INTRO — The Funeral Shot

I was watching a documentary last night.

Serious tone.
Funeral scene.
Black suits. Slow music.

And I couldn’t focus on a single word.

Because in the corner of the frame…

there’s a woman.

Real funeral happening behind her.
Coffin.
Crying family.

And she’s half-turned toward the camera trying to find her angle like she’s at Coachella.

Adjusting.

Checking.

Waiting for the light to hit correctly.

The man is being buried…

and she’s checking her cheekbone.

That’s when it hit me.

We don’t experience moments anymore.

We manage them.

You don’t go somewhere to feel it.

You go somewhere to record it.

You’re not a person anymore.

You’re a walking GoPro.

You think you’re saving your life…

but you’re documenting your disappearance.

You don’t have memories.

You have data.

And data is cold.

Dead.

And completely useless.

Welcome to the Recording Studio

Welcome.

Hello.

I’m Noah.

And I don’t care about your engagement metrics.

I don’t want your follow.

I’m here because someone needs to tell you that your digital life is a pathetic shadow of reality.

If you’ve ever told someone:

“Wait… don’t touch it yet.”

just so you could fix the lighting on your food…

you are the problem.

Today we’re talking about your obsession with The Record Button.

No filters.

No edits.

Just the ugly truth.

Part 1: The Concert Ghost

Let’s talk about the concert.

You spent two hundred pounds.

You waited months.

You finally got there.

And what did you do?

You held your phone up for two hours.

You watched the entire show through a screen.

Why?

So you can have a video that sounds like a vacuum cleaner fighting for its life.

You weren’t a fan.

You were a cameraman.

A free one.

Working for a billionaire tech company.

You didn’t feel the bass.

You didn’t look the artist in the eye.

You were checking your battery percentage.

You traded a once-in-a-lifetime experience…

for a clip you will never watch again.

You’re a digital hoarder of moments you never attended.

And you call it “sharing the experience.”

Sharing what?

The fact that you weren’t there?

Part 2: The Gym Theatre

Now the gym.

The modern circus.

Tripods everywhere.

People filming “form checks.”

No, you’re not checking your form.

You’re checking your reflection.

Your angles.

Your lighting.

Your existence.

If the phone falls…

the workout doesn’t count.

Because no one saw it.

You’re not training your body.

You’re training your audience.

Every rep is a performance.

Every set is content.

You’re not lifting weight.

You’re lifting your ego.

And the funniest part?

Nobody cares.

People scroll past your suffering while sitting on the toilet.

And you’re there…

bleeding for a clip.

Part 3: Staged Life

Then there’s relationships.

“Spontaneous” moments.

I saw a couple at the park.

They looked happy…

for four seconds.

Just enough for the photo.

Then they argued for twenty minutes.

Wrong angle.

Bad lighting.

“Do it again.”

By take six…

the love was gone.

It became a commercial.

You’re not in a relationship.

You’re in a campaign.

And the worst one?

Parents.

Watching their child’s first steps…

through a screen.

Not reaching for them.

Reaching for the phone.

You’re not present.

You’re producing.

You’re teaching that child:

“If it’s not recorded, it doesn’t matter.”

That’s not parenting.

That’s programming.

OUTRO — Keep It to Yourself

I’m done.

I’m going to sit in silence.

Phone in another room.

If I see something beautiful…

I’m keeping it.

For myself.

No upload.

No proof.

Just a memory.

Try it.

It’s terrifying.

Because you’ve been trained to think a moment is wasted if nobody sees it.

But the moments nobody sees?

Those are the only ones that belong to you.

Everything else?

Is just trash on a server.

Now go to the Unfiltered Outsider socials — @unfoutsider.

One question.

No explanations.

Just this:

What’s the last moment you ruined by trying to record it?

Send it.

Or don’t.

But stop pretending you’re living your life.

You’re just filming it.

Uninfluenced.
Unpaid.
Unfiltered.

I’m Noah B Jackman.

And this is Unfiltered Outsider.

Listen on

Spotify —

Apple Podcasts —

YouTube — https://www.youtube.com/@unfoutsider

Subscribe

For more unfiltered words every week:

Unfiltered Outsider

Uninfluenced. Unpaid. Unfiltered. Hosted by Noah Jackman. 🎧 Launching October 24th, 2025. No sponsors. No scripts. No mercy.

Written and hosted by Noah Jackman.
© Unfiltered Outsider® — All Rights Reserved.

INTRO — The Living Room Where Joy Died

Right.

Let’s talk about your living room.

Or as I like to call it…

the place where joy went to die.

I’ve seen how you live.

You replaced furniture with “intentions.”
You replaced personality with a very specific shade of off-white.

You think you escaped consumerism.

You didn’t.

You just made it more expensive…

and a lot more boring.

You’re not free.

You’re living in a high-end hospital waiting room
and calling it a lifestyle.

Today we’re talking about the lie of the “simple life.”

And I’m going to agree with you…

until you realize your empty house is just a reflection of your empty head.

Welcome to the Beige Prison

And we’re back.

Hello.

I’m Noah.

The guy who ruins your aesthetic by pointing out there’s nothing behind it.

Uninfluenced.
Unpaid.
And completely uninterested in your “clean lines” and “curated spaces.”

If you’re sitting there on a wooden plank you paid two thousand euros for, thinking you’ve reached enlightenment…

stay with me.

We’re about to talk about the most expensive form of nothingness ever created.

Modern minimalism.

Part 1: The High-Price Nothing

Let’s look at your version of “simplicity.”

You say you’ve moved past “things.”

But you spent three months choosing a trash can.

A trash can.

Because it needed to “fit your aesthetic.”

You didn’t stop consuming.

You just started overpaying for objects that look like they’re missing a part.

“I only own forty-seven items.”

Yes.

And each one costs more than rent.

You turned poverty into a costume for the rich.

You’re not a monk.

You’re a consumer obsessed with the idea of having nothing…

while holding a thousand-euro device in your pocket.

You want credit for being “simple”
without experiencing anything inconvenient.

That’s not discipline.

That’s performance.

Part 2: Emptiness Disguised as Peace

Let me agree with you for a second.

You’re right.

Why have a comfortable chair…

when you can have a “sculptural seat” that destroys your spine?

Why have books…

when you can have one grey vase from Copenhagen?

Why have life…

when you can have silence?

You didn’t simplify your environment.

You sterilized it.

You removed anything that suggests a human being actually lives there.

You call it calm.

But calm isn’t the absence of life.

It’s the ability to exist within it.

You didn’t find peace.

You hid from noise.

And now you’re living in a space so empty…

even your own thoughts echo.

Part 3: A Real Home

Let’s compare.

My place?

Small.

Not because I’m a minimalist guru.

Because rent is a crime.

But it’s full.

Books.

Mess.

Life.

Multiple shampoos.

Maybe two toothbrushes.

Because I’m a human being.

Not a product demo.

My living room is full of things that don’t match.

Because they weren’t chosen to match.

They were chosen because they meant something.

I leave the TV on.

All day.

I tell people it’s for the cat.

But really?

I just don’t want silence.

I want to walk into a place that feels alive.

Not a showroom where I’m afraid to breathe too loudly.

You want silence.

I want presence.

Part 4: The Museum You Call Home

Let’s talk about your guests.

The brave souls who enter your house.

They don’t feel welcome.

They feel monitored.

“Don’t put your glass there.”

“Don’t touch that.”

“Be careful.”

Your home isn’t a home.

It’s an exhibit.

You’re not a host.

You’re a curator.

Everything is controlled.

Everything is placed.

Nothing is allowed to exist naturally.

You’re so afraid of disorder…

you’ve made it impossible for life to happen.

Part 5: The Life You Deleted

Real life is messy.

It has things that don’t match.

It has drawers full of cables that don’t belong to anything anymore.

It has evidence.

Your space?

Has none.

You deleted the evidence.

Because you think control equals peace.

It doesn’t.

It just means nothing unexpected can happen.

And nothing meaningful either.

You traded memories for aesthetic.

And somehow convinced yourself you won.

OUTRO — Go Make a Mess

If this made you uncomfortable…

good.

That means something inside you is still alive.

Now let’s fix something.

Go buy something ugly.

Seriously.

A rug that doesn’t match.

A lamp that makes no sense.

Something that ruins your “perfect” space.

Because perfection is killing it.

Now go to the Unfiltered Outsider socials — @unfoutsider.

One question.

No explanations.

Just this:

What’s the most useless “minimalist” thing you’ve ever bought?

The expensive one.

The stupid one.

The one you regret.

Send it.

Or don’t.

But stop pretending your empty space is peaceful.

It’s not.

It’s quiet because there’s nothing there.

Uninfluenced.
Unpaid.
Unfiltered.

I’m Noah B Jackman.

And this is Unfiltered Outsider.

Listen on

Spotify —

Apple Podcasts —

YouTube — https://www.youtube.com/@unfoutsider

Subscribe

For more unfiltered words every week:

Unfiltered Outsider

Uninfluenced. Unpaid. Unfiltered. Hosted by Noah Jackman. 🎧 Launching October 24th, 2025. No sponsors. No scripts. No mercy.

Written and hosted by Noah Jackman.
© Unfiltered Outsider® — All Rights Reserved.

INTRO — The Halo

Right.

Let’s talk about you.

Specifically… that halo you’ve been polishing lately.

You think you’re a good person, don’t you?

You hold doors.
You give advice nobody asked for.
You do “favours.”

But here’s the problem.

I don’t believe you.

I think your kindness is a weapon.

I think you’re a hostage-taker in a polite shirt.

And today, I’m going to give you exactly what you want.

I’m going to agree with you.

I’m going to celebrate your sainthood…

until it becomes unbearable to listen to.

Because nothing exposes fake goodness faster
than taking it seriously.

Let’s get into it.

Welcome to Sweet, Sweet Bullshit

And we’re back.

Hello, I’m Noah.

The guy who ruins your day by describing you accurately.

Uninfluenced.
Unpaid.
And completely uninterested in your carefully curated personality.

If you’re here to feel inspired by your own goodness…

you’ve made a mistake.

Here, we don’t polish the image.

We break it.

Today, we’re looking at your “big heart.”

And why it’s actually just a big ego with better PR.

Part 1: The Performance

Let’s start with your favourite move.

The long-distance door hold.

You see someone.

They’re far away.

Comfortably walking.

Living their life.

And what do you do?

You stop.

You grab the door.

You freeze.

Now they have to run.

The awkward little jog.

The forced gratitude.

The fake smile.

All because you decided to perform kindness.

You didn’t help them.

You made their life worse.

But you got what you wanted.

Recognition.

Control.

A moment where someone owes you something.

That’s not kindness.

That’s a power move disguised as politeness.

You’re not a good person.

You’re a micro-dictator with manners.

Part 2: The Weaponized Heart

Then comes your favourite sentence.

“I’m only saying this because I care.”

Of course you are.

Your heart is enormous.

Truly inspirational.

You wait for the perfect moment.

When someone is vulnerable.

Then you strike.

“I care about you, so I have to say…”

And then you drop something unnecessary, brutal, and conveniently timed.

And when they react?

You flip the script.

“Wow. I was just trying to help.”

Now you’re the victim.

Now your intentions matter more than the impact.

You hide behind kindness to avoid consequences.

You don’t want honesty.

You want immunity.

You want to say whatever you want
without being accountable for what it does.

That’s not emotional intelligence.

That’s manipulation with softer vocabulary.

Part 3: The Debt

Let’s talk about your “favours.”

Because you never forget them.

You helped once.

Maybe twice.

And now it’s part of your identity.

“After everything I’ve done for you…”

There it is.

The invoice.

You didn’t help.

You invested.

And now you want a return.

Respect.
Loyalty.
Obedience.

You don’t give freely.

You give strategically.

You want people to feel something around you.

Not gratitude.

Debt.

You’re not a friend.

You’re a collector.

And every interaction is a transaction you’re quietly tracking.

Part 4: The Help Nobody Asked For

And finally…

Your “help.”

The unsolicited kind.

You see someone doing something.

You step in immediately.

“Here, let me do that.”

You don’t ask.

You don’t wait.

You don’t respect the process.

Because helping isn’t the goal.

Dominating is.

You want to show competence.

