I never wanted to be in front of a camera, never imagined myself as a talking head or mouthpiece. But spite is a hell of a driver.
Just before covid hit, my husband and I were under consideration to be subjects for a reality show. We came to it eyes wide open, as industry vets, willing to cram a crew into our Bronx apartment under the presumption of being interesting. At least a producer friend of our thought we were. Interesting, that is.
Lockdown hit and the stakes heightened! We would essentially be one long bottle episode, chronicling the epidemic experience of a married couple. Me, the introvert happily working from home, my only human contact with fellow neighborhood dog owners on our socially distanced am/pm interactions. The 7pm pot clanging. Omar, the essential worker, with production drying up taking on a gig at Trader Joe’s in Manhattan. My crazy shut in footage juxtaposed with the I Am Legend street scenes of his commute. Me flourishing as a writer in my indoor Pandemic Hammock (TM) when I wasn’t deathly ill. Omar never getting so much as a sniffle and deciding to go to nail school. He even organized a small lobby food pantry for our elderly neighbors. New Yorkers helping New Yorkers despite the mass grave reported 5 miles from our building.
Our producer friend pitched us, it ran up various ladders, and at the final stage one person with the almighty power of green light approval said no and that was that.
This put me in an interesting position. The original pitch revolved predominantly around Omar, the actor, the talent. The dog and I would basically be audience insert characters reacting to his exploits. But something about this rejection of an objectively fertile project triggered the innermost Boston of me, the “you think you’re better than me” that fuels the people of my birthplace.
The withholder of the green light sighted our lack of social media presence as a contributing factor. So, stoked by spite for neither the first nor last time in my life, I said bet.
Facebook being a well known boomer hellscape, and Instagram not being much better, I did the unthinkable and joined “the dance app” of the moment. I, an old ill-equipped for moves of any kind, waded into TikTok during the height of Renegade. I was instantly confused, humbled, and intrigued.
The rejection of a faceless exec who never even deigned to meet us fresh in my craw, I opened my camera and just (as this kids currently say) started yapping.
And it worked.
I can’t find my very first video because again, and I cannot stress this enough, I am old, but my first taste of virality (covid notwithstanding) was an offhanded video of me “laughing in Gen X” admitting to the validation of younger generations that my personal “poor kid” thing was that I could not only identify lead paint by it’s unique crack patterns. No, no. I knew what it tasted like. Thanks affordable 1980’s housing of the greater Boston area!
Thus began my climbing numbers and swelling community. Suck it, faceless exec.
Now we stare down a new agent of obscurity. Not one dude in a TLC office but the US government in its bad faith banning of TikTok.
It’s not loss of the attention I never wanted and garnered purely out of spite that I mourn. It’s the community, the friendship, the knowledge sharing. It’s also the income. This group of fellow weirdos–and even hate watchers–have helped keep me afloat.
In June 2024 I was laid off from my staff position of 16 years. This blow to my career was gutting, emotionally, professionally, and financially. I’d been our primary breadwinner. My accomplishments took us to red carpets and galas, vacations and security. Now I sat in the house that career helped us buy wondering how I’d pay my mortgage.
Then my cousin died. Then my dog was diagnosed with congestive heart failure and is actively dying. I was in a full blown mental health crisis, isolating from real life support systems, broken.
My TikTok family saw me. They held me up. They’ve helped make sure my dog has her medications and assistive equipment. They’ve lightened the load while I struggle to keep my head above water and I will be forever grateful.
I hope they all come along to whatever is next. I hope you’ll all subscribe to my YouTube as I figure that platform out in hopes of supporting us while the slow wheels of a writer’s life keep turning. But if this was it, if these 4 years were my internet presence born out of spite & I return to obscurity, I want you to know it was good.
Jen Capra 