Auditions to Algorithms: What Switching to Content Creation is Teaching Us
One thing that has consistently surprised me about this career shift is how familiar it feels—how many parallels it has to our lives working in entertainment before this.
Travel Content Creation vs.
Performing Arts
The majority of my job is pitching brands-
-The majority of our job was auditioning
You work a LOT of hours making content for very little payoff-
-You work a lot of hours learning material, filming, & creating for free in the hopes something will gain traction
You need a media kit, portfolio, and ideally a following before you can start pitching-
-You need headshots, a resume, and audition reels before you can start auditioning
People glamorize the end result (brand deals, paid trips, etc.) and gloss over the hustle and hurdles-
-People idolize Broadway and TV actors and ignore/forget the realities of getting there
And now I’m seeing another parallel:
We are expected to read the minds of—and adjust to the needs of—the “other” (casting, the algorithm, the audience) Even at the expense of ourselves.
When I was in college and we were “building our audition books,” there was so much emphasis on having “new” material. The idea was that if you could perform something unfamiliar, you’d be more memorable to the people behind the table. And if you performed something “overdone,” they’d be annoyed with you right out of the gate.
As you might imagine, this didn’t have the desired effect:
The Venn diagram of things that were unheard of and things I actually enjoyed performing was… small. I ended up with a lot of songs and monologues that didn’t bring me joy—because they were “rare” and checked a category box. And because I didn’t enjoy performing them, I didn’t perform them well.
“But this is what everyone says I’m supposed to do! So I must retrain my intuition to fall in line.”
I disconnected from myself—my desires, talents, and skill sets—and became solely motivated by what others wanted me to be.
One day there was an audition for Legally Blonde at my school. I had been practicing my audition material and I just… didn’t care for it. I tried and tried to make it work (it was an “unusual” song! And it fit the show better than anything else in my book!). I was standing outside the audition room, one person ahead of me, when I had a full come-to-Jesus moment:
If I enjoy what I’m performing, I will perform it better. And if 85% of my job is auditioning, I don’t want to spend 85% of it trying to wear a shoe that just… doesn’t fit.
A rare song might be memorable—but it’s not my job to provide them with new songs to listen to. It’s my job to perform. And to be wholly and completely true to myself in the process. So I changed my audition song right there in the hallway. I auditioned with one I loved performing instead: and I nailed the audition. But more importantly—I enjoyed it.
Now we’re trying to become travel content creators.
My days are full of trial and error: taking classes, watching content, pitching brands, editing reels, writing scripts. So much attention is given to the algorithm—what it’s hungry for, what’s working, what isn’t, how often you should post.
Add the pressure of wanting to monetize on YouTube so we can start making income, plus comparing ourselves to other creators, and suddenly it feels like I’m standing outside of the audition room again:
That familiar feeling of external voices drowning out the internal one. And the internal one gently—but consistently—knocking, asking for a seat at the table.
I’m not saying we should disregard the realities of the industry or stop learning how it works. I’m saying that catering exclusively to the needs of others is the fastest way to lose yourself: in work and in life. You will always exhaust yourself trying to keep up with people in a lane that isn’t yours. The best runner is brilliant at running—but will destroy himself trying to keep up with swimmers in open water.
This morning, I woke up with a feeling of dread about batching another week of content. Our posts haven’t been performing as well, and I haven’t been excited about what I’ve been creating. I’ve been pitching brands like crazy—some traction, then things falling through due to contracts or unfair asks. In some ways, it feels like we’ve been pedaling uphill… and the crest of the hill keeps moving further away.
But this morning, I had my “outside the audition room” moment.
1: We don’t know when we’ll monetize on YouTube. Days. Weeks. Months. Some of that is within our control—and some of it just isn’t.
2: There are so many things that could be contributing to a lull in performance. And it’s not my job to make the content perform well. It’s my job to share what I love—and love what I share. (Oh look. Another parallel.)
3: If I betray myself for the sake of providing what I think others want, both the product and the process will suffer.
So if we’re going to keep pedaling, we might as well get back to enjoying the ride.
It’s easy to lose sight of the forest when you’re deeply entrenched in the trees—and right now, it’s winter. These trees look pretty bare. I’m not excited about what’s currently in our audition book. It’s time to recalibrate and get back to making the content that brings us joy.
There’s no neat conclusion here. Just reflections, musings, and an excessive use of metaphors.
And the realization that it’s time to change our metrics for success.
Maybe we haven’t monetized on YouTube yet—but our vlogs are cleaner, faster to edit, and we’ve gotten much better at filming.
Maybe we haven’t signed a brand deal—but we’ve had three positive responses and two (albeit scammy) inbounds this month.
Maybe the content I want to make isn’t perfectly aligned with what I’m “supposed” to make—but that means I have a clearer sense of our unique style and niche.
And if I can’t know when we’ll hit the crest of this hill, then I want to stop chasing it—and find a sustainable endurance pace in the meantime.
I’ll be honest. I threw a little tantrum this morning. Some days this life is a dream. Other days, it’s friggin hard. But I’ve run enough marathons to know that miles 18–22 are the worst—and the only way out is through.
So here’s to walking in winter.
Enjoying the ride.
Getting through the “wall” (iykyk)
And listening to the inner voice that says: it’s time to change our audition song.
I told you there was an excessive use of metaphors.