You want to prove superiority.

You want to be the solution.

Not because it’s needed.

Because it makes you feel bigger.

Your help doesn’t lift people.

It shrinks them.

And you do it with a smile.

Which somehow makes it worse.

OUTRO — Drop the Halo

If this made you uncomfortable…

good.

That’s usually what happens when the image cracks.

Before you go back to being the “nice one” in your story…

pause.

Think about the last time you were kind.

Not the visible one.

The real one.

Was it clean?

Or did it come with expectation?

Now let’s make this interesting.

Go to the Unfiltered Outsider socials — @unfoutsider.

One sentence.

No explanation.

No excuses.

Just this:

When was the last time your “kindness” had a hidden agenda?

Send it.

Or don’t.

But stop pretending your goodness is pure.

It isn’t.

And you know it.

Next time you hold a door from twenty meters away…

let it close.

Uninfluenced.
Unpaid.
Unfiltered.

I’m Noah B Jackman.

And this is Unfiltered Outsider.

Listen on

Spotify —

Apple Podcasts —

YouTube — https://www.youtube.com/@unfoutsider

Subscribe

For more unfiltered words every week:

Unfiltered Outsider

Uninfluenced. Unpaid. Unfiltered. Hosted by Noah Jackman. 🎧 Launching October 24th, 2025. No sponsors. No scripts. No mercy.

Written and hosted by Noah Jackman.
© Unfiltered Outsider® — All Rights Reserved.

INTRO — The Cinematic Delusion

Right.

Let’s talk about a very specific mental illness.

It’s not officially diagnosed yet.

But it should be.

I’m talking about the “Inspirational Life” Fetish.

That obsessive need to turn your very average, very ordinary existence into a cinematic masterpiece for people you don’t even like.

You know exactly what I mean.

The beach photos.

The captions about “alignment.”

The carefully staged moments of “peace.”

You’re not living life.

You’re directing it.

And not even well.

You’re filming a trailer for a movie that nobody asked to watch — and that, frankly, isn’t that interesting.

You don’t want to experience life.

You want it to look like something worth watching.

And somewhere in that process…

the actual life disappears.

Welcome to Sweet, Sweet Bullshit

And we’re back.

Hello.

I’m Noah.

The guy who says the things you only admit to yourself while you’re staring at your phone in the bathroom.

Uninfluenced.
Unpaid.
And definitely not here to inspire you.

If you’re looking for motivation, go listen to someone selling a morning routine.

Here?

We don’t romanticize the mess.

We call it what it is.

Sweet. Sweet. Bullshit.

Today we’re breaking down your “inspirational life.”

Not the one you pretend to have.

The one you actually live.

Part 1: The Sausage Legacy

Let’s start with the classic.

The legs on the beach.

Two tanned sausages pointing at the ocean like you’ve just discovered water for the first time.

Why?

What exactly are we documenting here?

Do you think we forgot what knees look like?

Or is the ocean going to disappear if you don’t post it?

But the real crime isn’t the photo.

It’s the caption.

Three paragraphs about “inner peace.”

About “being aligned.”

About “finding yourself.”

You’re sitting on a plastic chair in Algarve.

The only thing you’re aligned with is the hotel Wi-Fi.

You spent twenty minutes choosing a filter.

Another ten picking a quote you didn’t even understand.

And you call it peace.

That’s not peace.

That’s branding.

You’re not connecting with nature.

You’re connecting with the possibility of someone liking it.

You want the cinematic life.

But you’re too lazy to actually live it.

So you manufacture a highlight.

And call it depth.

Part 2: The 5AM Warriors

Now let’s move to the warriors.

The 5 AM club.

The “rise and grind” prophets.

Filming their workouts in black and white like they’re in a documentary nobody funded.

Why black and white?

Does colour make your suffering less impressive?

You lift something mildly heavy.

Add dramatic music.

And suddenly it’s resilience.

You skipped breakfast.

Now you’re a warrior.

Meanwhile, actual warriors existed.

People who carried armour through mud.

Faced death daily.

Survived things your “morning routine” couldn’t comprehend.

And you’re here celebrating intermittent fasting like it’s a heroic act.

You’re not building discipline.

You’re building content.

If nobody sees it…

does it even count?

That’s the real question you’re answering.

You don’t train for yourself.

You train for the clip.

Part 3: The Manifesting Illusion

And then there’s the spiritual layer.

“Manifesting.”

The idea that the universe is your personal assistant.

You’re not “putting it out into the universe.”

You’re posting it on Instagram.

You think a vision board replaces effort.

That wanting something intensely enough is the same as working for it.

It’s laziness with better lighting.

Real work is boring.

Repetitive.

Ugly.

It doesn’t fit in a reel.

So you skip it.

And choose the aesthetic version instead.

Because it looks like progress.

Even when it isn’t.

Part 4: The Audience

Now let’s talk about the people watching this.

Because that’s the real damage.

Someone is sitting there.

Comparing their real life…

to your edited one.

Their messy Tuesday…

to your filtered Sunday.

And they feel worse.

Because of you.

You’re not inspiring anyone.

You’re selling inadequacy.

A lifestyle you’re not even living.

You post “gratitude.”

While checking likes every five minutes.

You post “presence.”

While ignoring the actual moment.

You post “happiness.”

While needing constant validation.

You’re not a creator.

You’re a distributor of insecurity.

OUTRO — The Confession

If this made you uncomfortable…

good.

That means you recognized yourself.

Before you go back to directing your life like it’s a Netflix special…

pause.

Think about the last time you posted something.

Was it real?

Or was it designed?

Now let’s make this interesting.

Go to the Unfiltered Outsider socials — @unfoutsider.

One task.

No excuses.

No explanations.

Just this:

What’s your most embarrassing “inspirational” post?

The one that makes you cringe now.

Send it.

Or don’t.

But stop pretending you’re living a meaningful life…

when you’re just editing one.

Uninfluenced.
Unpaid.
Unfiltered.

I’m Noah B Jackman.

And this is Unfiltered Outsider.

Listen on

Spotify —

Apple Podcasts —

YouTube — https://www.youtube.com/@unfoutsider

Subscribe

For more unfiltered words every week:

Unfiltered Outsider

Uninfluenced. Unpaid. Unfiltered. Hosted by Noah Jackman. 🎧 Launching October 24th, 2025. No sponsors. No scripts. No mercy.

Written and hosted by Noah Jackman.
© Unfiltered Outsider® — All Rights Reserved.

INTRO — The New Religion

I was scrolling through LinkedIn the other day.

A mistake, I know.

And I saw someone proudly announcing they don’t sleep anymore because their side hustle demands 100% of their soul.

Apparently this was meant to be inspirational.

We’ve reached a strange moment in history where exhaustion has been rebranded as ambition.

Welcome to the new religion:

Grind Culture.

Having a job is no longer enough.

Now you need a passion project, a start-up, a brand, or some sort of monetized identity just to prove you’re not “wasting your potential.”

You can’t just enjoy painting.

You have to build a brand around it.

You can’t just bake bread.

You have to open an Etsy shop.

You can’t just have a hobby.

You have to turn it into content, courses, and passive income streams.

Somewhere along the way we decided that every moment of life must produce revenue.

Free time became a second shift.

Relaxation became a missed opportunity.

And the people selling you this dream?

They’re getting rich selling the dream itself.

You’re not an entrepreneur.

You’re a customer in a pyramid scheme of desperation.

PRESENTATION — Welcome to the Hustle Circus

Welcome back.

Or don’t feel welcome. I’m not running a hospitality service here.

I’m Noah Jackman.

Possibly the only person in your feed not trying to sell you a Masterclass on how to “unlock your potential” by drop shipping gadgets from a warehouse in Shenzhen.

You’ve probably noticed the trend.

Everyone is suddenly a Founder.

A Visionary.

A CEO.

Sometimes of a company that currently consists of a logo, a motivational quote, and their mother liking the first Instagram post.

But it looks impressive in the bio.

And that’s the point.

Today we’re dissecting the fantasy that you’re one passive income stream away from financial freedom.

Because what most of you are building isn’t a business.

It’s a very expensive identity crisis.

MAIN — Part 1: The Romance of Being Exhausted

Look at what we celebrate now.

Sleep deprivation.

Burnout.

Coffee at 4:30 AM with hashtags like #RiseAndGrind.

You’ve seen the posts.

Someone with hollow eyes and a motivational caption explaining how they only slept four hours because they’re “building something big.”

Winning at what?

At being the most efficient slave in modern capitalism?

We’ve turned exhaustion into a trophy.

A status symbol.

You’re supposed to admire the person who works two jobs, runs three side hustles, records a podcast, posts motivational quotes, and hasn’t seen sunlight since 2018.

Meanwhile the person who simply enjoys their life?

They’re “unambitious.”

Think about how insane that is.

You can’t just enjoy gardening.

You need a YouTube channel about gardening.

You can’t just enjoy photography.

You need to build a personal brand and a subscription platform.

Your hobbies aren’t hobbies anymore.

They’re potential revenue streams.

We’ve taken every peaceful activity and turned it into a spreadsheet.

Your free time isn’t free.

It’s just unmonetized labour.

And the people preaching “financial freedom”?

They’re the only ones actually making money.

Because they’re selling the dream.

Not living it.

MAIN — Part 2: CEO of Absolutely Nothing

Now let’s talk about the theatre.

Because most side hustles aren’t businesses.

They’re cosplay for adults.

Everyone is suddenly a founder.

A visionary.

A start-up builder.

Of what exactly?

A half-finished website.

A logo you spent three weeks designing.

A mission statement written with the help of ChatGPT and a glass of wine.

You’ve got the business cards.

You’ve got the LinkedIn title.

You’ve got the professional headshot where you stare intensely into the distance like a confused philosopher.

But you haven’t sold a single thing.

You’re not running a company.

You’re playing office.

It’s a performance.

You want the identity of success without the humiliation of actually trying.

You want the applause.

The “Congrats!” comments.

The illusion of momentum.

But the real work?

The rejection.

The accounting.

The failures.

That’s where most of these “founders” quietly disappear.

Instead they pivot.

Into content.

Now they’re not running a business.

They’re making TikTok’s about running a business.

It’s a hall of mirrors.

You’re documenting a journey that never actually started.

And somehow calling it entrepreneurship.

OUTRO — The Empire in Your Head

Let’s end this cleanly.

You don’t need three side hustles.

You don’t need a personal brand.

And your hobby doesn’t need a pricing model.

Sometimes a candle is just a candle.

Not a scalable lifestyle brand.

If your side hustle doesn’t make money and doesn’t bring joy…

It’s not a business.

It’s just a very public nervous breakdown.

So here’s the challenge.

Go to the Unfiltered Outsider socials — @unfoutsider.

One question.

No excuses.

No business jargon.

Just this:

What’s the most ridiculous “CEO” title you’ve ever seen online?

Or better yet…

Admit yours.

Let’s turn the comments into a graveyard for fake empires.

Now go take a nap.

Seriously.

You look exhausted.

Uninfluenced.
Unpaid.
Unfiltered.

I’m Noah B Jackman.

And this is Unfiltered Outsider.

Listen on

Spotify —

Apple Podcasts —

YouTube — https://www.youtube.com/@unfoutsider

Subscribe

For more unfiltered words every week:

Unfiltered Outsider

Uninfluenced. Unpaid. Unfiltered. Hosted by Noah Jackman. 🎧 Launching October 24th, 2025. No sponsors. No scripts. No mercy.

Written and hosted by Noah Jackman.
© Unfiltered Outsider® — All Rights Reserved.

INTRO — The Sound of Panic

You know what’s funny?

Your phone starts vibrating.

Just a regular call.

No dramatic music.
No emergency alert.

Just a ringtone.

And suddenly your brain reacts like someone pulled a fire alarm.

Because for most people now, that sound isn’t communication.

It’s pressure.

It’s the terrifying reminder that you possess a voice box that’s supposed to function in real time.

We’ve become a generation of screen-huggers.

Bold behind a keyboard.
Unfiltered in text messages.

But the moment a real human voice wants to enter the conversation?

Panic.

Suddenly the call is “intrusive.”

Suddenly it’s “aggressive.”

Suddenly the correct etiquette is sending a text first to ask permission to call.

