We constantly read about other people's success online. But no one talks about the ugly stuff: the failure. Today I'm sharing my biggest one. It's the story of how I lost 50K followers in three years after building a following on social media.
I grew up as an only child, constantly writing in my diary and recording myself on audiotapes, pretending I had my own little radio show. I loved sharing whenever I got the chance. I jumped into the blogging world as soon as I could, initially posting my drawings on Tumblr. When I discovered YouTube through prominent US YouTubers like Aspyn Ovard, I became fascinated by the influencer world. At the time, it was a mysterious industry but looked incredibly appealing. I wanted that soft life too: making money filming little videos. A creative’s dream.
I quickly realised that speaking in front of a camera didn't come naturally to me. But photography and editing? Oh boy, that was addictive. And I wasn't terrible at it.
I started posting outfits on my personal Instagram in June 2017 with the goal of growing a following. A few of my high school and uni "friends" quickly unfollowed (any first attempt at creating content comes with a bit of ridicule you have to get over) but most stayed and were genuinely encouraging. I'd just moved to London ten months earlier and was excited about connecting with like-minded people. Little did I know it would kickstart my entire career path.
I had a clear strategy from the start: buy clothes from brands I loved, tag them, and get reposted (yep, that's all it took back then... wouldn't work nowadays). Only two months after starting, I got a repost from Urban Outfitters. I still have the screenshot of that notification. I was ecstatic. I reached my first 1K followers by November, building my community and eventually gaining my first 10K followers in spring 2018, still through reposts. I bought all the clothes myself: we've discussed my shopping addiction before, and it was closely connected. I'd shoot outfits on weekends, wake up at 6am, get dressed up, scour the city for pretty locations, change in McDonald's toilets, then go back to work on Monday. I was building something creative and spending everything I had. Although I wouldn't recommend this approach to anyone, it did pay off at the time.
My engagement rate was solid and I quickly got addicted to watching the likes climb. I would literally time how long it took to hit those first 1000 likes on every post.
Social media was different then—less competition, better audience alignment, and I even met people from the blogging community in real life. I started making a little money here and there, £200 for a campaign each month. Nothing life-changing, but it felt like progress.
Then the social media landscape shifted and my growth stagnated for two years. I spent that time experimenting with new styles and pushing through the frustration. The reality is less glamorous than you'd think: I spent most of my late twenties weekends doing endless photoshoots instead of actually living. Looking back, that's quite depressing, but I was addicted to both the craft and the validation.
The breakthrough (and the trap)
In August 2019, I stepped back for a month, developed a fresh strategy and, by luck, discovered a style I loved. Dark academia: a blend of vintage and academic aesthetic vibes with rich, moody colours. Deep browns, burnt oranges, and forest greens. Think tweed blazers and chunky knits that make you look like you've stepped out of an Oxford library. I'd also made significant progress in my editing skills, and at the time (pre-Reels), strong photography editing was everything.
It started working. Really working. The numbers grew without stopping. I was getting reposted by people, brands, and major pages. Everyone was reaching out, praising me, wanting advice or reposts. It was flattering. I became really good at this specific style and became known for it.
It was my first taste of big numbers: views, likes, followers. And it was thrilling. I felt validated. Loved, and also hated, because any online visibility brings downsides. But there was a bloody dopamine hit every time you posted a picture or video.
I'd started with softer versions of this style, still showing my face. But then I realised that hiding my face and wearing only brown or checked pieces would boost my engagement, so I started doing exactly that. Eventually, my feed became an endless scroll of faceless images of me wearing brown. I'd completely lost myself in chasing the algorithm.
But it was working like hell. I passed 100K. Then one day in September 2021, I posted a photo that went viral. And then another. Thanks to the momentum, I gained around 50K followers in two weeks. All these new eyes on me felt thrilling but also nerve-wracking. It would sometimes keep me awake at night. Ironically, I was going through the worst moment of my life health-wise (completely unrelated). I remember reaching 120K whilst waiting at A&E in tears. But the dopamine hit was addictive.
I eventually quit my job because I was making way more money from social media brand deals. Looking back, I regret it because I actually loved my job. But juggling the sheer volume of content creation and brand deals on top of full-time work became impossible.
