🎧 Listen | 7:54 mins
Last month, I sat down to prepare a proposal for a presentation I’d like to make at next year’s SXSW conference. It required both a written outline and a short video of me speaking. The written part went pretty quickly – my proposal covered topics I’ve been working on for years, and it was pretty straightforward to adapt it to the conference’s format.
But filming a two-minute video of myself? That took me four fraught days.
You’d have never known that I’d built a career as a communicator in high-pressure situations. I’ve faced countless incredulous audiences while representing Uber and Meta at their deepest points of unpopularity. Negotiated with government regulators around the world. Given keynote speeches at national conferences. Needless to say, I’m very comfortable in a skeptical room.
But hand me a tiny microphone in my home office and point my phone at me, and I freeze up.
Two years since I made my first TikTok, I’ve finally gotten comfortable seeing myself pop up on my own feed. But I still struggle with hearing my voice.
Specifically, The Voice. The one that comes out when I want to sound serious and credible. It’s louder, more monotone, and more forceful than my natural way of speaking.
At this point, it comes out automatically whenever I go into presenter mode. It’s just what happens when I turn “on.”
But in the world we live in today, where “authenticity” is the key to building trust, The Voice has become my tell.
So I’m trying to unlearn it.
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Of course, The Voice didn’t come from nowhere. For a long time, it was a necessity.
In my mid-twenties, I started my first “real” job, working for an NGO housed within the UN offices in Vienna. It was a diplomatic environment, which I truly enjoyed as a young person, with its formalities and paperwork. Later, I became Employee ~100 at Uber, and entered the “fake it till you make it” world of glitzy Silicon Valley. The two work environments could not have been more different, and yet, the rules of building credibility were surprisingly similar.
Being intelligent was basic – everyone was smart. The key to being taken seriously was how you presented yourself.
I’ve always looked younger than I am, and having started my career in Europe (where university can last longer), I actually was younger than my peers. So I tried to use makeup to age myself – until a colleague took me aside at an event and asked with genuine concern if I was getting an eye infection (the discoloration he noticed was my eyeshadow). After that, I switched to false eyelashes, which were more expensive and harder to maintain. They were also, according to my eye doctor, more likely to give me an actual eye infection. But I kept them anyway.
This was the Lean In era, and there was plenty of advice being handed out to ambitious young women on how to convey credibility at work — actual abilities aside. Wear color. Don’t use upspeak. Lower your pitch. Don’t say “just.” Stand akimbo. Take up space.
Of course, it was a kind of performance. But over time, it stopped feeling like one. I didn’t consciously take on a new persona on stage or in meetings; it just happened. And the thing is: it served a purpose as much for my audience as it did for me.
The Voice assured me of my own credibility. The Voice deserved to be heard.
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It never occurred to me that one day, The Voice might become a red flag.
But increasingly, that’s the world we live in now, with all of its AI and decline in institutional trust. People trust people, as they say. “Authenticity” is king. But what does that mean? And if I think too hard about being “authentic,” does that defeat the purpose?
By the time I worked up the gumption to start posting online, I was excited to finally speak for myself. I had spent so many years banging my head within imperfect systems trying to help make the world a little better. It felt liberating to finally talk about things I’ve been thinking about for so long, and to say them my way.
But at the same time, without the constraints of representing an organization, it felt overwhelming. I didn’t really know what my voice was without The Voice. The world where I learned to communicate rewarded polish, certainty, and control. To the general public today, those same qualities read differently. Polish sounds scripted. Absolutism feels scammy. And good luck with trying to control any narrative online.
But as I’ve dived deeper into the world of content creation, I realized something. “Authenticity” is a performance too, just a different kind.
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People think they know everything about my life, but what they don’t realize is I’m only showing them what I want them to see. They don’t really know me.
These were words from a creator I met, who makes content about her marriage, kids, and daily life for almost 2 million followers on Instagram. She was responding to a question about oversharing online. Indeed her content looks super personal; she speaks to the camera as if she’s sharing a secret with you or asking for your advice. It’s charming.
Her words stuck with me because they made me realize that “authenticity” doesn’t mean you’re not deliberate. It’s simply another version of The Voice.
Where “authenticity” gets a bad rap is that people understand it to mean showing your whole self online. That’s why “just be yourself” is bad advice to anyone just starting out. Because look at any successful creator’s account, and you’ll start to realize how much strategy they put into it. Content pillars. Catchphrases. Repeated formats. From that perspective, it’s not that different from the way I learned to communicate at work. It’s just a different way of presenting yourself. Yes, you’re seeing someone’s pimples, but it’s because they want you to see them.
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Funnily, my online world has become the one place in my life where I feel the most in control. I’m the one setting the boundaries.
The fake eyelashes are gone. Upspeak is just how I talk. But I’m still careful about my words. I still want to be inclusive. I still want to be accurate.
But now, I decide what gets my attention and my energy. I choose what feedback is helpful, and what’s not worth my energy. I can speak with more nuance and less absolutism than I did when following corporate talking points. I can evolve and change my mind without needing anyone’s sign-off to do so.
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To be honest, I don’t think I’ll ever lose The Voice. There are still spaces and stages where she fits. And honestly, she’s as much part of me as the one holding the tiny mic on camera.
They’re both types of performance. They’re also both me.
Maybe what I’m actually unlearning is the idea that there’s only one way to present credibility. ◾
🗳️ If you would support my SXSW proposals, I’d be so grateful.
Voting is now live until Sunday, 23 August 2026. To vote, create a free SXSW ID, and click on the Heart on each proposal:
The Post-Gatekeeper Institution: A Playbook for Public Trust
A presentation on how to design institutional workplaces that support staff experts to participate effectively and safely online, while also protecting the organization. This one has the video that stressed me out :-)
Who’s Actually Anxious? A Dialogue with Gen Z
A live recording of the Did You See? podcast, which will feature two youth advocates for an honest discussion about social media and youth well-being.
Media Literacy: A New Standard for Every Subject
An interactive workshop by National Association for Media Literacy Education (NAMLE) for educators about integrating media literacy into K-12 classrooms. Note: I’m a proud NAMLE Board member.
If accepted, this would be my first time at SXSW representing myself (not a company). Thank you so much for your support!