“Hey, can you talk?”

What a remarkable species.

We invented the telephone…

and now we’re afraid to answer it.

You spend hundreds on a device literally called a phone.

And somehow talking is the one feature you avoid.

Scrolling? Fine.

Betting? Fine.

Watching strangers argue about politics? Perfect.

But a voice?

A real-time interaction with no undo button?

Absolutely terrifying.

Pick up the phone, you coward.

Or don’t.

The world will keep moving either way.

PRESENTATION — Welcome to the Bunker

Look who’s back.

Still hiding behind a screen.

Perfect.

I’m Noah Jackman.

And frankly, I’m impressed you’re still here.

After ten episodes of me pointing out your habits, I assumed most of you would have retreated into something more comfortable.

But no.

Here you are.

Headphones on.

Waiting for someone else to articulate thoughts your own brain is too busy scrolling to finish.

Today we’re talking about the peak of modern evolution.

The Digital Hermit.

A person surrounded by infinite tools for connection…

who uses them to build the most sophisticated walls in human history.

You’d rather send fifty emojis than spend fifty seconds hearing another person breathe.

And somehow we convinced ourselves that this is progress.

Let’s look at what that says about you.

MAIN — Part 1: The Anatomy of Avoidance

Let’s start with the ringtone.

That harmless little sound.

The moment it happens, you stare at your phone like it’s a ticking bomb.

You watch it vibrate on the table.

Waiting.

Hoping it stops.

Because if it stops, you can send the safest message in modern language:

“Hey, just saw your call. What’s up?”

You didn’t “just see it.”

You watched it die.

You sat there.

Waiting for the digital version of safety.

Because a text message is a laboratory.

You can edit it.

Delete it.

Rewrite it.

Add emojis to soften the stupidity.

A phone call?

A phone call is raw.

If you say something stupid, it stays stupid.

If there’s silence, you have to survive it.

If someone reacts unexpectedly, you have to deal with it.

That’s the part that terrifies you.

Real-time humanity.

So instead of conversation, you invented something worse.

Voice notes.

Those three-minute monologues you send while walking down the street.

Holding your phone like you’re eating a glass sandwich.

You’re not talking with someone.

You’re talking at them.

It’s a podcast nobody asked for.

You get to speak without interruption.

And the other person gets homework.

Listen later.

Respond later.

It’s the death of dialogue.

A conversation format designed for people who don’t want to be interrupted.

MAIN — Part 2: The Mirror

Now let’s stop pretending this is about “society.”

This is about you.

Yes, you.

Look at your hands.

You’ve touched your phone more today than another human being.

You call it introversion.

You call it social anxiety.

But let’s be honest.

You’re just out of practice.

You spent so long in a digital environment where every word can be edited…

that the idea of a real reaction feels like a threat.

You like the read receipt power play.

The control.

You read a message.

You leave it there for hours.

Crafting the perfect reply.

Busy.

Mysterious.

Emotionally unavailable.

You think it makes you powerful.

In reality it just means you’re terrified of being ordinary.

Terrified of being spontaneous.

Terrified of the unedited version of yourself.

So you stay in the bunker.

Scrolling.

Reacting.

Observing life instead of participating in it.

You think you’re connected because you have followers.

But if your car broke down tonight on a dark road…

half of you would panic just trying to figure out how to call someone.

You’re not misunderstood.

You’re invisible.

Not because nobody sees you.

Because you refuse to show up in real time.

OUTRO — The Test

Here’s a simple experiment.

Next time your phone rings…

Don’t stare at it like it’s a bomb.

Pick it up.

Answer.

Talk.

Let the conversation be awkward.

Let the silence happen.

Let yourself exist without editing the moment.

Because here’s the truth.

You’re not afraid of the call.

You’re afraid of being unscripted.

Now let’s see if anyone actually has the courage to admit that.

Go to the Unfiltered Outsider socials — @unfoutsider.

One question.

No excuses.

No essays.

Just this:

When was the last time you answered a call without wishing it had been a text?

Send it.

Or don’t.

But stop pretending you’re “busy.”

You’re not busy.

You’re hiding.

Uninfluenced.
Unpaid.
Unfiltered.

I’m Noah B Jackman.

And this is Unfiltered Outsider.

Listen on

Spotify —

Apple Podcasts —

YouTube — https://www.youtube.com/@unfoutsider

Subscribe

For more unfiltered words every week:

Unfiltered Outsider

Uninfluenced. Unpaid. Unfiltered. Hosted by Noah Jackman. 🎧 Launching October 24th, 2025. No sponsors. No scripts. No mercy.

Written and hosted by Noah Jackman.
© Unfiltered Outsider® — All Rights Reserved.

INTRO — The Safe Rebel

Let’s get something straight before anyone gets offended.

Most people who call themselves “different” are just extremely committed to fitting in — with a different costume.

You didn’t break away from the crowd.

You just found a smaller one that applauds the same behaviour and calls it individuality.

Same rules.

Same validation.

Different aesthetic.

Being an outsider used to mean something uncomfortable.

Isolation.

Risk.

Silence.

Now it’s a brand.

You buy the look.

You learn the language.

You repeat the opinions.

And suddenly you’re “brave” for standing apart while doing exactly what your new group expects.

Rebellion, but safe.

Different, but approved.

Authentic, but still marketable.

You don’t want to challenge anything.

You want credit for appearing challenging.

So you swap one uniform for another and call it freedom.

That’s not nonconformity.

That’s compliance with better branding.

And the irony?

You mock “the mainstream” while obsessively monitoring how you’re perceived.

You talk about “thinking for yourself” while recycling the same phrases, the same outrage, the same approved rebellions everyone else in your circle is performing this week.

You’re not outside the system.

You’re just standing in a different aisle.

PRESENTATION — Welcome to the Costume Party

Look at you.

Still here.

I’d say I’m grateful for the company, but let’s not lie to each other.

You’re probably just here for the small dopamine hit that comes from feeling smarter than the people I’m describing.

Don’t relax yet.

I’m Noah .

And before you start thinking this episode is about “those people” — the fake rebels, the social media revolutionaries, the aesthetic outsiders — forget it.

This is about you.

About the costume you’re wearing to avoid the terrifying experience of standing alone.

Stay if you want.

Or leave.

Either way, the mirror is already on the table.

MAIN — Part 1: The Niche

Here’s the uncomfortable truth.

Most outsiders aren’t outsiders.

They’re loyal members of a niche.

You didn’t reject the system.

You just transferred allegiance.

Different clothes.

Different vocabulary.

Different enemies.

Same hunger for approval.

Your group has rules.

You know it does.

There’s a correct way to speak.

A correct list of opinions.

A correct level of outrage you’re expected to perform.

Step outside those rules and suddenly your “community” becomes very quiet.

Or very hostile.

Because belonging still matters more to you than truth.

So you perform rebellion without risking isolation.

You call it authenticity.

But authenticity doesn’t require a dress code.

That’s the trick.

You measure your identity through contrast.

Not conviction.

You’re not asking:

“Is this true?”

You’re asking:

“Is this opposite enough to them?”

That’s not independent thought.

That’s reaction.

You don’t stand for something.

You stand against something and hope that gives you shape.

And deep down you know why.

Standing alone is terrifying.

Silence is terrifying.

No applause.

No validation.

No one confirming you’re right.

So you stay close enough to the group to feel safe — while far enough away to feel special.

That’s not courage.

That’s positioning.

MAIN — Part 2: The Performance

Now let’s talk about you.

Not the aesthetic.

Not the label.

Not the identity you introduce yourself with.

You.

If this episode is irritating you, it’s probably because it’s getting close to something you rely on.

You don’t want to be different.

You want the benefits of being different.

You want the identity.

The edge.

The moral high ground.

But you don’t want the loneliness that comes with it.

Look at how carefully you manage your “difference.”

You know exactly who it’s safe to challenge.

You know which opinions will get applause.

You know when to be loud — and when to stay conveniently quiet.

That’s not rebellion.

That’s strategy.

Ask yourself something uncomfortable.

If the people who agree with you disappeared tomorrow…

Would you still believe the same things?

If there was no audience…

Would your “identity” still exist?

Or would it quietly dissolve once nobody was watching?

Real individuality isn’t empowering at first.

It’s lonely.

It comes with doubt.

With silence.

With long stretches where nobody confirms you’re doing the right thing.

That’s why most people don’t want it.

They want identity without risk.

Freedom without solitude.

Difference without distance.

So they perform rebellion safely.

Collectively.

Predictably.

And the saddest part?

You never stayed long enough in the quiet to find out who you actually are.

You just swapped crowds and called it growth.

OUTRO — The Cost of Standing Alone

If this made you uncomfortable, good.

That’s usually what happens when a self-image starts to crack.

Before you rush to defend yourself, pause.

Think about the last time you went against your own group.

Not publicly.

Not performatively.

Actually against them.

When was the last time you risked losing approval instead of curating it?

Because here’s the truth most people avoid.

Being different isn’t something you announce.

It’s something you endure.

And if your version of “outsider” comes with constant applause, support, and validation…

You’re not outside anything.

You’re just well positioned.

Now let’s see if you can answer this honestly.

Go to the Unfiltered Outsider socials — @unfoutsider.

One sentence.

No explanation.

No branding.

Just this:

What belief do you hold that would still exist if nobody agreed with you?

Send it.

Or don’t.

But stop calling yourself different while doing everything possible to be accepted.

Real outsiders don’t need to tell you who they are.

They’re too busy standing alone.

Uninfluenced.
Unpaid.
Unfiltered.

I’m Noah B Jackman.

And this is Unfiltered Outsider.

Listen on

Spotify —

Apple Podcasts —

YouTube — https://www.youtube.com/@unfoutsider

Subscribe

For more unfiltered words every week:

Unfiltered Outsider

Uninfluenced. Unpaid. Unfiltered. Hosted by Noah Jackman. 🎧 Launching October 24th, 2025. No sponsors. No scripts. No mercy.

Written and hosted by Noah B Jackman.
© Unfiltered Outsider® — All Rights Reserved.

INTRO — The Funeral Selfie

I was watching a documentary last night.

Serious tone.
Funeral scene.
Black suits. Slow music.

And in the corner of the frame there’s a woman.

A real funeral happening behind her — coffin, grieving family, the whole thing.

And she’s half-turned toward the camera trying to find her angle like she’s at Coachella.

Adjusting.

Checking.

Waiting for the light to hit the cheekbone correctly.

At a funeral.

That’s when it hit me.

We don’t experience moments anymore.

We manage them.

Every event has become a production.

Every experience is a potential upload.

You’re not present.

You’re documenting your presence.

You think you’re preserving memories.

What you’re actually doing is replacing them.

You didn’t experience the moment.

You archived it.

And somewhere along the way, the red REC button quietly replaced your soul.

PRESENTATION — Welcome to the Recording Studio

Look who’s here.

Another human being staring at a screen instead of doing something meaningful.

Perfect.

Welcome.

I’m Noah.

And if you’re expecting gratitude for listening, let me stop you there.

I’m not building a fan club.

I’m dissecting modern behaviour.

Today’s specimen?

Your obsession with recording everything.

The concerts.

The dinners.

The gym sessions.

The sunsets.

The relationships.

All of it turned into footage.

You don’t live life anymore.

You produce it.

And the camera is always rolling.

Let’s talk about what that does to your brain.

MAIN — Part 1: The Concert Zombies

Let’s start with concerts.

You paid £200 to see an artist you claim to love.

And then you spent the entire night holding a phone above your head.

Watching the concert through a screen the size of a biscuit.

Why?

So you can have a video with audio that sounds like a washing machine dying.

Be honest.

You will never watch that clip again.

Not once.

It’s digital clutter.

A graveyard of moments you never actually experienced.

Instead of feeling the bass in your chest…

You were checking battery percentage.

Instead of looking at the artist…

You were adjusting exposure.

You weren’t a fan.

You were a volunteer cameraman for a tech company.

You traded a once-in-a-lifetime experience for a file that will rot in your cloud storage.

And you call that “sharing the moment.”

Sharing what?

The fact that you weren’t actually there?

MAIN — Part 2: The Performance of Life

Now let’s talk about everyday life.

Dinner with friends.

