the flop era to stanley cup pipeline

on failure chasing you through life, flop era as a coping mechanism, and companies profiting off of our sadness.

Failure is one of my oldest acquaintances. Even as I try to distance myself, I can remember every painful detail of our relationship, those brutal, time-worn memories I locked away, hoping to forget about forever. She’s everywhere I look, swarming around me and constantly sucking me back into her meticulously woven web. I hear her call my name, beckoning me back if I stray too far. I long to run in the opposite direction, but as soon as I turn around she’s waiting for me, hand extended as if to remind me of the string that binds us together.

I remember some of our earliest memories, her grinning down at me as I watched my classmate’s name called out as the winner of the award I wanted, or when the story I poured my heart into was cut from the school newspaper. My mom picked me up each time; I cried and she told me how smart and capable I was and how things would go differently next time. I wanted to believe her, let those words sink in and drown out the pure disappointment, but all I could hear was failure laughing in my face. We’ve played a game of hide and seek throughout the years, failure and I. I, determined to hide, constantly change my position in the hopes that she’ll get bored and forget about me, but she’s ruthless, unwilling to stop until she can find each of my hiding spots.

She chased me through heartbreaks, job rejections, and disappointment until I realized the game had gone on long enough. I dragged myself out from behind the curtains or under the bed and I let her find me. It was painful, I felt like I had lost, We’ve walked hand in hand since then. She’s with me, but she no longer haunts me. I wish I could say I remember the catalyst, what made me turn around and face the fear and frustration, the insecurity and disappointment I associated with failure.

My phone’s notifications constantly remind me of my relationship with failure. Emails rejecting me from a job or a lit mag, my bank account alerting me that I’m dangerously low on funds, LinkedIn notifications of the people I went to college with getting promotions, garnering more success in their professional life. I think about the girls who find out their boyfriend cheated on them from a “hey girlie” Instagram DM, or the various times I’ve been friendship dumped over text and the irrational, always anxious part of me braces myself whenever I get a notification. My phone is an entry into a cavern full of horrors. I chip away at the walls, hoping to find a rare gem, but more often than not I’m faced with something grotesque, a piece of news that fills me with endless dread. Social media used to feel like a goldmine, a place I could count on to find the precious shards that improved my mindset or at the very least, kept me entertained, but that mine tunnel has collapsed, I’m stuck in the main cavern, darkness on all sides.

The gorgeous, wealthy, successful girls on the internet keep saying that “there’s nothing wrong with being in your flop era,” hair artfully touseled, makeup perfectly applied as they sit in front of the camera. They reference a video, a tweet, or a post underperforming. Commenters rush to assure them that it’s just the algorithm, they’ve done nothing wrong; in no way could someone like them be synonymous with failure. Whenever I see these videos I have to laugh, they know that regardless of “flopping” they’re still profiting. When someone has achieved that level of success, reached the metrics needed to do six-figure brand deals, it’s hard for me to see any aspect of their social media career as a flop era.

I scroll endlessly, the influencer who posted yesterday that she was in her flop era posted a Hermès haul today, they still haven’t found the United Health CEO shooter but everyone on the internet thinks he’s hot, Nara Smith is moving to Connecticut, a different influencer claimed to have entered their flop era because their videos allegedly aren’t showing up on the FYP, a family in Gaza is asking for aid, a woman cries about access to abortion being revoked in her state, an influencer pulls out her Dyson Airwrap and Rhode Beauty PR package and does a get ready with me video while she talks about how she couldn’t get the new Reformation collection sent to her so she’s officially in her flop era. I want to bang my head into a wall, instead, I put my phone away and take a few deep breaths.

a visual representation of how i so often feel. from pinterest.

Am I jealous of these influencers, whose definition of failure is far from mine? I lie away at night and ask myself over and over if I would consider myself a failure if Reformation didn’t send me a PR box, or if my Dyson died in the middle of my blowout. It’s no secret that content creators live highly aspirational lives, it’s how they make money, and keep their view count up, but it’s so far from the reality that the majority of the world experiences. I didn’t grow up wealthy, I barely have an income right now, I’ve never been to Europe, and I don’t own a designer handbag (as much as I really want one.) I try not to associate worth or meaning with material objects. While I try to avoid passing judgment on those who do (I know for some it’s literally their livelihood), it’s difficult for me to look at influencers claiming to be in their flop era, or put myself in their shoes and see failure as any possible takeaway.

Saying that you’re in your “flop era” or “crashing out” or whatever catchy phrase people on social media use to describe going through a rough patch isn’t inherently bad. Like most popular sayings, they originated on the internet, and also like many internetisms, they have been taken and adapted to reflect different situations for different people. I think “crashing out” is such a funny way to talk about things going wrong, it’s up there in my vocabulary with “holding space” at the moment. These terms are collectively assigned to ease the periods in life that feel difficult or hurt to think about, they let us joke about our own lives, and keep things light as opposed to unpacking some difficult and raw emotions. I think sometimes they may be misused, or can very easily show the privilege of the person assigning themselves to their flop era, but at the end of the day, they are harmless terms that give a semblance of comfort during a time that doesn’t feel all that great.

When harmless chatter and quick social media posts gain traction though, and terms like “crashing out” and “flop era” become popular or the algorithms favor them, the rapid inflation of brands creating marketable products or campaigns is unavoidable. All of a sudden, there’s an aesthetic associated with being in your flop era, your favorite TikToker is telling you to buy a pajama set and a Stanley Cup so you can fit the look for what your winter crash out should look like. It’s grim, seeing how easy it is to profit off of people’s sadness, insecurity, and vulnerability. Failure is marketable, like everything else, and once individuals and brands realize they can benefit from it, they’ll push everyone around them down further to make some extra money. “Here are 10 products from TikTok shop that got me through my flop era,” they say with a haunting grin. When someone offers a hand under the guise of escaping failure, humans quickly grab on and empty their wallets.

Reckoning with your own failure is a deeply humanizing experience. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’ll fail often, we all do and it’s unavoidable. I can’t make that go away, regardless of how desperately I want it to. Yes, there was a moment when I faced failure, allowed it into my life instead of defaulting to running and trying to avoid it, and it was terrifying, but there are infinitely more moments where I can reckon with the fact that I’m able to grow from the negative, the failures, and become a stronger person.

hello! thank you so much for reading people’s princess! in honor of the holiday season, i’m running a 20% off sale on paid subscriptions until december 31. if you’ve considered upgrading, now’s the time to do it! paid subscriptions are a massive support and allow me to put more time into this publication and create more long-form pieces. i’m forever grateful for all of you, and if you have the ability to upgrade to paid, i would greatly appreciate your support! have an incredible holiday, and use the button/link below to claim the deal!

weekly favorites

• the lost daughter by elena ferrante

• people’s princess instagram (you should follow because i’m going to be posting writing excerpts and cute stuff on there)

• paul and i went to the zoo at night to see the holiday light displays and it was so pretty

• the substance

• the trader joe’s raspberry star cookies (delicious, perfect, and whimsical)

• my sad winter playlists

  • featuring

    eleanor kang
    (and a tease for something we’re working on for you)

  • and my all-time favorite

i appreciate every one of you so much,

with love,

sarah 💌