We throw the phrase "PR trained" around today like it's a badge of honor or an accusation. Everyone is obsessed with it. You hear it everywhere—especially in worlds like Formula One, where fans dissect every driver's media pen answers. They look at someone like Max Verstappen and say he lacks media training because he's brutally honest, or they scrutinize whether a driver is too polished, too managed, too "PR trained."
Here is the hilarious irony: true PR isn't about media training a human being into a corporate robot.
In its actual definition, PR stands for Public Relations. It means being in relation with the public. It is about a cause, a brand, a service, or an organization. It is inherently brand-centered, not ego-centered. Back in the day, a journalist or copywriter wrote articles or columns, but their face wasn't the product. The work was.
Somewhere along the way, we flipped the script. We started trying to apply corporate PR frameworks to human beings. We turned people into brands, and then we acted shocked when the human beings cracked under the weight of it.
People are dying for exposure. They're chasing that ultimate spotlight, crying out for attention, treating their lives like a live-streamed press conference. But here is the brutal marketing reality check: the only time you will ever get "good" PR as an individual—the kind of untouchable, universally praised legacy people kill themselves trying to build—is when you are dead.
Look at the playbook. Look at Michael Jackson. Look at Britney Spears. Look at how society treats public figures while they are breathing versus when they flatline. Even the British royal family lives this bizarre reality: Princess Catherine can visit a vital early childhood development center to raise awareness for a serious cause, but the global headline isn't the mission. The headline is her dress, her hair, and whether she did her own makeup.
We don't care about the message; we care about picking apart the vessel.
And even then? Legacy is a scam. When you're dead and buried, they will still dig up your grave just to find some dirt. The soil you're buried under isn't even enough to protect you from the vulture culture of public opinion.
I know the irony isn't lost on me. I write a blog. I spend my days analyzing audiences, slicing data, targeting niches, and building narratives because that’s what I’ve done for 14 years in corporate marketing. But I keep myself in check. I know what I am and what I am not.
I am not a brand. I am not a product. I am just a person.
Yes, I have high standards, and yes, I'm comfortable in my own skin—flaws and all. I am enough for myself. I don't need a public legacy, and I certainly don't need the exhausting, toxic glory of being a "public personality."
The best career move I ever made was pulling the plug on my own curated illusion. I don't want to manage a human life like a PR campaign anymore. Let the algorithm have the celebrities. I’ll take the quiet.
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