A walk in the park.

A date.

None of it exists until the phone appears.

Food arrives.

Pause.

“Wait — don’t touch it yet.”

Photo.

Adjust plate.

Move glass.

Angle cutlery.

Congratulations.

You just turned lunch into a photo shoot.

Your life has become a marketing campaign.

Even intimacy has production value now.

Couples rehearsing laughter for Instagram.

Parents filming their child’s first steps through a screen.

People filming themselves crying for content.

It’s extraordinary.

You’ve turned existence into a reality show nobody asked to watch.

And the strangest part?

You’re both the performer and the audience.

Watching yourself live.

Editing yourself live.

Evaluating yourself live.

You don’t experience life anymore.

You review it in real time.

MAIN — Part 3: The Archive of Nothing

Let’s be honest.

Your phone isn’t a memory keeper.

It’s a digital landfill.

Thousands of photos.

Thousands of clips.

Moments you supposedly wanted to remember.

And yet…

You never revisit them.

Because deep down you know something uncomfortable.

You didn’t record those moments to remember them.

You recorded them to prove they happened.

Not to yourself.

To everyone else.

Because a moment that isn’t shared feels incomplete now.

If nobody saw it…

Did it even exist?

That’s the sickness.

Your brain now believes an experience is wasted if it isn’t documented.

You’ve outsourced memory to a machine.

And replaced presence with storage space.

OUTRO — The Experiment

Here’s a simple test.

Next time something beautiful happens…

Don’t touch your phone.

No photo.

No video.

No proof.

Just experience it.

Let the moment exist only inside your head.

I know.

Terrifying.

Because you’ve been trained to think a moment is wasted if nobody sees it.

But the moments nobody sees?

Those are the only ones that actually belong to you.

Everything else is just content.

Now.

Go to the Unfiltered Outsider socials — @unfoutsider.

One question.

No explanations.

What was the last moment you experienced without recording it?

If you can’t remember…

That’s the entire problem.

Next episode we’ll open another behavioural autopsy.

Subscribe.

Or don’t.

Your phone will still be recording either way.

Uninfluenced.
Unpaid.
Unfiltered.

I’m Noah B Jackman.

And this is Unfiltered Outsider.

Listen on

Spotify —

Unfiltered Outsider Links

Apple Podcasts —

Unfiltered Outsider Links

YouTube — https://www.youtube.com/@unfoutsider

Unfiltered Outsider Links

Subscribe

For more unfiltered words every week:

Unfiltered Outsider

Uninfluenced. Unpaid. Unfiltered. Hosted by Noah Jackman. 🎧 Launching October 24th, 2025. No sponsors. No scripts. No mercy.

Written and hosted by Noah B Jackman.
© Unfiltered Outsider® — All Rights Reserved.

“You don’t want feedback.
You want reassurance that you still matter.”

INTRO — Digital Permission to Exist

Look at you.

Adjusting the light.
Tilting your head.
Finding the exact angle that hides the hollow shell you’ve become.

It’s fascinating, really.

Watching a supposedly evolved species trade its entire dignity for a digital thumb-up from a stranger sitting on a toilet.

A stranger who doesn’t know your name — but owns your self-worth.

Let’s talk about the most pathetic addiction of our time.

Validation.

Not money.
Not power.
Just the desperate need for a digital head-nod.

That tiny hit you get when a notification confirms that — yes — you haven’t disappeared yet.

We’ve built a world where silence feels like an attack.

If nobody reacts, your brain starts to rot.

You panic.

“Am I invisible again?”

And don’t get defensive.

I’m not talking about your “confidence.”

I’m talking about your dependency.

There’s a massive difference between enjoying a compliment and needing one to feel like a real human being.

At some point, you stopped caring if something was true or meaningful.

Now you only care if it gets a reaction.

If the answer is no, you suffocate that thought before it even reaches your lips.

That’s not “reading the room.”

That’s self-censorship for the sake of branding.

It’s truly elite behaviour to think your worth is measured in views and shares.

Little digital treats that say:

“Good boy. Keep existing.”

And when they don’t come?

You don’t question the system.

You question your own value.

You refresh the page like a lab rat pressing a lever for a pellet of food.

You pretend you “don’t care” while checking every single name on that viewer list.

You don’t want feedback.

You want reassurance that you still matter.

But here’s the scary part:

You’ve trained your nervous system to wait for permission to exist out loud.

PRESENTATION — Welcome to the Splash Zone

I see you’re still here.

I’d say I’m grateful, but we both know that’s a lie.

I’m just glad someone’s paying attention to something that isn’t a 15-second loop of a teenager dancing.

I’m Noah Jackman.

And if you’re expecting me to thank you for your “support,” you’re in the wrong place.

Your presence is enough — for now.

Don’t make me regret it.

Back to the mess you call a life.

MAIN — Part 1: The Addiction

You didn’t wake up one day as a junkie.

You trained yourself into this.

At first, it was innocent.

Sharing a moment.
Feeling “seen.”

But then you stopped asking:

“Do I mean this?”

And started asking:

“Did it work?”

And every time it “worked,” your brain took notes.

It learned the timing.

The tone.

The fake version of you that gets the most rewards.

This is where your personality starts to rot.

You didn’t lose yourself dramatically.

You sanded yourself down.

Edges first.
Honesty second.

Anything that might confuse or challenge the crowd gets edited out.

You call it “being smart.”

I call it cowardice.

You’re not expressing who you are.

You’re just testing which version of you survives the algorithm.

And let’s be clear:

This isn’t just about influencers.

This is about your friendships.

Your work.

Your pathetic relationships.

You say things you don’t believe because they make you easier to like.

You mistake being palatable for being authentic.

And now your sense of self is entirely conditional.

You feel empty when they don’t respond.

Not sad.

Empty.

Because without their reaction, you have no proof that you’re actually there.

Instead of sitting with that discomfort, you reach for the fastest fix.

You post again.

You add “vulnerability.”

You add anything to trigger a response.

Like an addict convinced the next hit will finally settle them.

It won’t.

The problem isn’t that they aren’t validating you enough.

The problem is that you’ve forgotten how to exist without an audience.

MAIN — Part 2: The Mirror

Look at yourself.

If this is bothering you, it’s because you recognize the rot.

Think about the last thing you shared.

Did you share it because it mattered?

Or because you wanted to see what would happen?

That little moment of suspense while you wait for the first “like”?

That’s not curiosity.

That’s dependence.

You’ve trained yourself to feel real only when you’re reflected back.

You don’t experience life anymore.

You produce it.

You live half a second in the future, imagining the shareability of the present.

It’s exhausting.

Your inner life has an audience — and they are never satisfied.

Notice how quickly your mood drops when engagement is low.

How your confidence wobbles.

That’s not openness.

It’s fragility.

If your worth collapses in silence, it was never solid to begin with.

Here is the truth you’re avoiding:

You’ve confused being seen with being known.

Being seen is loud and easy.

Being known requires consistency without applause.

It requires having an opinion when nobody claps.

Most of you can’t handle that.

You want the shortcut.

So you perform depth.

You perform honesty.

You perform a personality.

But the performance keeps changing — because the crowd keeps changing.

And that’s how you end up hollow.

Not because you failed.

But because you never stopped adjusting yourself long enough to figure out who you are when nobody is watching.

You wait for consensus.

You wait for permission.

That’s not connection.

That’s submission with better lighting.

Sit with this:

If tomorrow nobody responded to you.

No likes.

No reassurance.

Nothing.

Would you still believe the same things?

Or would you quietly start erasing yourself to fit in?

That answer is the only truth you have left.

OUTRO — The Leash

If this made you feel exposed — good.

That’s what happens when you name an addiction.

Before you rush to distract yourself with another scroll, think about the last time you got nothing.

No hate.
No love.
Just silence.

Did it mess with your head?

Of course it did.

If you need validation to feel real, you don’t have confidence.

You have a leash.

And that makes you predictable.

It turns you into someone who edits and softens themselves just to keep the feedback coming.

That’s not growth.

That’s obedience.

Now let’s see if anyone is actually home.

Go to the Unfiltered Outsider socials — @unfoutsider.

I want one sentence.

No stories.
No excuses.

What reaction are you most addicted to?

Approval?
Praise?
Being agreed with?

Pick one.

Send it.

No context.

And if you’re thinking, “I don’t need validation” —

Congratulations.

That was your addiction speaking for you.

Next episode, we’ll break another illusion.

Subscribe.

Or don’t.

I’m not here to convince you of anything.

But don’t pretend silence doesn’t kill you while you’re checking your phone to see if this episode “landed.”

Being approved of feels safer than being solid.

Uninfluenced.
Unpaid.
Unfiltered.

I’m Noah B. Jackman.

And this is Unfiltered Outsider.

Listen on

Spotify —

Apple Podcasts —

YouTube — https://www.youtube.com/@unfoutsider

Subscribe

For more unfiltered words every week:

Unfiltered Outsider

Uninfluenced. Unpaid. Unfiltered. Hosted by Noah Jackman. 🎧 Launching October 24th, 2025. No sponsors. No scripts. No mercy.

Written and hosted by Noah Jackman.
© Unfiltered Outsider® — All Rights Reserved.

“Your past is an explanation.
It is not an alibi.”

INTRO — The New Global Currency

Right. Let’s talk about the new global currency: personal misery.

Congratulations, we’ve officially entered the era where your backstory is more important than your character. It’s a professional-level scam, and honestly? It’s some truly elite behaviour.

You know exactly what I’m talking about.

We’ve turned the trauma dump into a tactical weapon.

In the past, if you acted like a prick, you had to apologize.

Now? You just open your portfolio of past damages.

It’s like a magic trick.

Someone calls you out for being toxic, and poof — you pull out a diagnosis from 2019 or a story about your absent father, and suddenly, accountability vanishes.

You’re not being honest.

You’re being untouchable.

You’ve looked at a burning dumpster fire of your own making and convinced yourself it’s just a “symptom of your journey.”

Vulnerability was meant to be a bridge.

Now, it’s just a shield.

People have learned that if they open up fast enough, deep enough, and loud enough, they can control the room.

You say, “Hey, that thing you did really hurt me,” and within ten seconds, you are the one comforting them.

Why?

Because they’ve deployed their trauma like a smoke bomb.

You use therapy speak to silence people.

“I’m not being cold, I’m just honouring my capacity.”

No.

You’re just being a coward who can’t handle five minutes of reality.

MAIN — Explanation vs. Alibi

I’m not saying trauma isn’t real.

It is.

It’s heavy.

It fucks people up in ways that take years to untangle.

But using your 2014 heartbreak or your “difficult childhood” to justify being a piece of shit in 2026 isn’t healing.

It’s a lifestyle choice.

Your past is an explanation.

It is not an alibi.

We’ve created a culture that rewards the victim more than the survivor.

It’s become a competition to see who has the messiest mental health — because the messier you are, the less people can expect from you.

You’ve turned your pain into a brand.

A disclaimer you attach to every interaction so you never have to show up as a functional adult.

You walk into a room and before you even say hello, you’ve already signaled that you’re “fragile.”

Which is just a sophisticated way of saying:

“I get to behave however I want, and you have to deal with it.”

Think about the trail of bodies you leave behind while you’re busy “doing the work.”

You ignore your friends.
You flake on your responsibilities.
You treat your partner like an emotional punching bag.

Then you wrap it all up in a neat little bow of “self-care” and “protecting your peace.”

You aren’t healing.

You’re becoming a more sophisticated version of the person everyone has to walk on eggshells around.

You’re not building boundaries.

You’re building a prison — and forcing everyone else to pay the rent.

Therapy Speak: The New Weapon

Let’s talk about therapy speak.

It’s the new weapon of choice for the emotionally lazy.

“I don’t have the capacity for this conversation right now.”

Translation: I’m about to lose this argument because I’m wrong, so I’m going to use a clinical term to shut you up.

“I’m just honouring my boundaries.”

Translation: I want to keep acting like a coward without anyone holding me accountable.

It’s pathetic.

You’ve convinced yourself that being self-aware is the same thing as changing.

It isn’t.

Knowing why you’re a disaster doesn’t make you any less of a disaster.

It just makes you a disaster with an instruction manual.

