Against the Algorithm: Why I’ll Never Give In to Hustle Culture or Girlboss Gaslight Gatekeeping
- Cozy Bean
- Sep 17, 2025
- 7 min read
Hushing the Hustle
Lately, I’ve been reflecting on my soul purpose — my mission in life — and how much of it feels like trying to raise my voice to the world, only to have the volume turned down. So much of life seems built around doing more, faster, harder. Hustle culture, “locking in,” grinding until you make it — it’s everywhere. And in a world built on hardness, choosing softness can feel almost foolish.
But here’s the truth: even if I work for another five years without a single cent paid to me, even if the algorithm buries my work, even if others find “success” by feeding into the hustle and grind… I will never give into hustle culture. I can’t. I choose authenticity over algorithms. I choose softness over self-sabotage.
Not to be morbid, but I often imagine what I want to feel when I’m buried six feet under. What will I be most proud of? What do I want to be remembered for? And when I sit with that, I realize: I want to be known for authenticity. Not for chasing trends. Not for drama. Not even for financial milestones. I want to be remembered for living a peaceful, fulfilled life. For being surrounded by people who loved and supported me unconditionally. For creating a butterfly effect that gave soft and sensitive souls the courage to let their voices be heard, too.
Even when I was younger, I noticed how society clung to hustle culture like a lifeline. We were promised success, goals, and dreams — only to end up with empty pockets, restless minds, and the constant chase for dopamine hits. The truth is, hustle culture hasn’t given us more fulfilled lives. It has created a burned-out, anxious, overstimulated generation. And the even sadder truth? Power-hungry people profit from our addictions, feeding on us like parasites.
The hustle culture is still alive and well, it’s just traded in its suit and tie. Today, it’s shifted from the “grindset bros” to the “girlboss gaslight gatekeepers”—women in pink blazers sipping their fifth coffee out of gold-foiled cups, selling a lifestyle that promises you can finally be “that girl.”
This is the girlboss myth: the idea that women can simply “step into their feminine energy” and suddenly attract everything they want—or that success means being perfectly aesthetic, running three businesses, a YouTube channel that preys on insecurities, an obscure candle line, and an even more obscure coaching program that charges $5,000 to teach other women to do the same.
On the surface, it looks different from the grind. It looks softer, even empowering. But peel back the layers, and it’s the same pressure: capitalism dressed in pink, productivity obsession wrapped in bows, worth measured by image and output.
And honestly? That isn’t success. That isn’t freedom. And it sure isn’t feminine energy. It’s just hustle culture in heels.
Social Media is now "Viral Media"
Social media used to be a place to connect — with friends, with family, with strangers across the world. A place where we could freely express ourselves, mostly because none of us really knew what we were doing yet.
But now? It’s different. Recently, I was listening to one of my role models, Kloee Taylor, on The Cozy Babes Club podcast, when she said something that really struck me: “Social media is now viral media.” And she’s right. Platforms like YouTube, TikTok, and Twitter no longer prioritize community, safety, or mental health. They’re businesses first, pushing algorithms that reward rage-bait, clickbait, and spectacle. Creating from the heart feels like swimming against an endless current.
As a small (micro) creator with less than 500 subscribers on YouTube, I feel this every time I hit “publish.” It’s like staring straight into the eyes of The Algorithm, knowing it will bury my work beneath the noise. Passion projects, advocacy, genuine joy — all pushed to the bottom of the barrel while rage-bait and toxic content float to the top.
And it’s not just small creators who feel this. Even larger creators who do create from the heart have spoken out about the way The Algorithm favors certain types of content and behaviors, often leading to burnout, disillusionment, and creators leaving altogether.
But here’s the thing: it’s not just The Algorithm. It’s the culture it feeds. Content thrives when it preys on delusion — romanticized “perfect” lives, epic adventures that flirt with danger, ethically questionable pranks, staged “authentic” videos, and endless hauls showcasing material abundance. These things rise quickly in the ranks, while everyday, ordinary, heart-driven stories are drowned out.
And viewers? They’re left believing everyone else is living their best life except them. It’s a parasitic cycle — one that generates an unnatural way of living, and sets up impossible ideas of what success is supposed to look like.
Brain Rot, Body Rot & Soul Rot
Back in university, I lost my phone. Panic surged through me as I tore apart my room, rummaged through my backpack, retraced every step — only to come up empty-handed. But after the initial wave of dread, something unexpected happened: relief. Without that constant tether to the invisible thread of digital connection, I felt… free.
