotic thoughts onto the digital page rather than staging the perfect selfie pose. I'm still hoping it resonates with someone else navigating this bizarre landscape or helps a friend understand the "wild ride." This isn't about chasing the golden parachute of life; it's about connection in the real (and sometimes hairless) world.

"With that said…"

Now, "with that said" (because who can resist a good corporate-euphemism-slash-Bachelor-staple mashup?), if a wig company wants to slide into my DMs with a freebie for a highly analytical TikTok review, my capitalist side has a weakness for free stuff. DM away. Here, let me help you with that.

How Did That All Work Out For You?

Did I land that job? Nope.  Clearly, it was because I haven't worked in their specific industry sector before, and not at all attributable to my posts here about my romantic (or lack thereof) life.

And this blog? Still costing me money rather than making me money.

My TikTok stardom? Still a distant fantasy.

And the rest of my corporate climb? I'm still on the ladder, hacking through jungle vines with a butter knife.

But hey, at least I'm authentically bald while I navigate it all.

Yep, the capitalist in me might be sighing over the missed influencer millions, but the practicalist knows this space is for something more real. So, while the job offer vanished just like my hair, I'll keep writing, keep being me, and keep waiting for that free wig. (You know, for 'research purposes’.) And if it helps even one person feel less alone in this bizarre hairless adventure, then maybe it is making me rich in a way that spreadsheets can't measure.

For richer or for poorer, bitches!

Much love,  

Kristina 💖  

kristina@unexpectedlybald.com

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