You’re like someone standing in the middle of a crowded room, screaming about your open wounds, and getting angry at the people who get blood on their clothes.

If you bleed on someone because you were bleeding first, guess what?

There is still blood on the floor.

It’s still a mess.

And the fact that you have a reason for it doesn’t make it any less of a tragedy for the person who has to clean it up.

You’re not being vulnerable.

You’re being a liability.

You’ve spent so much time looking in the rear-view mirror at what happened to you that you’ve completely forgotten you’re the one currently behind the wheel.

No one owes you a standing ovation for finally admitting you’re a mess while you’re still refusing to pick up the pieces.

The Rebrand of Toxicity

Let me introduce myself properly.

If you’re new here — welcome to the splash zone.

I’m Noah Jackman, and I’m here to hold the mirror up until you can’t stand looking at yourself anymore.

I see the numbers.

I see you’re still listening.

Why?

Because you’re hoping I’m talking about someone else.

It’s cute — that level of dedication to your own PR team.

You’re not a manipulator.

You’re “misunderstood.”

You’re not avoiding work.

You’re “recovering.”

You’ve spent so much time polishing your scars that you’ve forgotten they were supposed to be signs of healing — not your entire personality.

You’ve become an expert at the trauma-pivot.

Someone asks you for a deadline? Pivot to anxiety.

Someone asks you to be a better partner? Pivot to childhood.

It’s a flawless dance of avoidance.

And the most pathetic part?

You actually think you’re being brave by doing it.

You think that by “speaking your truth,” you’ve bought the right to be a deadweight to everyone around you.

No.

You’re just a coward who found a clinical-sounding way to stay stuck.

You’re not doing the work.

You’re managing the optics of your own stagnation.

OUTRO — Drop the Shield

If this made you feel exposed — good.

That’s usually what happens when a shield stops working and you’re forced to stand in the rain of your own consequences.

Before you go back to being a professional victim so you don’t have to grow up, do the world a favour.

Think about the last time you got called out.

Did you actually listen?

Or did you just start reciting your resume of past damages?

Were you trying to be understood…

or were you just trying to get away with it?

You know the answer.

Now for the fun part.

Go to the Unfiltered Outsider socials — @unfoutsider.

Send me one sentence.

Not a story.
Not a diagnosis.
Not a “you don’t understand my situation.”

I don’t care about your situation.

Send me the excuse you use the most to justify being a prick.

Or tell me the exact moment you realized you were using your pain to manipulate a conversation.

No context.

Raw truth.

If your immediate reaction is to get defensive and explain why I’m “too harsh,” congratulations.

You just proved my entire point.

You’re doing it right now.

Next episode, we’re doing this again.

More behaviour.
More human nonsense.

Subscribe. Follow. Or don’t.

I’m not your father.

But don’t walk away pretending you’re above any of this.

See you next time.

Or don’t.

You’ll keep using your pain as a free pass either way.

Uninfluenced.
Unpaid.
Unfiltered.

I’m Noah B Jackman —
and this is the Unfiltered Outsider.

Listen on

Spotify —

Apple Podcasts —

YouTube — https://www.youtube.com/@unfoutsider

Subscribe

For more unfiltered words every week:

Unfiltered Outsider

Uninfluenced. Unpaid. Unfiltered. Hosted by Noah Jackman. 🎧 Launching October 24th, 2025. No sponsors. No scripts. No mercy.

Written and hosted by Noah Jackman.
© Unfiltered Outsider® — All Rights Reserved.

“You didn’t say it because it needed to be said.
You said it because you needed to say it.”

INTRO — The Permission Slip

Right, tonight I am frustrated…

You know that sentence people throw out right before things get uncomfortable.

Not as a warning.
More like a permission slip.

And it usually shows up after someone says something unnecessary.

Not brave.
Not helpful.
Just unnecessary.

You know what it is, right?

Of course you do.

“I’m just being honest.”

And the second it lands, you’re supposed to respect it.
Because honesty, apparently, is sacred.

You can say whatever the fuck you want —
as long as you frame it like a virtue.

You didn’t think about timing.
You didn’t think about context.
You definitely didn’t think about how it would land.

But it’s fine.

You were just being honest.

I am the stupid one.

It’s funny how that sentence is never used before saying something kind.

No one goes,

“I’m just being honest — you handled that really well.”

No.

It’s always before the hit.

Before the comment nobody asked for.
Before the opinion that adds nothing.
Before the little verbal shove that leaves the other person standing there, trying to figure out why they suddenly feel smaller.

And then, the magic trick.

The moment someone reacts —
the moment they look hurt, confused, defensive —

you pull the sentence back out.

“I’m just being honest.”

Like honesty erases impact.
Like sincerity works as an emotional shield.
Like the damage doesn’t count if you didn’t mean it.

You get to feel brave.
They get to feel dramatic.

Perfect deal.

Because now the conversation isn’t about what you said anymore.

It’s about how they took it.

And somehow, every time, the honest one walks away feeling clean.

MAIN — Relief, Not Truth

Alright. Hello again.

Still here? Good. Or unfortunate. Hard to tell.

I’m Noah.

And if this sentence already pissed you off, relax — it’s probably because you’ve used it this week.

Because here’s the thing about “I’m just being honest”:

It’s never about honesty.

It’s about relief.

It’s about saying the thing that’s been itching your tongue and finally scratching it —
and then acting surprised when someone bleeds.

People love to cosplay courage.
They love to feel bold.
They love to think they’re “real” in a world full of “fake people”.

But honesty without care isn’t bravery.

It’s just impatience with other people’s emotions.

Let’s be clear:

You didn’t say it because it needed to be said.

You said it because you needed to say it.

There’s a difference.

Most of the time, these “honest” comments aren’t revelations.

They’re not truths no one dared to speak.

They’re observations everyone already knows —
just usually said by people with enough tact to shut the fuck up.

But you don’t shut up.

You drop it and stand there like you just did something noble.

And the funniest part?

You expect gratitude.

You expect people to thank you for your honesty.
For your “directness.”
For your “no filter.”

When they don’t, you get offended.

Suddenly they’re the problem.
Too sensitive.
Too emotional.
Too fragile for the “real world.”

Funny how the “real world” always seems to revolve around your mouth.

And look — I’m not talking about difficult conversations.

Those matter.
Those are necessary.

I’m talking about the cheap ones.
The lazy ones.
The drive-by comments.

The kind you drop and immediately feel lighter —
while the other person gets to carry it home and unpack it alone.

That’s not honesty.

That’s outsourcing your discomfort.

You didn’t want to sit with the thought.
You didn’t want to manage the tension.

So you handed it to someone else and called it truth.

And yes — before you get comfortable —

I do this too.

I’ve said things under the banner of “honesty”
that were really just impatience dressed up as principle.

I wanted to be done with the conversation.
I wanted to feel clean.

So I said the thing and walked away,
leaving someone else to deal with the emotional hangover.

“I’m just being honest”
usually means
“I don’t feel like doing the extra work empathy requires.”

Because empathy is slow.

Empathy forces you to consider timing, tone, context.
Empathy asks, “Is this useful?” not just “Is this true?”

And that’s annoying.

It gets in the way of your release.

So instead, you choose honesty as a weapon —
because weapons are efficient.

They end conversations.
They establish dominance.
They let you feel superior for about five minutes.

Until you notice people don’t come to you anymore.

They don’t ask your opinion.
They don’t trust you with their soft parts.

And then you tell yourself another comforting story.

“They can’t handle honesty.”

No.

They just don’t want to be collateral damage in your self-expression journey.

Because real honesty isn’t loud.

It’s careful.

It takes responsibility for what it causes.

If you drop a truth and immediately need to defend it,
it probably wasn’t about truth at all.

It was about control.

And if that makes you uncomfortable — good.

OUTRO — Did It Need to Be Said?

Alright. That’s enough honesty for one day.

If you’re still listening, congratulations — you didn’t immediately defend yourself and turn this into a personality trait. Growth. Maybe.

Before you go back to your life and tell yourself this episode was about other people, I want you to do something simple.

Think about the last time you said:

“I’m just being honest.”

Not the time it was necessary.
Not the time it was hard but fair.

The time it was convenient.

The time you said it, felt lighter, and walked away —
while someone else was left standing there, replaying your words in their head like a bad chorus.

Now ask yourself one question.

Did it actually need to be said…

or did you just need to say it?

There’s a difference.

And you know which one it was.

If you’re feeling brave — or stupid — go to the Unfiltered Outsider socials.

@unfoutsider.

Send me the last “honest” thing you said that cost you nothing
and cost someone else a lot.

No context.
No explanation.
No “but I meant well.”

Just the sentence.

And if your instinct right now is to roll your eyes and think,

“Wow, people really are sensitive these days” —

perfect.

That’s exactly the voice I’m talking about.

See you next time. Or don’t.

You’ll probably just tell yourself you were being honest anyway.

Uninfluenced.
Unpaid.
Unfiltered.

I’m Noah B Jackman —
and this is the Unfiltered Outsider.

Listen on

Spotify —

Apple Podcasts —

YouTube — https://www.youtube.com/@unfoutsider

Subscribe

For more unfiltered words every week:

Unfiltered Outsider

Uninfluenced. Unpaid. Unfiltered. Hosted by Noah Jackman. 🎧 Launching October 24th, 2025. No sponsors. No scripts. No mercy.

Written and hosted by Noah Jackman.
© Unfiltered Outsider® — All Rights Reserved.

“It’s not a confession.
It’s not even a defence.
It’s a declaration of immunity.”

INTRO — Moral Immunity

Let’s talk about the ultimate get-out-of-jail-free card. The phrase we use when we’ve hit rock bottom and we need a quick way to climb back onto our moral high ground.

It’s not a confession.
It’s not even a defence.
It’s a declaration of immunity.

“At least I’m a good person.”

Look at the weight of that.

It implies that your actions—the actual, tangible things you do to people—don’t matter as much as this “aura” of goodness you think you carry around.

It’s the most arrogant thing we say to ourselves. As if we have a spiritual savings account that we can overdraw whenever we feel like being a prick, and the balance somehow always stays positive.

We don’t use this when we’re doing well.

We use it when we’ve been caught. When the mask slips and someone finally says: “Hey, that was actually pretty fucked up.”

And instead of looking at the wreckage, we point at our “essence.”

“Yeah, I burned the house down, but look at my heart. It’s glowing.”

It’s the ultimate conversation killer.

Because once you declare yourself a “good person,” you’re essentially saying that anyone who criticizes you is just being mean, or “toxic,” or “unreasonable.” You’re not just right; you’re holy.

And the best part?

You’ve convinced yourself that being “good” is a permanent state of being, rather than a choice you have to make every single second.

MAIN — The Saints Are the Most Dangerous

Alright. Hello again.

I’m glad you’re still listening.

Or maybe I’m not. If you’re here, it’s probably because you’re tired of the “saints” in your life—or you’ve finally realized you’re one of them.

And trust me, the saints are the most dangerous people in the room.

I’m Noah.

And look, I’m right here in the gutter with you.

I’ve spent plenty of nights convincing myself that my “vibe” is more important than my behaviour.

I’ve used my own “niceness” as a silencer for the people I’ve let down.

I’m a hypocrite.

You’re a hypocrite.

The only difference is that I’ve stopped pretending my hypocrisy is a “healing journey.”

Think about the silence we use.

We call it “giving space” or “not having the energy,” but let’s call it what it really is: a refusal to be inconvenienced by someone else’s reality.

We stay quiet, we pull away, and then we tell ourselves we’re being the “bigger person” by not starting a fight. But you’re not avoiding a fight; you’re just leaving the other person to drown in the confusion you created.

And then comes the “Empathy Trap.”

We’ve all done it. We listen to someone we’ve hurt, and instead of actually hearing them, we start explaining how bad we feel about what we did.

We turn their pain into a stage for our own guilt. We make them comfort us for hurting them. And if they don’t? Well, then they’re the “unreasonable” ones, right?

Because a “good person” like you is clearly suffering so much from your own mistakes.

It’s a masterful way to stay the protagonist of every single tragedy you cause.

Think about the sheer entitlement of the “good person” label.

We treat it like a lifetime achievement award we won in kindergarten.

“I’m a good person.”

Okay, based on what?

