Previously on Shapeshyfter
From behind stall three cried wails no human should make.
Bubbling. Cracking. A yell so tile-shattering it suggested either an 18-pound birth or gas station sushi seeking revenge.
I knocked.
"Sir? Want me to call someone?"
Silence.
Maybe homie blacked out. Doesn’t speak English. Maybe he crossed into that hologram realm where Luke, Yoda, and Obi-Wan live permanently.
I tried. Left him to his journey toward the blue translucent side.
How’s that for firsts?
My first SXSW, in a public bomb-house, standing before a handicap stall detonating like Krypton.
Fellow Shapeshyfter —
Hello from high above post modern Europe.
You probably have questions.
Fair.
Why am I standing on a ledge?
Air feels different up here. Cleaner. Miles of visibility. Thousands of clones crowding sidewalks below like some post-apocalyptic March of The penguins.
Shoulder to shoulder. Same jacket. Same scrolling thumb. Same face pointed into the world of Rogan or Chris Williamson.
Also, I’m on the run. Not from the clones. From powerful forces manufacturing them.
Feel that shift in pressure, cool air rolling in? That's not fog. That's brother sameness.
One of many venomous hitmen A.I dispatches when someone announces themselves as a soul-starved man of culture. Which I did.
Sameness looks harmless. Moves like Jason Voorhees… Machete swinging. Ancient. Impossible to kill completely.
He drifts into our work. Our wardrobes. Our personalities. Slowly. Then sudden. Hostile takeover.
A.I and his associates spend every waking hour manufacturing clones out of creatives. They gave us a name…
Interchangeable.
I thought I had more time.
(sighs)
Coward wouldn't dare dirty his own hands. Had to hire another contract killer. Someone plenty busy enough infecting YouTube.
“GO, FIND HIM…”
Assassin #3 - Thumbnail Face
Dripping in SPF 50. Rocking suburban cargo shorts.
He was a normal guy. Enjoyed detailing his Ford Raptor every Saturday, rain or shine. Good-ole-boys called him a "lifer."
One afternoon at a YouTube creator meetup hosted by Colin and Samir he made The Face at a buffet table.
"These meatballs are UNBELIEVABLE."
You know The Face. Crazy mouth. Kash Patel bug eyes. Expressing maximum shock at minimum stimulus.
A.I watched. Didn't laugh. Never laughs. Just pointed.
YOU
"You're going to help us lobotomize the internet."
Thumbnail Face nodded. Made The Face.
A.I found his new weapon. Mightier than Mjolnir. Sharper than Glamdring. A simple clone-making face. Powerful enough to destroy thumbnail creativity with single blows.
Now he’s everywhere. He can’t stop infecting content creators from making the face.
They make it at funerals. (SHOCKING grandma died at 103)
They make it ordering a sandwich. (UNBELIEVABLE they had avocado)
They make it unboxing, reacting, ranking, reviewing, revealing, announcing, launching, and standing in front of rented Lamborghinis looking stunned by their own proximity to a car they don't own. All the while, little old ladies and Sexyy Red fans lick their chops.
We're neck deep drowning in soullessness
We make the same work. Dress the same. Think the same.
A 45-minute stroll through internet wonderland … IG, Substack, YouTube, brings up thousands of quasi-creative individuals, perfectly satisfied with the clone world we built.
We celebrate hacks. Trends. Virality. "Seven things I wish I knew at 23."
We obsess over how a noodle attracted Kylie Jenner.
Why do we shine blinding spotlights on Meh?
Meanwhile soulful ones occupy tiny corners. Building quietly. Living authentically. Creating work so specific it could only have come from them and nobody else on earth.
Nobody's documenting that.
I'm hungry for work that inspires wonder. A lifestyle that follows suit.
Maybe you are too.
Humans Creating Wonder
Scattered across cities and small corners of the internet, multi-dimensional creatives build lives that can only be theirs.
A hip-hop loving designer makes a sneaker that isn't a sneaker. It's a vessel for meaning heavier than its load.
A Japanese watch brand shows its maker covered in filth, hand-carving micro components.
In Singapore, a young couple turns their intimate home into an object-led storefront.
A San Francisco chef tells her adoption story through every plate.
A Tokyo creative director leaves salary-man existence for something slower, stranger, more sovereign.
These creatives live outside conformity's walls. They don't create to exit. They create to describe what makes them different.
They share the experience of being human.
That idea, creating for the soul to hold a mirror where others recognize their own humanity, might just save us from the machines.
Back on ledge.
Wind's picking up. Sameness still visible three blocks out. Roving about unhurried, knowing he has nothing but time.
Thumbnail Face somewhere behind him making The Face at ice cream eating kids.
Shapehyfters don't stay put. We don't wait on ledges for hitmen to arrive. We document. We hunt. We create.
We prioritize humanity collecting evidence that soul still breathes human work.
Shapeshyfter exists to answer one question.
How do you make humans feel human again?
I'm Shape. Hunter and prey simultaneously. Hunting wonder, soulful work, rip-roaring experiences, culture makers — while something powerful and patient hunts me back.
Seemed like a good time to mention I also run a creative studio.
(makes no face whatsoever)
— Shape
BTW: The man in stall three eventually emerged. Said nothing. Straightened his collar. Walked out like Krypton never happened.
Want to support Shapeshyfter?
📌 I'm a one man band who believes a life exploring wonder is both a soulful and fulfilling life.
📌Add this publication to your primary inbox so you never miss an edition.
📌 Share Shapeshyfter with anyone who may enjoy it.
📌Hit Reply to this email or any email. I read every message.
📌 I do brand strategy mostly for tech, fashion and lifestyle brands. I might be available for hire. Email me: [email protected]