IndiVibes: Comparison Is a Terrible Creative Director
Apparently, my algorithm has me all figured out.
And honestly? I don’t know if I appreciate it.
During the last month of Q3, I started posting, creating, and taking my artistry seriously again. And I noticed something interesting.
The more I reintroduced myself to my timeline, the more independent artists started appearing on it. Philly artists. West Coast artists. Artists with 2,000 followers. Artists with 20,000. Artists with perfectly curated feeds, cinematic visuals, consistent releases, immaculate branding, and comment sections full of people who seem to know every word. Artists with co-signs from major artists in the big leagues. You get the idea.
And sometimes I catch myself thinking:
Damn. I got a lot of work to do.
There’s nothing inherently wrong with that thought. Sometimes seeing another artist doing their thing is exactly the kick in the ass you need. But there’s a difference between being inspired by someone and quietly allowing them to become your creative director. And baby, comparison?
Comparison is a terrible creative director.
Because comparison never walks into the room and says, “Hey, look at what they’re doing. Maybe there’s something you can learn here. Be inspired by the art. Embrace it!”
No.
Comparison walks in, throws your entire mood board on the floor, and says: Why doesn’t your page look like theirs? Why aren’t your numbers higher? Should you be posting more? Maybe you need to change your aesthetic. You’ve been doing music for how long and you’re still having a hard time figuring it out? Maybe your music should sound more like…
STOP!
I’m overstimulated now. Get out of my head.
The funny thing is, I actually want to study other artists. I think I should.
There are incredibly talented independent artists figuring out creative ways to tell their stories, market their music, build communities, perform, and turn a few thousand followers into people who genuinely care about what they create. I can learn from that. What I don’t want to do is accidentally learn myself out of being myself. Because I’ve spent years becoming Indigo Asaá.
The colors. The softness. The weirdness. The soul. The little Afro-bohemian touches. The humor. The way I write. The way I sing. The way I can go from something dreamy and introspective to saying something completely unserious five minutes later.
That’s mine.
I own that shit.
And if I spend too much time looking sideways, eventually I stop asking, “What would Indigo do?” I start asking, “What is everybody else doing?” Those are two very different questions.
Social media makes that especially difficult because everything becomes measurable: Followers. Views. Likes. Shares. Streams. Monthly listeners. Suddenly, creativity has a scoreboard.
And if you’re not careful, you can start treating somebody else’s number like evidence that they’re doing art “better” than you. But I don’t know their story. I don’t know how long they’ve been consistently posting. I don’t know what connections they have. I don’t know what opportunities they’ve had. I don’t know what they’ve invested financially. I don’t know how many times they almost quit before one video finally hit. I’m seeing the part of their journey that the algorithm decided to show me.
Meanwhile, I know every ugly draft of mine. Every song sitting unfinished in my Dropbox. Every post that didn’t perform how I thought it would. Every time I’ve disappeared for a little while because I needed a mental break. Every moment I’ve questioned whether I’m doing enough. That’s an unfair comparison.
So I’m trying something different. Instead of asking, “Why am I not there yet?” I’m asking:
“What can I learn from this without becoming this?”
Maybe I love how someone introduces their songs. Cool. Take notes. Maybe their visuals are incredible. Take notes. Maybe they’re really good at turning casual viewers into a community. TAKE. NOTES. But then? Close the notebook.
Because eventually, I have to go make something. And whatever I make still needs to sound, look, and feel like me. I’m realizing that being an artist isn’t about creating in a vacuum and pretending nobody influences you. That’s impossible. Artists have always inspired other artists. The goal isn’t to never look around.
It’s knowing when to look forward again.
I’m still figuring out what this next version of Indigo Asaá looks like. I’m experimenting more. I’m showing up more. I’m letting myself try things simply because they sound fun. Some things will work. Some things absolutely will not. And that’s okay. I’d rather build something a little strange, imperfect, and unmistakably mine than create the perfect imitation of whatever is currently working for somebody else.
I don’t need to be the biggest artist in the room to make something worth hearing.
I just need to keep making it.
So yes, I’ll keep watching. I’ll keep learning. I’ll keep taking notes. I’ll celebrate artists when they’re killing it, and I’ll remind myself that somebody else’s momentum doesn’t mean I’ve missed my moment.
But comparison?
Baby, you can sit in on the meeting.
You just don’t get final creative approval.
— IA