Based on the fact that you haven’t murdered anyone today? Based on the three months of loyalty you gave someone before you decided they weren’t “serving your growth” and disappeared?

We’ve created this culture where “intent” is everything and “impact” is nothing.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, so technically, you shouldn’t be hurt.”

It’s logic for children.

If I step on your foot, it doesn’t matter if I was trying to dance or trying to crush you—your foot still hurts.

But “good people” spend hours arguing about the “dance” while the other person is still bleeding on the floor.

We use this goodness as a shield against growth.

Real growth is painful. It requires you to look in the mirror and say: “I was cruel. I was selfish. I was small.”

But why do that when you can just say “I’m a good person” and feel better instantly?

It’s a sedative for the soul.

Let’s talk about the “Polite Lie.”

We tell ourselves we lie to protect people. “I didn’t want to break their heart.” “I didn’t want to ruin their day.”

Bullshit.

You didn’t want to deal with the fallout.

You didn’t want to be the “bad guy” in their story, so you gave them a beautiful lie that they’ll have to untangle later, alone.

Being a “good person” in your own head is easy when you control the narrative.

But have you ever stopped to wonder how many people have a version of you in their heads that is absolutely unrecognizable to you?

People who don’t see the “aura,” but only the cold, hard trail of broken promises and half-truths you left behind while you were busy being “kind”?

And let’s talk about the “Good Person” curriculum.

We love the easy wins.

Posting the right thing on social media.

Giving a five-euro tip when people are watching.

Being “there” for people only when it’s convenient for our schedule.

These aren’t virtues; they’re performances.

They’re the bonus points we use to offset the moments where we’re actually being terrible humans.

“I’m a good person, so it’s okay if I lie to my partner about this one thing.”

“I’m a good person, so it’s fine if I treat my employees like shit because I’m ‘stressed.’”

And trust me. I am once again right there with you. Fuck. Unfortunately, sometimes I am.

We’re constantly bartering with our own integrity.

We treat our morality like a frequent flyer program—we think we’ve earned enough miles to take a free trip into being a complete asshole.

It’s this moral accounting that kills us.

We think because we did “A” (which was nice), we are now allowed to do “B” (which is toxic).

We treat our relationships like a transaction where we’ve already paid the bill, so now we can just stop showing up.

But integrity isn’t a bank account you can drain; it’s the floor you’re standing on.

And right now, most of us are hovering over a void, clutching a handful of “good intentions” like they’re going to save us from the fall.

But here’s the cold, hard truth:

Nobody cares about your “essence.”

Nobody lives inside your “intentions.”

The people in your life live with your actions.

And if your actions are consistently shitty, then your “good person” badge is just a piece of plastic you’re wearing while you burn your bridges.

OUTRO — Drop the Badge

Alright. I’m done preaching for today.

Today was a hard one because it made me see my reflection in the mirror.

And that hurts. Doesn’t it? Or at least it should.

But I can feel your ego starting to itch.

You’re probably thinking of all the reasons why your situation is different.

“But Noah, I really am a kind person. People always tell me I’m so nice.”

Yeah? Maybe they’re just afraid of what happens when they tell you the truth.

Before you go back to being the “light” in everyone’s life, I want you to do something.

Think about the one person you’ve hurt the most in the last year. The one who actually called you out.

Remember how you reacted?

You didn’t listen to them. You defended yourself. You told them they were “misinterpreting” you.

You used your reputation as a weapon against their feelings.

Now, for once, drop the act.

Go to the Unfiltered Outsider socials — @unfoutsider.

I want you to send me the real reason you haven’t apologized to that person.

Don’t give me the “I’m processing” bullshit.

Give me the truth.

“I’m too proud.”
“I’m afraid of being the bad guy.”
“I value my image more than our friendship.”

No context. No excuses. No long stories about your “inner child.”

I don’t care about your child.

I care about the adult you’re failing to be right now.

Just the raw truth.

And if it makes you feel like garbage?

Good.

Garbage is exactly what you’ve been feeding the people who actually care about you.

Why are we people like that?

See you next time. Or don’t.

You’ll probably just tell yourself you’re “too good” for this podcast anyway.

Uninfluenced. Unpaid. Unfiltered.

I’m Noah B Jackman, and this is the Unfiltered Outsider.

Listen on

Spotify —

Apple Podcasts —

YouTube — https://www.youtube.com/@unfoutsider

Subscribe

For more unfiltered words every week:

Unfiltered Outsider

Uninfluenced. Unpaid. Unfiltered. Hosted by Noah Jackman. 🎧 Launching October 24th, 2025. No sponsors. No scripts. No mercy.

Written and hosted by Noah Jackman.
© Unfiltered Outsider® — All Rights Reserved.

“It’s not a plan.
It’s not a promise.
It’s a socially acceptable lie.”

INTRO — The Verbal Smoke Bomb

Right. Let’s talk about the most dishonest sentence ever invented by humans who want to escape a conversation without consequences.

That little verbal smoke bomb you throw when you’re desperate to run away.

“We should catch up.”

Not now. Not soon. Not ever. Just… at some unspecified point in an imaginary future where everyone suddenly has the energy and the genuine interest to actually care about each other.

You don’t say it because you mean it. You say it because silence would be awkward and honesty would be “rude.” Because saying “I don’t actually want to see you again” would make you the villain of the story, and God knows you’re obsessed with being the hero of your own mediocre movie.

So instead, you smile. You nod. You say the magic words like a well-trained dog.

“We should catch up.”

It sounds friendly, doesn’t it? It sounds warm. Like a promise.

But it’s not. It’s a socially acceptable lie we’ve all agreed to respect—a verbal handshake with zero intention behind it.

You say it at the end of conversations that should’ve ended ten minutes earlier. You say it at weddings, at funerals, or after bumping into someone you haven’t thought about in a decade and won’t think about again in ten minutes.

And the best part? The other person says it back. Not because they want to, but because they understand the ritual.

Two adults, standing there, lying to each other’s faces with professional-level dedication, pretending this means something.

No one pulls out their phone. No one checks dates. No one follows up. Because deep down, everyone knows the translation.

“We should catch up” doesn’t mean “I want to see you.”
It means: “This conversation is over and I’d like to leave now without feeling like a bad person.”

It’s a clean exit. A way to vanish while keeping your reputation as a “nice person” intact.

And if you’ve ever said it with that fake, high-pitched enthusiasm—“Oh my god, yes, absolutely, let’s do it!”—while you were already planning your escape route… congratulations.

You’re fluent in the language of human bullshit.

You’re not connecting; you’re just performing.

And I think we both know which one you’re better at.

MAIN — A Social Exit Strategy

Alright. Hello again.

If you’re still listening, good. That means you didn’t immediately pretend your phone vibrated just so you could escape. Growth.

Now let me ask you something—how many times have you said “we should catch up” and already knew, in your soul, that this was never going to happen?

Not “maybe,” not “it depends,” but never.

You said it with a smile, with perfect eye contact, with fake enthusiasm… and zero intention.

Because “we should catch up” isn’t a plan; it’s a social exit strategy.

It’s what you say when you don’t hate the person, you don’t like them enough to keep talking, and you definitely don’t want to look like an asshole.

So you choose the coward’s middle ground.

You lie politely.

Think about how this happens.

You bump into someone you used to be close to—or at least close enough to remember their name—and you do the quick recap:

“How are you?”
“So busy.”
“Yeah, same.”

And then there’s that pause.

That dangerous, suffocating pause where someone has to say something to end the encounter without it feeling brutal.

And boom.

Out it comes.

“We should catch up.”

And notice how nobody ever follows it up. No dates, no messages, no “hey, about that thing we said.”

Because both of you understood the silent agreement.

This wasn’t a promise.

It was a ceremonial goodbye.

Like waving at a train you’re relieved to see leave.

And the best part is how convincing we are.

“Oh my god, yes, absolutely! Let’s text soon!”

Soon when?

During the apocalypse?

You say it with the same hollow tone people use when they say “take care” to someone they will never think about again.

And don’t pretend this only happens with strangers; we do this with friends too.

People you haven’t spoken to in years, but you still feel socially obligated to pretend the relationship is just “paused.”

It’s not paused.

It’s dead.

But saying “this friendship ran its course” feels dramatic, so “we should catch up” feels nicer.

Social media made this worse—now you don’t even have to disappear; you just like a story every six months to prove you’re still “connected.”

You don’t talk.
You don’t meet.
You don’t care.

It’s just emotional hoarding.

Let me check something with you.

Think about the last person you said this to.

Be honest—if they messaged you tomorrow saying “Hey, let’s actually catch up,” would you be excited?

Or would your stomach drop while your brain immediately starts drafting excuses?

That reaction is the truth.

And look, I’m not judging you from the outside. I’ve said this sentence more times than I can count.

Sometimes because I was tired.
Sometimes because I didn’t want conflict.

But every time, I knew exactly what I was doing.

That’s the part no one likes admitting.

“We should catch up” isn’t optimism.

It’s avoidance wrapped in politeness.

It’s how adults end things without having the courage to say they’re over.

The reason it works is because everyone agrees to play along.

So next time you hear yourself saying it, pay attention.

Not to the words—

but to the relief you feel right after.

That relief isn’t hope.

It’s escape.

OUTRO — The Translation

Alright. That’s enough social lying for one day.

If you’re still listening, congratulations—you didn’t fake a smile and slowly back away. Rare skill.

Now, before you go back to your life pretending certain relationships are just “on pause,” I want you to do one thing.

Think about the last person you said “we should catch up” to.

Not the one you actually meant—the other one.

The one where you said it and immediately felt that rush of relief because the conversation was finally over.

Yeah.

That one.

Now imagine they text you tomorrow: “Hey, let’s actually do it.”

Be honest.

Did you smile?

Or did your soul quietly leave your body?

Exactly.

Here’s what I want from you.

Go to the Unfiltered Outsider socials — @unfoutsider — and send me the most honest version of that sentence.

Not the polite one. Not the fake-friendly mask.

The translation.

“I didn’t want to keep talking.”
“I don’t actually want to meet.”
“This relationship is done.”

No context. No justification. And definitely no long story about how “busy” you are—we already covered that scam.

Just the truth you didn’t have the balls to say.

And if your instinct right now is “wow, that sounds harsh”—congratulations.

That’s exactly why you lied instead.

Next episode, we’re doing this again.

Different sentence. Same human nonsense.

Because apparently, this is the cycle we’ve chosen.

So follow. Subscribe. Or don’t.

I’m not here to hold your hand.

But don’t you dare walk away pretending you didn’t recognize your own reflection today.

See you next time.

Or… you know.

We should catch up.

Uninfluenced. Unpaid. Unfiltered.

I’m Noah B Jackman, and this is the Unfiltered Outsider.

Listen on

Spotify —

Apple Podcasts —

YouTube — https://www.youtube.com/@unfoutsider

Subscribe

For more unfiltered words every week:

Unfiltered Outsider

Uninfluenced. Unpaid. Unfiltered. Hosted by Noah Jackman. 🎧 Launching October 24th, 2025. No sponsors. No scripts. No mercy.

Written and hosted by Noah Jackman.
© Unfiltered Outsider® — All Rights Reserved.

“You’re not busy.
You’re avoiding.
And you’ve turned it into a brand.”

INTRO — The Polite Disappearance

Right. Let’s talk about the most overused sentence of the last decade. That little security blanket you wrap yourself in to feel relevant.

“I’m busy.”

Not actually busy. Not saving lives or building an empire. Just… busy.

You throw that word around like it’s a personality trait. Like being permanently unavailable automatically makes you interesting, relevant, or mildly superior to the rest of the garbage out there.

“I’m busy” has become the adult version of “the dog ate my homework.” It explains everything and says absolutely nothing. It ends conversations. It buys you time. It makes you sound important without you having to do a single impressive thing with your life.

And the beauty of it? No one ever questions it. Because everyone else is playing the same pathetic game. It’s a collective pact of mediocrity.

You can be busy doing absolutely nothing. Busy scrolling until your thumb goes numb. Busy avoiding messages from people you pretend to care about. Busy being emotionally hollow but professionally “mysterious.”

