Hungry Hungry Algorithm

my experience filming a video for "Manhattan, Perfect"

Two weeks ago, I released a song called “Manhattan, Perfect”. I LOVE this song and stand by the cocktail metaphor. I think it sounds like my first year in New York, like the opening number to a musical—silly, dramatic, and full of gay people.

But while I love making music, I HATE posting about it. I particularly shiver at the idea of being misunderstood (I’m an enneagram 4, bitch!! sorry!!) and social media is a minefield for misunderstanding. I want to be seen as authentic, but polished. Silly, but committed. Hot, but unaware. If content is a tight rope, I feel like a 600-pound trapeze artist with vertigo and two bad knees.

When I released my cover of “Pink Pony Club” in January, I spent a week posting about it. I filmed a ridiculous video with my mom where I rolled around on the kitchen counter. I spliced together clips from America’s Got Talent and filmed myself singing at the top of the Empire State Building. After 4 posts, I kicked my tiny little feet up and exhaled, glad my work was done. I bought a Brick^TM and talked at everyone about my soaring mental health. “I guess I just like being present,” I’d say, shrugging my shoulders after not checking Instagram for one single afternoon.

When my managers noticed it had been two weeks since my last post, they intervened. They told me I should be posting 5-6 times a week (minimum). I gawked. If I’m tired of hearing my voice sing “Pink Pony Club”, how does everyone else feel? Does everyone think I’m so obsessed with my AGT performance that I just can’t let it go?

I was quickly reminded about my… peer…. Alex Warren, who posted clips of “Ordinary” 140 times on TikTok before it came out. You may not like the song, but you DO know it.

And so, I got back on social media. I ordered an inflatable pink pony suit and filmed myself taking the subway, going into grocery stores, and I even took it snowboarding with me. I had an idea to do a TikTok dance with my boyfriend while inside the inflatable. Sweating and trying to see through the foggy eye window, yelling at him when he was still forgetting the moves on take six, I was confronted with my own humanity. There I was, a 31-year-old man in an inflatable pink pony suit, frustrated at my boyfriend for not remembering a TikTok dance. God, what have I done? I unzipped the suit, steam escaping as I poked my head out and said, “I think we got it.” We drove to dinner in silence.

But now I have a new song out and so I must post, post, post. Every moment becomes utilitarian; a gorgeous little opportunity for content.

“This is GREAT. Make 50 different versions of this and post them all,” my manager responded to a reel I posted, privately in my DM’s.

“I’ll try,” I responded.

And while I can’t do that, I have been trying (GOD have I been trying!!!) at a pace I can keep, which is about every other day. Cycling between professionally shot content, and silly little videos I take of my life in New York. While it may not be exactly right, I’m trying to learn what feels good to me.

Months prior to the release of “Manhattan, Perfect,” my little teams had violently different opinions. My creative team (brilliant and pro bono) couldn’t understand why I would post more than a few times after the song came out. My managers (well-meaning and smart) wanted me to post 3-4 times a day BEFORE it came out. My creative team had an idea for a music video which would delay the song’s release. My managers wanted the song out asap, reassuring me that no one watches music videos anymore. Everything I presented to my creative team was “corny.” Everything I presented to my managers was “good, as long as you keep posting”. It was all too much!! I’m just a boy!!

I spun out, lost sleep, and threw up. I posted half-assed reels teasing the song. I recorded videos of myself singing the song, then projected them on the side of buildings, posting those projections instead as if it created distance. A physical (and metaphorical) projection of myself. I anxiously made plans to film a music video and the creative team quit because they found it a bit too rushed (totally fair).

As I approached the video, the anxiety got worse. The video concept was a big night out partying in Manhattan, which, to be fair, happens quite often for me. But this time it would be fake. I was asking my friends to show up to a random venue in Midtown (hell) on a Thursday night, in nice clothes to film a fake party. Would they bail last minute? Would they think the song is corny? Would they collectively decide that I’m not worth being friends with? Would they send me to prison?

Thursday arrived and the answer was no. 30 of my close friends showed up, on time, in nice clothes… and had a ball. We danced and shot a money gun. We did fake shots and sprayed bubbles everywhere. Tyler delivered a cake to me that said “I love you” and Eliana dumped a fake Manhattan down her dress. Johanna answered the door in the cuntiest way possible and Max stumbled through choreography. Dan cleaned icing off my hands and David kissed, then slapped me. Molly reassured me during breaks that everyone was happy to be there and together we all danced and danced. I truly had the time of my life.

Now, as I put out this video, it isn’t (Manhattan) perfect, nor does it even remotely execute the initial creative vision. But for me, it’s a time capsule of my community—of permanent, perfect proof people love me enough to do something ridiculous and inconvenient. A reminder that things are harder alone and easier together. A reminder of how much I love my community and how much they love me. From a Nat King Cole record my dad used to play, “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.”

While I may not love posting about my music, if that is the sole value I gain from this video, I think I’ve made my best content to date.

Thanks to all my sweet friends who helped me with the video. I love you so much! When it’s time to sing in your opening number, just text me the call time.