There are mornings when you just can’t move. You stare at your computer screen, glance at the blank canvas in Canva, tweak the post’s headline for the fourth time, and it still feels too bland, not “pro” enough. And somewhere at the back of your mind, a familiar voice whispers: “What if they see this and think it’s weak?” So you tell yourself: maybe tomorrow, sorry mate, I’m just not ready yet.
And then you scroll through Facebook and see someone else – with an idea thrown together in a second, and a graphic that looks like it’s from a decade ago – posting something that gets hundreds of likes. And you feel that familiar sting: frustration mixed with admiration. Because, hey, you have something to say too. But… fear is holding you back. Not fear of failure, but fear of what people will say if it doesn’t work out.
Meanwhile, the cat – that extraordinary alley cat, without a PR team, no plan, no Lightroom preset* – is simply doing its thing. And it absolutely doesn’t care what the ginger cat from the neighborhood thinks about it.
Not because it always succeeds. Not because it doesn’t know failure. It’s just that it doesn’t waste its time worrying about what other cats will think if it misses the mouse. What it cares about is that there’s no food, and the can opener is nowhere to be found.
The Cat Doesn’t Have an Audience in Mind
It doesn’t analyze its performance. It doesn’t ponder whether its move was smooth enough or whether its jump was flashy enough. If it missed, it only stops for a moment. Not for self-flagellation, but out of curiosity. Was it a lack of concentration? Maybe its body didn’t react with enough precision? Maybe it needs more sleep, more play, more practice? And then it moves on. Lightly. Without shame. Without a mark.
Meanwhile, we – you, me, the creator, strategist, freelancer, marketer – can deconstruct an unpublished post into a thousand pieces. Not because we don’t know what to say, but because we’re afraid of how it will be received.
Deep down, there’s that inner critic – a collection of expectations, patterns, and gazes – telling us: “Be careful, you might look foolish. Don’t stick out, it might not work out. And if it doesn’t, what will people think?” Today, after years of failures and hiding in the shadows, I’d like to answer just like my “back-in-the-day” buddy: “And so what? Will they eat you? And even if they do, they’ll poop you out later” (oops, sorry for the vulgarity, dear readers).
Social Mirrors and Other People’s Eyes
Social psychologists have long written about the phenomenon of the “social mirror” – how we construct our self-image not based on who we are, but on how we think we are seen. It’s a powerful mechanism that made sense when we were tribal creatures dependent on the group – unfortunately, today, in the age of personal branding and Instagram Reels, it often acts like a creative block with the strength of reinforced concrete.
Because if you filter every thought through: what if it doesn’t work out?, it’s easy to turn creativity into a survival act. And the creative process into an endless self-analysis.
And that’s why cats are smarter in this regard. Not because they’re above everything. But because they don’t play the game.
Failure as Information, Not an Accusation
For the cat, an unsuccessful hunt isn’t proof of incompetence. It’s a signal. Feedback. An uncomfortable but neutral stimulus: something didn’t work – it’s worth noticing, and then moving on. There’s no room for existential drama, no comparing yourself to the cat from the other yard who has a quicker reflex and a better telemark landing. There’s no need for justification or approval.
And us? We can get stuck in an endless “I’ll just embarrass myself.” We delay sending the newsletter because we don’t have the perfect title. We don’t post a story because the lighting wasn’t right. We don’t launch the offer because someone might say it’s been done before. And in this way, we give way to those who just get things done. Maybe less spectacularly. Maybe less precisely. But consistently.
Yes, yes, I know, easy to say… I’m stuck in it myself.
Marketing the Cat Way
That doesn’t mean you should abandon strategy and just act blindly. But maybe it’s worth stopping to wait for the moment when everything is perfectly ready, organized, polished, and immune to criticism. Because that moment will never come. There will always be someone who says you could’ve written it more professionally. But be like the cat – take from the criticism what you need, either to rest more or to practice more.
In the world of social media, it’s not the person who does something spectacular once that wins. It’s the one who keeps coming back. Writing, publishing, editing, acting. Not in grand gestures, but regularly. Not for applause, but from an inner imperative: Because I want to. Because I like it.
And maybe, in all this madness of building, scaling, optimizing – we should sometimes learn to act like a cat.
Not asking for permission. (Oh yes, they never ask, they just charge ahead). Not waiting for the perfect conditions. Not analyzing ourselves through the eyes of those whose opinion we never asked for.
Just: go out, try, and if you need to, step back and jump again.
Because maybe the most freedom is found not in being perfect, but in not having to be.
And marketing? Personal branding? Creativity?
It’s not a presentation before a jury. It’s a process. And believe me, in every one of us there’s a childlike nature that, when learning to walk, falls down but picks itself up and tries again. You don’t always have to win. Sometimes, even a bruised butt is a lesson.
P.S. This post was inspired by a stand-up comedian’s performance about cats. I don’t remember who it was, but if, by some miracle, they’re reading this post, please reach out. I’d be happy to add you as a co-author, guru, or anything for this little write-up.
Notes 😉
Oh yes, I spent an hour looking for some fancy marketing jargon I don’t understand, and found one 🙂
*I also found a few more phrases, which led to the idea of creating the “Influencer Alphabet.” Get ready. It’s going to be a ride.