You reply three days later with “Sorry, crazy week”—and nobody asks follow-up questions. What week? Crazy how? What happened that was so vital you couldn’t spare ten seconds to be a functioning human being?

Doesn’t matter. The word did its job. It protected your ego.

And notice the confidence people have when they say it. They don’t say: “I don’t want to deal with this.” They don’t say: “I’m too lazy to care.” They don’t say: “You aren’t a priority.”

No. They upgrade it. “I’m busy.”

Suddenly it’s not avoidance. It’s responsibility. It’s not disinterest. It’s a full calendar. It’s not emotional cowardice. It’s productivity.

We’ve built an entire culture around the performance of being overwhelmed. Everyone’s tired. Everyone’s stressed. Everyone’s got “a lot going on right now.”

No one ever says: “I’m free, I just don’t want to see you.” That would be honest. And honesty is wildly inconvenient for people like you.

So today, we’re not talking about work. We’re not talking about schedules. And we’re definitely not talking about time management.

We’re talking about that little social lie we all agreed to respect. The polite disappearance. The fake urgency. The performance of importance.

Because apparently, if you’re not busy… you’re nothing. And God knows you’re terrified of being nothing.

MAIN — A Vibe, Not a Schedule

Alright. Hello again.

If you’re still here, thank you—I guess.

And if you’re already checking your phone while listening, relax, I know. I can practically hear the screen waking up. You’re “busy.”

I’m not judging you from some moral high ground; I’m just observing the wreckage. Because at this point, “busy” isn’t a state of being—it’s a vibe.

It’s a pathetic little social shield used by people who are too cowardly to just look someone in the eye and say, “I don’t want to deal with this right now.”

Let me ask you something.

When was the last time you said “I’m busy” and actually meant you physically could not breathe under the weight of your responsibilities?

Exactly.

Most of the time, you’re not busy. You’re just tired. Or bored. Or avoiding the inevitable cringe of a real conversation.

But “I’m avoiding” doesn’t have that professional polish, does it? “I’m busy” sounds like you matter.

It sounds like you’re a high-functioning member of a society that rewards burnout. It’s a clean, clinical lie with no details, no follow-up, and zero accountability.

It’s a polite brick wall you build around your mediocre existence.

And the confidence people have when they deliver this line—that’s my favourite part.

They don’t hesitate.

They say it like a badge of honour. “I’ve just been so busy lately.”

Busy doing what? Living? Or just scrolling until your brain turns into mush while you ignore your own thoughts?

But if you say it slowly enough, with a tired face and a sigh, suddenly you’re a hero.

We’ve turned exhaustion into a personality trait. Everyone is “overwhelmed,” everyone is “booked,” everyone has “a lot going on.”

It’s a theme park of self-deception where no one ever has the balls to say: “I’m free, I just don’t feel like engaging with your nonsense.”

Don’t pretend this is just about your job.

People use “busy” as an emotional sedative. “I’ve just been really busy” is the ultimate translation for “I don’t want to reply, I don’t want to explain, and I certainly don’t want to deal with how this feels.”

So you vanish. You become a ghost with a calendar.

And the worst part is that you start believing your own act.

You wear your “busyness” like proof that your life has value, as if rest means failure and availability means weakness.

You’re not protecting your time; you’re protecting your comfort from the awkward reality of being honest.

Let’s do a quick reality check.

Think about the last message you didn’t reply to. The one sitting there, spiritually ignored.

Be honest for once—were you actually “busy,” or did you just lack the basic emotional intelligence to handle it?

Yeah. Exactly.

And look, I’m right there with you, using this word like a weapon because it works. It’s the most successful scam of the decade.

So if you’re listening to this and thinking, “wow, people really are like this”—congratulations, you’re people.

And if your first instinct right now is to defend your schedule?

You just proved my point.

Again.

OUTRO — Translation Required

Alright. That’s enough pretending for today.

If you’re still here, well done—you actually found the time.

It’s a miracle, isn’t it?

Now, before you go back to telling people you’re “crazy busy” while doing absolutely nothing of substance, I want you to do one thing.

Think about the last time you used that phrase as a weapon. Not the justified one. Not the real one—the lazy one.

The one where “busy” was just a nicer, cleaner way of saying:
“I don’t want to deal with this.”
“I don’t want to explain.”
“I simply don’t care enough about you right now.”

Yeah. That one.

Now here’s the part where you stop lying for five seconds.

Go to the Unfiltered Outsider socials — @unfoutsider — and send me the sentence you actually meant.

Not the polite version. Not the professional mask. The real translation.

No context. No apology. No trauma dump.

“I didn’t want to reply.”
“I didn’t feel like seeing you.”
“I couldn’t be bothered.”

That’s it.

And if your first reaction is “wow, that sounds harsh”—congratulations.

You’ve just discovered why the “busy” scam exists in the first place.

Next episode, we’re doing this again. Different excuse. Same human nonsense.

Follow. Subscribe.

Or don’t. I’m not your father.

But don’t you dare tell yourself you didn’t have “time” to listen to this.

You had the time.

You just chose comfort over reality.

See you next time. Or… whenever you’re “free.”

Uninfluenced. Unpaid. Unfiltered.

I’m Noah B Jackman and this is the Unfiltered Outsider.

Listen on

Spotify —

Apple Podcasts —

YouTube — https://www.youtube.com/@unfoutsider

Subscribe

For more unfiltered words every week:

Unfiltered Outsider

Uninfluenced. Unpaid. Unfiltered. Hosted by Noah Jackman. 🎧 Launching October 24th, 2025. No sponsors. No scripts. No mercy.

Written and hosted by Noah Jackman.
© Unfiltered Outsider® — All Rights Reserved.

“One folder says ‘Brutal Truth.’
The other says ‘Sweet, Sweet Bullshit.’
And you don’t even hesitate.”

INTRO — The Art of Choosing Bullshit

Right. Today, we’re talking about self-deception.

Or as I like to call it: the art of looking at a burning dumpster fire and convincing yourself it’s just a vintage fireplace.

You know the drill. You know you’re lying. I know you’re lying. But you commit to the bit with the dedication of an Oscar-winning actor.

“I’m not ghosting them, I’m just protecting my energy.”
“I’m not toxic, I’m just a perfectionist.”
“I’ll start Monday.” — The biggest lie told in the history of the human race.

We do it on purpose. With terrifying confidence.

It’s like your brain presents you with two folders.

One is labelled “The Brutal Truth.” The other is labelled “Sweet, Sweet Bullshit.”

And you? You don’t even blink. You grab the bullshit, put it on a plate, and ask for seconds.

And then you walk around with a straight face, genuinely believing your own PR team.

You don’t have a shopping addiction; you’re a “patron of the arts.” You’re not a coward who avoids confrontation; you’re just “emotionally intelligent.”

It’s professional-level delusion. Truly elite behaviour.

And the most pathetic part?

No one is holding a gun to your head. You’re the victim, the criminal, and the judge all at once.

You see the scam happening in real-time and you still go: “Yeah, looks legit. I’ll take two.”

So, welcome. Let’s talk about self-deception. The favourite hobby of people who can’t handle five minutes of their own reality.

Don’t turn it off right now. That would be… strategically disappearing, wouldn’t it?

MAIN — Participation, Not Confusion

Alright. Hello. Welcome back.

If you’re listening to this, thank you for coming back. And if this is your first time — welcome. This is a terrible place to start making good life choices. Honestly? If you’re looking for “inspiration” or a “safe space,” you’re in the wrong place. Door’s that way. Don’t let the handle hit you on your way out to your mediocre life.

I’m Noah. And yes, we’re back. Season two.

Same voice. Less patience. And frankly, I’m already wondering why I’m doing this again.

And before we do anything else — I need you here with me. Not in the background while you’re folding laundry. Not half-listening while you pretend to be productive at a job you hate.

Actually here. Because this season only works if this feels like a conversation. Not a speech. Not a lecture.

Have you ever caught yourself doing something and thought, even for half a second: “…this is absolute bullshit.”

Not a big, heroic lie. Just that quiet, casual, domestic kind. The kind of lie you tell yourself so you don’t have to admit you’re a coward.

And instead of stopping… you kept going. You leaned in.

That moment right there? That’s where things get interesting. Because that’s not confusion. That’s participation.

You see the lie forming. You watch yourself build this fragile little glass house. And your brain doesn’t even fight it anymore. It just goes: “Yeah. Sure. Let’s go with this. It’s easier than being a real person.”

And suddenly it’s not a lie. It’s a “lifestyle choice.” It’s your “truth.”

God, I hate that phrase.

“My truth” is just a fancy way of saying “The lie I’m currently comfortable with.”

Look at the society we’ve built. It’s a theme park of self-deception. We have an entire vocabulary designed to avoid calling ourselves losers.

“I’m a perfectionist.”
No, you’re not. You’re just paralyzed by the fact that if you actually tried, the world would see you’re average. So you don’t start. And you call it “perfectionism.” It’s not a standard. It’s a shield.

“I’m just waiting for someone who can handle me.”
Translation: “I’m an insufferable asshole with zero emotional intelligence.”

We don’t have shopping problems; we’re “supporting the economy.”
We’re not ghosting people; we’re “protecting our peace.”
We’re not avoiding conflict; we’re “emotionally mature.”

It’s professional-level delusion.

And the funniest part? You know exactly what’s going on — and you still go: “Yep. Sounds legit. Let’s do it again.”

PART 2 — Comfortable in the Filth

And this isn’t stressful anymore, is it? That’s the scary part. You’re comfortable in the filth.

You lie to yourself the way you lock the door. Automatically. Without thinking. It’s just part of the routine.

Your life is a series of well-rehearsed scripts you tell the mirror so you don’t have to face the fact that you’re wasting your one shot at being a conscious human being.

And listen — I’m not judging you from some ivory tower. I’m right there with you.

“I’m doing this podcast to change the world.”
Bullshit. I’m doing it because I like the sound of my own voice and I enjoy watching you squirm.

See? That’s honesty. It’s ugly, isn’t it?

This is why I want you involved this season. Because I don’t want this to be “me pointing at you.” This is us looking at ourselves and going: “…wow. We really are this pathetic.”

I want you to feel the cringe. The “shame” so deep that you want to turn this off. But you won’t.

Because deep down, you know this is the only real thing you’ve heard all week.

Think about the lie you use the most. The one that’s so well-rehearsed it feels like a personality trait.

Don’t justify it. Don’t decorate it with a mental health buzzword. Just clock it.

Look at it in the eyes.

Admit it’s a turd you’ve been trying to polish for years.

Because next time, when you hear yourself saying it — you’ll know exactly why you’re laughing.

And you’ll know why I’m laughing at you, too.

Welcome to Season Two. Buckle up, or get out.

OUTRO — Confession Time

Alright. That’s enough damage for today.

If you’re still here, congratulations — you actually survived fifteen minutes without running away or changing the subject. Barely. Progress… I guess.

Now, before you run back to your curated little life and pretend this never happened, I want something from you.

Think about that lie you use the most. Not the big, dramatic one you tell at parties to sound interesting. The boring one. The pathetic one.

The one you’re probably going to use about ten minutes after this episode ends to justify why you’re not doing what you’re supposed to do.

Yeah. That one.

Now here’s the fun part — I actually want to hear it.

Go to the Unfiltered Outsider socials. The real ones. @unfoutsider. Send it. Message it. Confess it.

No context. No explanation. No “but actually…”

Just the lie. Raw.

And if your immediate reaction is: “Nah, I don’t really do this. Noah’s just being cynical.”

Congratulations.

You just proved my entire point one last time.

You’re doing it right now.

Next episode? We’re doing this again. Different behaviour. Same human nonsense.

So subscribe. Follow. Or don’t. I’m not your father.

But don’t walk away pretending you’re above any of this.

That’s literally why you’re stuck where you are.

See you next time. Or don’t.

You’ll lie to yourself either way.

So I keep asking myself: Why are people like that?

Uninfluenced. Unpaid. Unfiltered. I’m Noah B Jackman and this is the Unfiltered Outsider.

Listen on

Spotify —

Apple Podcasts —

YouTube — https://www.youtube.com/@unfoutsider

Subscribe

For more unfiltered words every week:

Unfiltered Outsider

Uninfluenced. Unpaid. Unfiltered. Hosted by Noah Jackman. 🎧 Launching October 24th, 2025. No sponsors. No scripts. No mercy.

