Being Seen vs Being Supported

Everybody wants a piece of the pie, but nobody wants to help bake it.

That’s probably the biggest thing I’ve learned being a creative.

I came to America in 2018. No friends. No real community. No circle. I graduated high school with people around me, sure, but not people I could genuinely call friends. There’s a difference between people you talk to and people who truly know you. I didn’t really experience friendship until 2021. And honestly, because of that, I think I observe people differently now.

When you spend years alone, you become hyperaware of energy. You notice intentions faster. You notice who shows up when there’s nothing to gain. You notice who only appears when something starts working out for you.

Being in the creative field has taught me that friendship and community are two completely different things. A lot of people love the idea of community because it sounds good. It looks good online. It feels good to say “we’re family” or “we’re building together.” But the moment contribution is required, the room gets quiet.

Everybody wants a seat at the table, but nobody wants to help build the table.

And maybe that’s what makes genuine friendship so rare in creative spaces.

I’ve been doing this for years now. I’ve met all kinds of people. The genuine ones. The opportunists. The ones who believe in you before anyone else does. The ones who only believe in you after everybody else starts paying attention. I’ve seen people build entire personalities around networking. I’ve seen friendships treated like business transactions. I’ve seen people attach themselves to whoever is “next up” because proximity has become more valuable than authenticity.

That’s the weird thing about creativity today. A lot of people don’t build friendships because they genuinely connect with someone. They build friendships because they see value. Clout. Access. Opportunity. Aesthetic. Relevance.

And I get it. To some degree, we all do it. We’re human. We’re ambitious. We’re trying to survive. But eventually, you can feel the difference between someone who values you and someone who values what being around you does for them.

That difference changes everything.

I think one thing people misunderstand about me sometimes is that I come off intense when they first meet me. Very outspoken. Very direct. Sometimes even brash. But the truth is, I’m usually just being honest. I’ve always been the type of person that gives people the full version of me immediately. I don’t know how to halfway exist around people I care about. When I meet someone, especially creatively, I pour myself into the interaction because I genuinely value connection.

But I’ve learned that not everybody operates like that.

Some people are only present when the environment benefits them. Some people love your vision until they realize building something takes consistency. Some people love your energy until it requires reciprocation.

And honestly, creative friendships expose people very quickly.

Because eventually the photos stop.
The parties stop.
The events stop.
The hype slows down.

Then what?

Who checks on you when you disappear for a bit?
Who supports you when there’s nothing exciting attached to your name?
Who reposts your work before everybody else validates it?
Who shows up when your life is falling apart?

That’s friendship to me.

Not the club photos.
Not the “movie” moments.
Not the aesthetic group pictures.
Not posting each other when it’s trendy.

Real friendship is presence.

It’s consistency.

It’s somebody remembering you exist outside of your usefulness.

Some of the best friends I’ve ever had were people going through hell in their own lives, and they still showed up for me. That means something to me. Because the older I get, the more I realize everybody is carrying something heavy. Everybody is tired. Everybody is trying to survive something internally. So when someone still finds the time to support you, encourage you, check in on you, or simply be present, that’s not small to me anymore.

That’s love.

And strangely enough, I’ve received some of the most genuine love from strangers.

Ever since I started posting more online, making videos, creating content, and sharing my thoughts, I’ve had random people from completely different places support me harder than people who know me personally. People I’ve never met repost my work. Encourage me. Message me. Believe in me.

Meanwhile, some people physically around you can watch you build something from the ground up and still hesitate to publicly support you.

That’s always fascinated me.

People will repost celebrities they’ve never met.
Support creators they’ll never speak to.
Celebrate strangers constantly.

But supporting someone they actually know? Someone genuinely building something real in front of them? Suddenly that becomes difficult.

And I don’t even say that from a bitter perspective anymore. I just think it reveals something about the world we live in now. We’ve become more connected than ever digitally, but somehow less connected emotionally. A lot of people want association without responsibility. They want access without contribution.

But community doesn’t work like that.

Community requires effort.
It requires showing up.
It requires consistency.
It requires belief before proof.

And to be fair, I’m not innocent either.

I’ve had moments where I realized I could’ve shown more love to people around me. I’ve had moments where I got too consumed in my own ambitions and forgot to support somebody the way I should have. But the difference is, I catch myself. I reflect. I try to correct it. Because if we all keep waiting to receive support before giving it, nobody actually builds anything together.

That’s why I value genuine people so heavily now.

Not perfect people.
Not popular people.
Not connected people.

Just genuine people.

The kind of people who clap for you when nobody’s watching.
The kind of people who don’t treat friendship like networking.
The kind of people who stay the same whether you’re winning or struggling.
The kind of people who don’t need an audience to love you properly.

Those people are rare.

But they exist.

And honestly, I think building Cozy taught me that more than anything else. Community isn’t built through aesthetics. It isn’t built through followers. It isn’t built through who’s trending this month. It’s built through consistency, trust, contribution, and people believing in something bigger than themselves.

That’s the part people skip.

Everybody wants to be part of something meaningful, but very few people want to sacrifice enough to actually help create it.

And maybe that’s why genuine friendship feels revolutionary now.

Because in a world full of performance, real presence stands out.