The Invisible Audience
There was a time when my creations were aimed squarely at what would work on Facebook. I made content with one goal — to get likes. And to be fair, it worked. I knew the formula. I knew what would perform. But over time, the thrill began to fade. It took a few years, a bit of distance, and some maturity to understand the cost of that mindset.
Creating for likes has its consequences:
You lose your purpose. Art should reflect the artist. When it’s made only to perform well, it stops belonging to you. It becomes a transaction.
It doesn’t scale. As your network and ambitions grow, the definition of “what works” keeps shifting. You will spend all your energy trying to keep up — and still fall behind.
Your craft becomes stagnant. You end up staying inside the boundaries of what your audience already expects. Curiosity shrinks. Growth becomes uncomfortable. Eventually, it gets boring.
But here’s the turning point:
Creating for yourself doesn’t mean retreating or keeping your work hidden. It simply means not letting validation be the compass. Likes, comments, reactions — they can be feedback, but not direction. Your audience — the one that truly matters — is mostly invisible. You’ll never see it fully. You’ll never fully know what resonates with it. And even if you do, it can change overnight.
So maybe the key is to create without chasing. To keep publishing, even when no one reacts. To try new things. To pursue ideas that spark curiosity rather than approval. To let the process stay playful — not strategic. Your role is to broaden your craft, seek inspiration, and set your own bar. Your art must work for you before it can work for anyone else.
The invisible audience will find you when it needs you. Maybe years from now. Maybe through one photo, one blog post, or one video that you barely remember making. You might never know when it happens — because they may never comment, never message, never announce themselves. They will stay invisible. But they’ll be there.
And perhaps that’s the real privilege of creating — not to be seen, but to be discovered.