How Grifty TikTok Moms Accidentally Made Me a Better Writer
Or, what a cashmere sweater and three blond children taught me about market trends, narrative seduction, and the performance of authority.
It was an ad.
Not a sketchy ad, not a “this-is-clearly-a-scam” ad. No, this was the elevated kind of scam: the neutral-toned, pottery-holding, $500-sweater kind. The kind of ad that lands in your feed when the algorithm sees you're a small business owner and in the AI sector and in publishing and a little tired. (You know, ripe for aspiration.)
She appeared with a white mug of black coffee in one hand and the softest cashmere sweater known to man draped over her shoulders. A Clean Mom. You know the type—chic, curated, pretending not to be curated. Her three flaxen daughters chirped from behind her like a blonde Greek chorus:
“YEAH!!”
They were ready to learn day trading from Mommy.
Because—why wouldn’t they be? Mommy makes money from home! Mommy trades stocks while arranging peonies! Mommy isn’t a wage slave. Mommy volunteers on Tuesdays and drinks oat milk lattes in linen.
Mommy isn’t a wage slave. Mommy volunteers on Tuesdays and drinks oat milk lattes in linen.
‘If they can do it,’ whispers the capitalist part of your brain, ‘so can I…’
Then came the inevitable confessional:
“My husband and I just want our kids to be self-sufficient. To never have to be tied to a 9–5. To make money doing what they love.” (Cue internal monologue: ‘Yeah… me too, honestly.’)
But I didn’t scroll away.
Because here’s the uncomfortable truth: It worked.
The ad was working on me, and not because I believed her. But because I recognized what she was doing. And what she was doing is what so many writers—and publishers—should be doing.
The Story is a Hook, Not a Truth
This woman (or her marketing agency) knew exactly how to build a narrative:
Aspirational aesthetics (clean kitchen, designer sweater, minimalist branding)
Emotional resonance (“I just want freedom for my children”)
A common villain (the wage economy)
A hero’s solution (“Anyone can learn this if they just try”)
It’s the myth of the shortcut.
And it sells.
And here’s the part that sticks in my craw: that mom isn’t a villain. She’s not a hedge fund in disguise. She’s just doing what everyone’s been told to do—monetize the self. But behind her pottery mug and choreographed daughters is a machine bigger than any one person: firms that market for a living, using psychological profiling, predictive AI, and A/B tested storytelling frameworks to exploit attention like a mined resource. These aren’t just videos—they’re weapons-grade content designed to feel personal while bypassing your defenses. The goal isn’t to inspire you. It’s to convert you. Your fear, your longing, your curiosity—they’re data points in a funnel optimized for someone else’s profit.
The goal isn’t to inspire you. It’s to convert you. Your fear, your longing, your curiosity—they’re data points in a funnel optimized for someone else’s profit.
The Hustle is the Genre Now
I spent the weekend talking to my publishing consultant, updating my metadata strategy for Newton Press and reviewing trendlines in Publisher Rocket. Among the usual suspects—romantasy, litRPG, spicy fairies—there’s been a notable uptick in “stock market for beginners” and “day trading for women” search traffic. The dip in the market has created a vacuum of desire: people want to make money from volatility. And they want to feel in control doing it.
“You don’t have to live by someone else’s rules. Buy this, and you’re already halfway free.”
Books are reflecting this—because the best-selling indie books are increasingly those that position themselves as tools for autonomy, not just entertainment. Whether it’s finance, spirituality, or spicy vampire warlords, the underlying narrative is the same:
You don’t have to live by someone else’s rules. Buy this, and you’re already halfway free.
Writers, Take Notes
What can we learn from our grifty TikTok mom?
Far more than I’d like to admit:
A clear value proposition sells.
“Trading is easy.” You might disagree, but the claim is bold, repeatable, and immediate. Writers often bury the lede; grifters never do.Aspirational identity is part of the package.
Readers want to see themselves—or their aspirational selves—in what you offer. This doesn’t mean you need to stage-manage your life, but it does mean you need to understand how you're positioning your authorial voice and your audience’s desired transformation.Packaging matters.
Neutral tones, pottery mugs, lifestyle harmony: these aren’t just visuals—they’re cues. As a small press CEO, I see time and again how cover design and metadata must align with expectation. Otherwise, you're invisible. Or worse, mistrusted.Repetition works.
That “YEAH!” chant from the children? It's obnoxious. It's also a mnemonic device. Writers could learn a thing or two about catchphrases, tonal consistency, and thematic resonance from the way these creators engineer recall.
But Let’s Not Get It Twisted
What grifters do is performance. What writers do—when we’re honest—is transformation (555). That difference matters.
What grifters do is performance. What writers do—when we’re honest—is transformation.
When we commodify meaning the way TikTok finance moms commodify their children’s futures, and the viewers’ hope of opportunity, we risk losing not just our audience—but our integrity. But when we study their tactics without inheriting their ethics, we get something more powerful: a way to meet readers where they are and invite them to something deeper.
The book industry is changing. Readers are savvier, hungrier, and more fatigued than ever. If you’re writing—if you’re publishing—you need to do more than tell a story.
You need to know who it’s for. You need to understand the promise you're making.
And you need to keep that promise with skill and soul.
As for me, I’m not downloading the eBook magnet. But I am watching. Because every scam is a story, and every story has something to teach.
And maybe the best thing we can do in this moment—when the grift is loud and the trends are fast—is slow down and write something that feels less like a hook and more like a lifeline.
Even if it’s just to ourselves.
Because while someone, somewhere, is feeding your scroll to the algorithm’s open jaws, there’s still power in sitting down, telling the truth, and refusing to become another funnel-shaped fiction.
A brief word on Stacktember
(yeah, we’re I’M doing it again)
You didn’t think I forgot Stacktember, did you?
Our annual speculative flash fiction chaos sprint returns this September—with weekly prompts, word count goals, and just enough unhinged community energy from yours truly to keep you writing when Mercury’s backpedaling through your soul.
Details coming soon. Start sharpening your pens and whispering to your muses.
This year’s theme? Even stranger.
👀
📚 Read some of my free fiction here on Substack or buy my books on Amazon
Until next time,
Nico
📸 Find me in the labyrinth: TikTok | Instagram | Threads | Zines | Letterboxd
A hard truth is that you have to be a specific type of person to be good at sales. A talented writer is not often a talented sales person. In the indie community we have to find a way for our authentic roots to blossom into roses no one can ignore.
The ads are so sneaky! The sweaters are so good! The phrase "monetize the self" is really sticking with me here. Art (in my opinion) in any form is so much of the artists self that it almost feels slimy to have to then sell it. I think that's why there is such a surge (especially in music! think Chappel Roan, Sabrina Carpenter) of artists working within/as a persona. It adds a level of separation between the actual person and the art that's selling. The consumer has this idea of the persona, but is often unaware they're actually being held at arms length by the artist. I think this is why influencer ads are so successful; instead of arms length, they are trying to give you a hug. Because they aren't selling art or anything personal, they are selling us things.