Instagram Makes Me Feel Like a Sham
Do you think it’s possible to be famous these days without being chronically online?
I love being a singer-songwriter, but social media makes me feel guilty. I have a social media manager who replies to fans in my “voice,” but it’s not me—it’s a digital ghost. People think I’m responding, but it’s actually a 20-year-old handling five other accounts. I feel false.
The irony? My next album is all about being true to yourself. How can I put that out there when I’m not even being true in my smallest interactions? Is this just how things are now, or might there be another way?
Yours,
Connected and Contrite
Dear Connected and Contrite,
Social media has certainly changed how we connect with audiences. It’s tough to reconcile the pressure to be available 24/7 with the desire to remain authentic. But here’s a thought: Do you need to respond to every comment for your art to be meaningful?
It’s possible to engage with your fans without being chained to your phone. Focus on moments that feel genuine—whether that’s through carefully curated replies or occasional direct interactions. You don’t have to respond to every message to show up authentically. And mastering the perfect emoji won’t help you write better songs.
The key is balance. Your fans follow you for your music, not for your comment section. Stay true to your album’s message and make sure your online presence feels like an extension of that, rather than a contradiction.
Be as real as your lyrics—and leave the 24/7 presence to the bots,
Remy
Illustration by Russ Tudor
Help! I Can’t Stop Saying ‘Yes’!
Dear Remy,
I’m featured on a major TV show that centers on improv, and first off, I feel very blessed to have this job. All of my siblings work in real estate, so I count myself lucky I’ve never had to sell a condo with dry rot and a bathtub that doubles as a reading nook.
But, Remy, I think improv might be a disease. The longer I do it, the more the concept of “YES AND” has absorbed into the core of my being. You know what I’m talking about: the idea that an improviser must always say “yes” to any idea thrown their way to keep a scene flowing. I think this is why improvisers are considered overly positive people—and why we don’t get invited to many dinner parties.
“YES AND” has seeped into my day-to-day life. I find myself agreeing to everything. A road trip through Appalachia in my friend’s Ford Transit, which they’ve converted into a home after watching too many TikTok van-life videos? “Yes, and I’ll bring the snacks.” A double date with a MAGA bimbo? “Yes, and the first round’s on me.” A guest appearance at my friend’s baby shower for their new Maine Coon? “Yes, and I’ll sing ‘Isn’t She Lovely’ by Stevie Wonder.”
It’s a habit I can’t shake. I keep finding myself in situations that aren’t “me,” and I don’t know how I got there. The other day, a friend asked me to buff their car. Suffice it to say, their car is gleaming, and I’m exhausted. I long for a nap.
Yours in compulsive congeniality,
Too-Good-to-’No’
Dear Too-Good-to-’No’,
It sounds like “YES AND” has taken up more space in your life than it should. While it’s a brilliant tool on stage, it’s leaving you exhausted in your personal life. Have you considered that saying “no” could be its own form of improvisation? Turning something down could open new possibilities for you—ones that are just as creative but less tiring.
We’re often told that saying yes to everything will open us up to adventure, but you only have so many hours in a day, no matter what every productivity podcast might tell you. Use them mindfully, not recklessly. Think of your schedule as a carefully curated Pinterest board, not an overflowing bulletin board in a frat house.
What might happen if you started to replace a few “yes” moments with “no, but…”? That way, you’re still open to opportunities while carving out time for yourself, which every performer needs. Improv is meant to enhance your creativity, not deplete your energy. Maybe the next scene you need to build is the one where you finally get that nap.
Stay spontaneous, but leave some room to breathe,
Remy
I Cast My Friends’ Kids And Now They Hate Me
Dear Remy,
A weird side effect of working in reality TV for the last 25 years is that it seems to have made me lose touch with actual reality.
I’m currently overseeing a new fly-on-the-wall series that will focus on families with unruly kids. Think Supernanny US meets The Kardashians, though with a smaller fake tan budget. We are deep in casting, and as a hands-on executive, I’ve kept my eyes peeled for perfect families.
So, it felt too good to be true when I was invited to my friends’ home for dinner party. Their two kids, ages 7 and 11, are like the spawn of Satan. During cocktail hour, the youngest managed to injure a caterer with a Tonka truck. By dessert, the eldest had fat-shamed two guests and both launched into an obscenity-laced re-enactment of Yellowjackets.
As the night ended, I pulled my friends aside and asked if they’d want to be on the show. They were mortified. Apparently, they don’t see their kids as unruly, much less fit for a show about misbehaving children. They haven’t spoken to me since, despite the apology bouquet I sent.
I realize now I got overexcited and forgot they’re real people (with the amount of Botox they’ve had, it does often look like they’re behind a filter). How can I repair the damage? And how do I keep a healthier distance between my work and personal life?
Yours in regret,
Reality Check Needed
Dear Reality Check Needed,
It’s easy to see how, in the moment, you got carried away. When you work in an industry that thrives on drama, it can be tempting to see every chaotic dinner party as casting gold. But your friends likely felt blindsided—and possibly embarrassed—by the suggestion that their kids belong on reality TV. They probably envision their kids becoming doctors or, worse, Presidents.
How can you reconnect with them on a human level? Maybe start with a heartfelt apology that doesn’t involve flowers or food—just a genuine conversation where you can explain your excitement and reassure them that your friendship matters more than the next casting decision. Can you remind them of better times you’ve spent together, particularly ones involving the kids—if you can bear to reflect on those moments?
If that fails, maybe try a different approach: their little ones clearly have chutzpah and energy—maybe they’d appreciate your guidance in nurturing their creative tendencies. Flattery gets you everywhere. Perhaps you can help them find drama classes or scripts to channel their energy into. Just steer them away from gore—less Yellowjackets, more Big Bird.
As for the future, remember that not every real-life scenario is meant for television. Be a human first. Just because someone’s life looks “TV-worthy,” it doesn’t mean they want it filmed.
Best of luck getting back on your friends’ good side,
Remy
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Remy Blumenfeld is a veteran TV producer and founder of Vitality Guru, which offers business and career coaching to high performers in media. Send queries to: guru@vitality.guru.
Questions edited by Sarah Mills.
