Reader, I don’t know if there’s anything that will make you feel like a bonafide adult more than buying your first house.
Now, bear in mind I’m an elder millenial who bought her first house in 2009 in an area where you could happily afford a decent 3-bedroom semi-detached with a six-figure price that started with a 1.
I understand this is absolutely NOT the case anymore sobs in extended London borough of Bristol prices.
Scouring the property websites, collecting armfuls of brochures, doing neighbourhood walk-pasts to see if you could imagine yourself hauling a Tesco big shop from the car, and—let’s be SO for real here—finding where the best corner shops and pubs were.
This was, of course, the precursor to the best part of house-hunting, because the best part?
Getting to look inside other people’s houses.
The sheer joy of nosing around a home you’re trying to imagine living in, while also lying to yourself that you’d definitely knock that wall out and make it a Great Room™ with a kitchen-dining-living space.
Yeah, ok, Jeff Bezos. The fact that you’ll have the sum total of 2 pubes to rub together after you’ve spent your life savings on a few walls and a protracted legal process might make you rethink that plan in a few months.
On one occasion, I went to view what looked like a great bargain: Large kitchen, decent garden, 3 beds, 2 bathrooms, superb price. Not many photos, but hey…
I greeted the slightly dour estate agent at the door of the property. Location seemed good, there was parking out the front, the road was quiet and unassuming, the property wasn’t the most aesthetically pleasing, but with my rose-tinted Jeff Bezos wallet and a university sideline in daytime property shows, this might just work.
On walking through the door, however, the first thing that hit me was the smell of mildew.
“Good size porch, leading to the entrance hall—ooh, shoes off, please," said the agent.
I apologised, stumbling back into the porch… was that… moss?! Never mind, that had to be the main reason for the price…
Then came the hallway.
Darkest hallway I’ve ever seen. The estate agent genuinely fumbled for the light switch.
Immediate error! The walls were green, and so was the carpet—if you could still classify the fossilised floor covering under what I can only assume was years of sediment as a carpet. At this point, I thanked morning-Gemma for wearing socks.
“Come through to the kitchen-diner—the current owners have already extended the downstairs”.
Finally, some natural light, I thought.
But, wait… Something was off.
Once in the room, I realised: the old external brick walls were still exposed. And the window—still intact—looked into the old kitchen.
The only natural light that reached the original kitchen now came second-hand through the extension’s sliding doors.
The owners hadn’t really extended the house in the, y’know, legal or useful way. They’d just chucked some bricks and a kitchen into a glorified lean-to and called it a day.
“Yeah, that’s why the current owners didn’t brick up that window,” the estate agent gestured. “Anyway, let’s go through to the garden…”
I grabbed my shoes.
I mean, the house was damp, dark, and in probable violation of several building regulations—how bad could the garden be?
From the “extension”, it actually looked… decent.
“So, the one thing you should note about the garden is that right behind the fence…” the estate agent didn’t need to continue.
Because, dear reader, a fucking train came trundling past the back fence.
I know this sounds like I’m making it up. I WISH I WAS.
The train—thankfully a freight train and not a commuter train full of nosey bastards—slowly creaked and rumbled past.
The estate agent and I looked at each other for what felt like a small eternity until it passed.
“…is a rail line.”
Needless to say that I did not buy that house.
But why are so many of us building our online personas like this? (Glorious segue, right?)
The absolute number one reason that people will not gel with you or your personal content is because you’re trying to shoehorn yourself into The Perfect Facade.
This is social media to a T.
You don’t need to oversell yourself when you haven’t dealt with the basics.
You don’t need the fancy camera.
You don’t need the glossy website.
You just need to figuratively clean the moss off your porch, get scrappy, and make content from where you are right now, not where you think they want you to be.
The right audience for you—especially at the start of building a strategic personal brand—is the one you are only one or two steps ahead of.
Those people want to know the pitfalls, the conversations you’ve had, the literal next steps, the kind of people they should be meeting or connecting with.
They don’t want another random influencer who rents sports cars and pretends they have no affiliation to a trust fund telling them about how to make 6 figures a month curling out a monster turd on the toilet.
Because people can tell. They always can.
The vibe is off. The hallway’s dark. The “extension” is giving Nick-Knowles-DIY-SOS.
And believe me, they will see that fucking train.
Instead, be a bit more honest, sugarlips.
People trust people who own their story because we are starved of truth online, AND we’re all tired of hiding the fact that we each have our own awkward growth stories as well.
Even if your metaphorical kitchen still has a window looking into your past self.
You're worthy of being listened to just as you are.
Same time next week?
Gemma :)
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