Surprisingly, whilst I'd built huge engagement, I hadn't built meaningful relationships with my audience. I stayed away from my DMs, overwhelmed by the numbers. I felt completely disconnected from the very people I'd set out to reach.
Here's what I quickly realised: I'd dug myself into a niche. And whilst being in a very specific niche tremendously helps with growth, you have to choose well, because then you're trapped in it. I realised my dark academia phase was ironically linked to a period where I wasn't feeling well, struggling to socialise. I was hiding myself (literally hiding my face in photos), keeping myself busy at weekends to avoid people.
The shift
I reached 197K. But then, the explosive growth stopped. I was still gaining followers but at a snail's pace, and frustration crept in. Brand deals became harder to land. The culprit? The platform had evolved, the algorithm had shifted, and dark academia simply wasn't trending anymore. I knew the key to survival was embracing change, but I'd painted myself into a corner.
Then came my own evolution. I was exhausted. I'd completely lost myself in the pursuit of likes and follows. What was the point? Initially I'd wanted to build connection, but where was it? I wasn't recognising myself in this aesthetic anymore, and honestly I'm not sure I ever did. I was literally bringing a change of clothes to photoshoots and changing into something more comfortable afterwards.
In December 2022, after losing yet another major brand deal with Mubi (spilling the tea), I decided I'd had enough. I was tired of playing a character that wasn't really me. I knew it would take time, but I wanted to break out of this niche and start showing up as myself.
I knew what was coming. I knew a strategy shift often costs you followers. But I expected maybe 5K, then a gradual climb back. I wasn't prepared for what actually happened.
The downfall
Soon enough, people who'd followed me for a specific style started unfollowing. I understood and accepted that. But then the numbers kept dropping. And dropping. And dropping.
The dopamine crash hit hard, and depression came with it. Like most people, I loved making others happy, and this felt like rejection. Like I was letting everyone down. But despite the sting, my desire to show up authentically never wavered. I wanted to reconnect with why I'd started social media in the first place: to find my people.
As my personal life improved and I started a new full-time job, I cared less about poor engagement and lost followers. I focused on my message, on genuinely serving the people still following me. Here's what many creators forget: chasing growth makes you ignore the people who've been cheering you on all along. Content creation should really be about those 1000 people who've stuck around since the beginning, who've laughed through your weird phases and still love following your journey. I felt proud because even though fewer people were watching, I was finally being myself.
Oddly enough, despite losing followers, I started having deeper conversations in DMs. To this day, I've made real friends through my little corner of the internet—friendships I treasure deeply. While my feed and follower count dropped, my Stories engagement actually increased. Probably because I started showing more normal, day-to-day moments, which I think people crave.
I still lose followers to this day. I'd be lying if I said it doesn't affect me when I see the number drop. But I've proven to myself that I genuinely love creating content, not just chasing vanity metrics. It's not a race to the most followers. Of course hitting bigger numbers would be incredible (it's still a dream), but I'm already content and grateful for what I have. I can confidently say that even if I lost 100K followers tomorrow, I'd still show up the same way and create the same content.
At the end of the day, I'm grateful to have this platform where I can share my voice.
So why do social metrics matter so much?
Let's be honest, it's not just vanity metrics, though that's definitely part of it. First, let's understand why something as "superficial" as follower count matters so much to us. It reflects our social standing and shows whether we're liked and validated. When you decide to make it your job, the stakes get even higher because your numbers directly affect how clients see you and what you earn. When those numbers drop, brands usually make their disappointment crystal clear, sometimes leading to unpaid invoices.
It's a direct metric of relevance. And in our digital world, relevance often feels like survival.
But here's what losing 50K followers taught me: authenticity might cost you numbers, but it gives you something far more valuable—people who genuinely want to be there. The followers I have now? They're here for me, not for some character I was performing.
Putting yourself out there online is incredibly vulnerable, but it can also bring you so much joy and connection. To this day, I have people who've followed me through every phase of my journey. I know their names, and that gives me a feeling that's very, very good. Better than any number of follows or likes. And it's exactly why I started this whole thing in the first place.
Always be yourself, no matter what.
That last photo of you was absolutely beautiful, not even just through how you dressed or posed, just seeing your face kind of have a glow about it