I don’t know who I belong to in the divorce.

Marketing or advertising?

Brand or agency?

The brief or the creative?

I have a sinking feeling neither wants me.

In the last month, between existential crises, came a moment where I realised that survival requires more than just chai, planning for the next topical and waxing eloquent on Linkedin.

It requires a medicinal dose of delusion. Teetering on overdose. Not the Instagram-filter, waist-thinning face-app kind of delusion.

I mean the couture-grade boardroom ready-kind, like Miranda Priestly would want you to be.

Vogue would call it ‘effortlessly confident,’ and AdAge would diagnose as ‘a concerning shift in employee behaviour.’ A doctor would call it concerning.

Welcome to my 'Delulu Era', a strategic repositioning effort somewhere between a protein-bar launch and a takeover of my own (in)sanity. It is unhinged, aspirational, polished, and fundamentally cuckoo - just like the industry that raised me.

This month, I am my own client.

My own campaign.

My own wildly inflated case study.

Let’s begin.

The goal is simple - evolve from ‘agency rodent’ into ‘enigmatic creative with mad makeup skills and ideas that makes people say’ who’s DAT GAL?”

This is where the delulu kicks in. I will be unlearning how to say ‘no worries!’ when there are, in fact, multiple worries. Optics be damned. Worries galore. Panic! At the water cooler. My delusion is also that I will skip meetings where the strategy literally is “let’s see what vibes.” I will soft launch my boundaries in those meetings. Retiring the persona of the ‘says okay to everything’ girl, I will start replying to emails later (as opposed to the 12 second T.A.T. I have right now). This might allow people to think I have a life!

I am looking to get a mysterious aura of ‘she’s all that?’ instead of the current ‘is she... okay?’

Now this delusional campaign of mine has to have some clear deliverables.

I’m thinking a too-glam-to-give-a-damn sense of competence, held together by concealer. And capitalism. People frequently questioning ‘WHO HIRED HER?’

In a good way. In a bad way.

For my personal aesthetic to go from the ‘free version of Canva’ to ‘seasoned creative with immaculate taste’. And please god, please, the emotional capacity, bravery, guts to say “No.”

KPIs: THE METRICS OF MY DELUSION

– 30% boost in iconic aura. Enough to make coworkers assume I have a life outside work (I don’t).
– 50% reduction in self-doubt, unless self-doubt is trending that week.
– 70% increase in aspirational apathy, the kind adored by fashion edits and feared by middle managers.
– 100% unwavering belief that I am, at minimum, the Kareena Kapoor of this office, whether others see it or not.
And of course:
– 0% availability for ‘quick syncs’ that steal my youth and my will to live.

Dear reader, all I ask from you, is to support my delusion. Industrial strength belief. A sprinkle of gossip. Chai, but we will call it Chai-tea.

So my ‘Delulu Era’ begins now.

Right this second.

Mid-sentence.

Mid-sip.

Mid-crisis.

The hero film.

The campaign tagline.

The budget-blowing big idea that makes the CFO sweat and the CMO swoon.

If that makes me delusional?

Good.

It means it’s finally working.

The author is head – creative and brand communication, Kult. This article first appeared in the December issue of Manifest, which can be purchased here.