The Quiet Rebellion of Becoming a Maker in a World of Shoppers
They told you who you were in price tags.
Your taste? That’s your streaming algorithm. Your vibe? It’s your sneakers, your iPhone case, your skincare routine. Your tribe? It’s who you follow, what you order, what you wear.
We used to introduce ourselves with names. Now we do it with brands. We all try to create our personal brands and interact with them.
And it’s no accident. Because if they can convince you that identity lives in the checkout cart, they never have to teach you how to create your own.
The Subtle Lie of Lifestyle
Capitalism doesn’t just sell things. It sells selves. Curated. Packaged. Predictable.
You don’t like oat milk. You’re an Oat Milk Person™. You didn’t just go to Burning Man. You are Burning Man. You didn’t just buy a Tesla. You bought virtue, tech-savviness, and status in one click.
But here’s the catch: Consumption is hollow. No matter how much you buy, you’re always left with more craving than clarity.
Because deep down, we all know:
You don’t become someone by choosing between flavors. You become someone when you build something real.
Creation: The Lost Mirror
When was the last time you made something that wasn’t for likes or money? A story. A garden. A tool. A ritual. A real moment of care that couldn’t be posted?
We’ve forgotten the texture of selfhood that comes from effort. From choosing your own inputs. From sitting in the friction of making.
Because building is slow. Messy. Unmonetized. Which is exactly why it’s yours.
You Are Not a Brand. You Are a Builder.
We’ve been trained to curate ourselves like storefronts. But your soul isn’t a product page.
You are not the shoes you saved up for. You are the conversation you started. You are the community you shaped. You are the words you strung together when you didn’t know if they’d land. You are the thing you made when no one was watching.
That is identity.
Not what you signal. What you sow.
A Personal Vow
I don’t want to be remembered for what I owned. I want to be remembered for what I offered. I want my life to be proof that I made something out of the chaos— even if it didn’t scale. Even if it didn’t sell. Even if no one clapped.
Because in a world designed to reduce us to shoppers,
creation is a quiet form of rebellion.
You are not what you buy. You are what you build.
Don’t forget that. Everything else is advertising and nonsense!
On the internet, the offer looks very serious: a start to a new life without dialysis, with a new kidney in just a few weeks. A glimmer of hope for seriously ill people who have been waiting for years for a donor organ. Behind it all is a notorious network of international organ traffickers. We have been following the trail for months. At the center is a transplant clinic in Eldoret, Kenya, where patients from Germany and Israel in particular meet donors from countries in the Caucasus such as Azerbaijan. There are also young Kenyans who are persuaded that they are getting a good deal at 4,000 euros for a kidney. Recipients pay up to €200,000 ($222,000 USD) to organ traffickers. There are many indications that local authorities are looking the other way and that politicians are covering up the trade.
It’s not “best performance.” It’s “who’s playing nice with the Western order.”
The Real Costume Is Conformity
That dramatic ballad about suffering? Approved. That flamboyant drag act? Celebrated—but only if it feels safe. That quirky rebellion anthem? Cool—as long as it doesn’t shake actual power.
You can be radical—but only on schedule. You can be queer—but keep it exportable. You can talk politics—but only if the room agrees.
Eurovision lets you say anything— as long as it sounds like belonging.
What We’re Really Watching
Eurovision is a moodboard for modern Western values: Peace, but photogenic. Progress, but polished. Identity, but Instagrammable.
And beneath it all? A quiet reminder:
“If you want to be seen, sound like us.”
So Let’s Call It What It Is
Eurovision is NATO in drag. It’s a velvet-wrapped loyalty test. A post-war pact turned pop pageant. Where the winner isn’t the voice—it’s the vibe.
And if you don’t match it? You don’t make the finals.
Maybe the real performance isn’t on stage—it’s us clapping, thinking it’s just a show!