As an introvert (and socially anxious at the time), the days that followed were blissful. While my peers sat hunched over their screens, I wandered through campus fields like a kid again, rediscovering the simple joy of boredom.
Of course, it couldn’t last. My family, panicked at my sudden silence, eventually tracked down one of my roommates and insisted I replace the phone. Much to my dismay, I did. A truly phoneless life, it seemed, was impossible in a world already spiraling into being chronically online.
That memory sticks with me, especially now that social media has morphed into viral media. We’ve gone from simply connecting with one another to being constantly plugged into an algorithm designed to keep us scrolling, comparing, and consuming. And while being “chronically online” is often joked about, it’s also deeply tied to the rapid decline of our collective mental health.
But here’s the thing: poor mental health isn’t an excuse to stop doing the inner work. If anything, this digital landscape makes it even more crucial. We can’t control the algorithm or the noise of hustle culture, but we can take responsibility for how we show up, how we nurture ourselves, and how we choose to engage (or disengage) with these systems.
From a Cracked Consious to Consious Consumption
The system of social media thrives on lack. It feeds on the idea that we are never enough — not productive enough, not pretty enough, not successful enough. Every scroll is another seed planted in our minds that whispers: do more, be more, buy more. It’s no wonder inner work feels like an uphill battle when the very platforms we use daily are designed to keep us insecure, distracted, and endlessly chasing validation.
But here’s the thing: awareness is power. When we see the parasitic cycle for what it is, we can choose differently. We can choose to consume consciously — to ask ourselves, why am I watching this? how does it make me feel? and is this feeding my soul or draining it? We may not be able to change the algorithm, but we can change the way we interact with it.
Taking responsibility doesn’t mean we have to grind harder or blame ourselves for struggling in a broken system. It means we reclaim our agency within it. Even small acts — muting toxic creators, setting limits on scrolling, or replacing ten minutes of doom-scrolling with journaling, stretching, or simply breathing — are forms of resistance. They are acts of softness in a culture that glorifies hardness.
Because at the end of the day, this isn’t just about resisting hustle culture or rejecting viral media. It’s about choosing to live authentically, to transmute the noise and the lack into fuel for creativity, rest, connection, and purpose. That’s the real rebellion: not feeding the system that profits off our emptiness, but cultivating fullness within ourselves.
If we begin to see social media for what it is—a system designed to keep us hooked through lack, comparison, and constant stimulation—then it becomes clear why doing the inner work feels so difficult. It’s not that we’re incapable, it’s that the system profits off us being distracted, restless, and searching for validation outside ourselves. But awareness is the first step. Once you see the parasitic cycle for what it is, you can take responsibility—not in a harsh, punishing way, but in a conscious, intentional one.
That’s where small daily practices come in. They don’t have to be grand or complicated; they just need to create breathing room for you to return to yourself:
Start the day with space. Either do nothing for the first 30 minutes after waking, or spend that time on something fulfilling. For me, it’s sipping tea while journaling or sketching.
Make food a real break. Don’t eat with your phone in hand. Step outside if you can, soak in some fresh air or nature, and let the meal be a pause instead of another scroll session.
Move your body. This can be simple—ten minutes of walking, some light stretching, or even putting on music and dancing around your room (my personal favorite).
Clear your digital space. Go through your subscriptions or follows and unsubscribe from anyone you haven’t watched in the past year, or from creators who no longer resonate with you.
These small shifts may not dismantle the system, but they reclaim pieces of your attention, your presence, and your freedom. That, to me, is part of the real inner work—choosing to show up for yourself even in a world designed to pull you away.
At the end of the day, none of us can fully escape the noise of a chronically online world. Phones, feeds, and viral media are woven into the fabric of our lives. But we do have a choice in how we relate to them. Losing my phone back in university gave me an unexpected glimpse of what it felt like to live untethered, even if only for a short time. And while a truly “no-phone life” may not be possible now, what is possible is learning to consume with intention rather than compulsion.
The real inner work doesn’t happen in perfect isolation, far away from every distraction. It happens in the midst of them, when you learn to notice the pull of the cycle and still choose differently. To me, that’s the heart of wayfinding—recognizing that while the map is noisy and full of detours, you can still orient yourself toward what feels true, nourishing, and whole.
So as you step into the days ahead, ask yourself: how can I carve out even small pockets of presence? How can I return, again and again, to the path that leads me back to myself? The answers won’t come all at once. But in the practice of choosing with awareness, you’re already walking the way.
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