No, Honey... You're Not Famous.

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I met a lovely person on a plane recently.

We had a genuinely enjoyable conversation. We talked about life, social media, work, all the usual things people chat about when they're trapped in a flying aluminum tube together.

Then came the line.

"I'm kind of TikTok famous."



Oh?

My ears perked up.

Did they have a million followers? Were brands throwing money at them? How was the creator fund working out for them?  Did people stop them in airports asking for selfies?

No. Dude. They....had....

About 1,500 followers.

I stared out the window for a minute because I wasn't sure if we were experiencing turbulence or if reality itself had shifted.

Friends...

What in the Kentucky Fried Delusion has happened to us?

Since when did fifteen hundred followers become fame?

I've got around 1,800 followers.

Do you know what that makes me?

Someone with around 1,800 followers.

That's it.

I'm not famous.

I'm not an influencer.

I'm not an internet celebrity.

I'm a middle-aged witch who occasionally posts sarcastic rants, makes stupid voices, talks to whales through my phone, and lets complete strangers watch the circus that is my life.

Some of my followers came because they like the singers I follow.

Some are probably bots.

Some haven't opened TikTok since the pandemic.

One or two may have accidentally hit the Follow button while trying to scroll.

It happens.

The point is...

Follower count is not fame.

Never has been.

Somewhere along the way social media convinced people that every little milestone deserves a crown.

Five hundred followers?

Content creator.

One thousand?

Influencer.

Fifteen hundred?

Celebrity.

Please.

Sit down before you pull a hamstring reaching that hard.

Real fame is when people recognize your face without seeing your username underneath it.

Real fame is when your work has become part of the culture.

Real fame is when people know your name before they know your handle.

The cashier at Costco has never looked at me and whispered,

"Oh my God... it's that lady who complains about life while doing weird voices on TikTok."

The TSA isn't asking me for selfies.

The flight attendant isn't upgrading me because she loved my rant about stupid people at the grocery store.

I'm just... me.

And frankly, I'm good with that.

Because here's the dirty little secret nobody talks about.

Social media followers are rented.

Not owned.

TikTok disappears tomorrow?

So does your audience.

Facebook decides your page gets 2% reach?

Congratulations. You built your house on someone else's land.

Algorithms don't love you.

They tolerate you until someone dances harder.

I'd rather have 500 people who actually read what I write than 500,000 people who accidentally watched six seconds of a video before swiping away.

I'd rather sell books than chase likes.

I'd rather build trust than build numbers.

I'd rather someone tell me,

"Your words got me through the worst year of my life."

than,

*"OMG, I follow you!"

One changes a life.

The other feeds an ego.

There's a difference.

Maybe this is Gen X talking.

We grew up when "famous" meant your grandmother knew who you were.

Not because she accidentally clicked Follow while trying to enlarge a recipe.

We understood that celebrity wasn't measured in heart icons and dopamine hits.

It was measured in lasting work.

So if you've got 800 followers...

Cool.

If you've got 1,500...

Awesome.

If you've got 10,000...

Congratulations.

None of those numbers automatically make you famous.

They make you visible.

Those are two very different things.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go post another video of me making ridiculous voices that twelve people will watch, three bots will like, one person will misunderstand, and my husband will pretend not to see.

And somehow...

I'm perfectly happy with that.

That, my friends, is what being actually grounded in reality looks like. And if this bruises a few influencer egos... well... they'll probably make a video about it. Which, ironically, still won't make them famous.

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