Written and hosted by Noah Jackman.
© Unfiltered Outsider® — All Rights Reserved.

“Empathy used to be human.
Now it’s just optics — and everyone’s shopping.”

INTRO — The Illusion of Caring

Empathy?
Empathy my ass.

People today don’t give a shit about anyone —
unless it comes with likes, validation, or a chance to look spiritually moisturised online.

Empathy used to be human.
Now it’s a performance review with soft lighting.

Everyone’s on a “journey” —
healing, cleansing, grounding, aligning —
but half of them wouldn’t hold a door open if their life depended on it.

Modern empathy is basically:
“I hear you, babe…
but can you repeat that?
I want to film it for my story.”

This isn’t caring.
This is content.

The truth?
Most people don’t want to help you.
They want to be seen as someone who would.

PART 1 — What People Call Empathy (and Why It’s Bullshit)

You know what people love to say?

“Oh Noah, people today are so much more empathetic.”

Are they?
ARE THEY?

Because every time someone says that, I look around and all I see is ego with eyebrows.

People aren’t sensitive.
They’re reactive.

People don’t care.
They curate.

People don’t talk about their feelings.
They post quotes from a girl crying in her car with pink eyeliner.

Talking isn’t empathy.
It’s marketing — and business is booming.

Empathy is not part of your “self-growth journey”.
It’s something you do for OTHER people —
not an extension of your fucking morning routine.

Trying isn’t empathy.
Trying is Pilates.

The truth?
Modern empathy is spiritual diet coke.
Zero calories. Zero weight. Zero effort.

And people believe it.
But you and I?
We’re not idiots.

We see through that shit.

PART 2 — What People ACTUALLY Do (and Call It Empathy)

Heart emoji?
That’s not empathy — that’s tapping your screen.

“Stay strong”?
Emotional minimum wage.

Sharing mental health posts?
Social currency.

Voice note saying “I’m here for you”?
Check back when they pick up the call.

“Sending good energy”?
Bitch, send money.

Reposting missing dogs?
Congratulations — you’ve joined the investigation from your sofa.

“Reach out if you need anything”?
No one means that.
No one wants you to actually reach out.

Not being rude isn’t empathy.
It’s functionality.

Empathy isn’t the absence of cruelty.
It’s the presence of effort.

And effort is extinct.

PART 3 — The Real Reason Empathy Died

Empathy didn’t die because people got evil.
It died because people got exhausted.

Not “I need a nap” tired.
Soul-drained. Brain-fried. Emotionally bankrupt.

People today can barely handle their OWN feelings —
imagine someone else’s.

We’re stretched thinner than a Primark T-shirt.
Overstimulated. Overworked. Overscrolled.

So what do we do?

We fake it.
We outsource it.
We perform it.
We simulate it.

Empathy became theatre
because honesty became expensive.

No one listens anymore.
They wait for their turn to talk.
Or for their turn to be offended.

Empathy didn’t disappear —
it drowned in self-obsession.

Honestly?
I prefer the old days
when people didn’t pretend to care.

At least that was honest.

PART 4 — You Don’t Actually Want Empathy

This is the uncomfortable truth:

People don’t want empathy.
They want validation.

They want someone to say:
“You’re right.”
“You’re the victim.”
“Everyone else is the problem.”

Real empathy is terrifying —
because it sees you.

Not the curated you.
Not the aesthetic you.
Not the “healing era” you.

The messy you.
The unfiltered you.
The one you avoid in the mirror.

Selective empathy is the only empathy most people can handle.

“I care…
as long as it doesn’t inconvenience me.”

Empathy isn’t dead.
You just don’t want the real version.

You want the one that makes YOU look good.

PART 5 — So… What IS Empathy Now?

Empathy today is:

Convenient.
Aesthetic.
Selective.
Performative.

It’s emotional cosplay.
Spiritual lip gloss.
The fantasy version of kindness for people who don’t have the stamina for the real thing.

Real empathy?
The one that matters?

It’s rare.
It’s ugly.
It’s uncomfortable.
It requires time, effort, and presence —
three things no one has anymore.

Empathy didn’t die because the world got cruel.
It died because the world got lazy.

And honestly?
I don’t blame anyone.

Half the population can’t return a text
and you expect them to return humanity?

Relax.

Empathy didn’t disappear.
It just got tired.

And so did you.

OUTRO — Mic Drop

Right.
That’s enough honesty for one day.

If you’re still here, congratulations —
you’ve survived a truth most people can’t handle even with a filter.

You’re not surrounded by monsters —
you’re surrounded by tired people pretending to be saints.

Empathy isn’t gone.
It’s just on sick leave.

Uninfluenced.
Unpaid.
Unfiltered.

I’m Noah Jackman —
and this… was The Unfiltered Outsider.

Listen on

Spotify —

Apple Podcasts —

YouTube — https://www.youtube.com/@unfoutsider

Subscribe

For more unfiltered words every week:

Unfiltered Outsider

Uninfluenced. Unpaid. Unfiltered. Hosted by Noah Jackman. 🎧 Launching October 24th, 2025. No sponsors. No scripts. No mercy.

Written and hosted by Noah Jackman.
© Unfiltered Outsider® — All Rights Reserved.

“Outrage used to mean something.
Now it’s just cardio for the emotionally unemployed.”

INTRO — Welcome to the Arena

Welcome back.
Pull up a chair, put your ego in airplane mode —
today we’re talking about outrage.

Real outrage used to be rare.
Sacred, até.
You’d get angry because something mattered — corruption, injustice, betrayal.

Now?
Someone microwaves fish at work and the whole office is ready to march.

We don’t process emotions anymore.
We broadcast them.
We curate them.
We monetise them.

And some people…
some people live inside the algorithm like squatters with Wi-Fi.

Welcome to the Outrage Machine —
the only machine that gets more powerful the less thinking we do.

🔥 PART 1 — Your Anger Is Someone’s Business Model

Here’s the truth nobody wants to hear:
Your outrage is not noble.
It’s profitable.

Every time you click, comment, scream in a group chat —
someone gets paid.

The algorithm doesn’t care if you’re right.
It cares if you’re loud.
Anger keeps you scrolling.
Scrolling keeps them rich.

And they KNOW your triggers.
The internet studies you like a lab rat with notifications.

You pause for half a second on a headline?
Congratulations —
you’ve just told the machine exactly which flavour of misery to sell you next.

People say:
“I’m not addicted to my phone.”
Love… your screen time says otherwise.
You spent three hours arguing with a stranger called TruthWarrior87.
Get help.

🧨 PART 2 — The Outrage Olympics

Welcome to the Games.
Where everyone competes to see who can be the most offended…
about absolutely anything.

Someone posts a harmless opinion?
Boom — ten people are already drafting dissertations in the comments.
Someone mispronounces a word?
They’re “dangerous.”
Someone forgets a hashtag?
They “hate an entire community.”

Nuance died.
Subtlety’s missing.
Context? On annual leave.

Everything is either cancellation or celebration now —
there’s no middle ground.

People don’t react —
they perform.

The internet turned feelings into theatre
and somehow we all became actors without getting paid.

⚙️ PART 3 — The Machine Needs Feeding

Here’s how the cycle works:

1. Something tiny happens.

2. Someone gets mildly irritated.

3. The algorithm smells blood.

4. Suddenly it’s trending, monetised, weaponised.

Then comes the public apology video —
tearful, scripted, filmed in terrible lighting.
The person’s sitting on the floor for relatability.
Always on the floor.
Why? Do they lose access to chairs during a scandal?

They say things like:
“I’m listening. I’m learning.”
No you’re not.
You’re reading a statement your PR intern wrote at 3AM.

Then the Machine moves on to the next victim.
It’s never satisfied —
just hungry.

📣 PART 4 — The Echo Chamber Effect

The scariest part?
You only hear people who already agree with you.

Your digital world is curated for maximum ego comfort.
They call it a “For You Page.”
They’re not joking —
it’s literally designed for you.

Congratulations —
you’ve built a cult with no leader and no exit plan.

If you’ve ever posted an opinion and received 200 comments saying,
“Yessss queen so true,”
that’s not validation.
That’s confirmation bias with lip gloss.

🎙 OUTRO — Switch the Machine Off

Here’s my final thought:
Outrage is exhausting.
Not because people are stupid —
because people are bored.

And bored people will burn anything if it gives them five seconds of purpose.

So step outside the machine.
Touch some grass.
Touch a life.
Touch your own conscience, maybe.

Outrage is easy.
Thought is hard.
And silence — real silence —
that’s rebellion now.

Uninfluenced.
Unpaid.
Unfiltered.

I’m Noah Jackman —
and this was The Outrage Machine.

Listen on

Spotify —

YouTube — https://www.youtube.com/@unfoutsider

Subscribe

For more unfiltered words every week:

Unfiltered Outsider

Uninfluenced. Unpaid. Unfiltered. Hosted by Noah Jackman. 🎧 Launching October 24th, 2025. No sponsors. No scripts. No mercy.

Written and hosted by Noah Jackman.
© Unfiltered Outsider® — All Rights Reserved.

“Everyone’s doing self-improvement now.
Just not the kind that actually improves anything.”

🎙 INTRO — Welcome to the Workout You Didn’t Ask For

Right…
Here we are again.
Me talking, you listening — don’t pretend you don’t like it. You pressed play voluntarily.

Tonight we’re talking about morality.
Calma. I’m rolling my eyes too.

Apparently everyone now is “working on themselves.”
Not privately.
Not quietly.
Publicly.
Loudly.
With a ring light and a discount code.

I saw someone crying in their car the other day…
with perfect lighting.
Babe, that’s not healing — that’s content.

People say they’re in their “healing era.”
Era? You’re not a Marvel character.
You just blocked your ex and bought a beige jumper. Relax.

Everyone wants to be a better person —
but only if someone’s watching.

So welcome to The Moral Gym:
Where people stretch their empathy on Mondays,
run from accountability on Tuesdays,
and by Friday they’re bench-pressing guilt for engagement.

If you’re ready — great.
If you’re not — also great.
What burns heals, and you already signed up for this.

💪 PART 1 — Personal Best (but Make It Emotional)

People say self-improvement starts with looking in the mirror.
Yeah… tried that once. Didn’t like the attitude, so I stopped.

Everyone’s on a “journey.”
Love, the only journey you’ve been on is from your bed to the fridge and back — twice — and honestly, same.

Self-improvement used to be private.
You’d read a book, cry quietly, maybe buy a candle.
Now people cry on Instagram Stories with violin music.

Authenticity has choreography now.
Two symmetrical tears, good lighting, soft piano.
If you’re crying in HD, you’re not heartbroken — you’re filming a pilot.

Everyone’s a motivational speaker with no qualifications.
Just heartbreak and Wi-Fi.

People want credit for personal growth like it’s a loyalty program:
“Healed 5 times this month — get my free latte.”
If healing worked like that, I’d be immortal.

Boundaries used to be simple.
You didn’t like someone? You avoided them.
Done.
Now there are cinematic Reels with sun flares and jazz hands announcing friendship breakups.

And don’t get me started on “my truth.”
If everyone has their own personalised truth,
then nothing is true — it’s just marketing.

But silence doesn’t sell, does it?
So we keep performing growth like it’s a subscription series.

Welcome to the Personal Best Era:
Where self-improvement isn’t about becoming better —
just looking better while pretending to change.

💼 PART 2 — Corporate Saints (The Worst Gym Members)

You know what’s worse than fake people?
Fake companies pretending to be people.

They used to sell shoes and chicken nuggets.
Simple.
Now they sell morality with pastel graphics.

Every brand has a “cause” now.
Always the cheapest one trending that week.

“This month we stand for mental health.”
Do you?
Then maybe stop giving your staff panic attacks for sport.

Every apology sounds like it was written by ChatGPT after a stroke:
“We’re listening. We hear you. We’re learning.”
No you’re not.
You’re losing customers and sweating.

Oil companies rebrand with wind turbines in their ads
while drilling the planet like it’s a piñata.
“We care about the Earth.”
Sure. That’s why you’re wearing it as perfume.

Fast-food chains put rainbows on their logo for Pride,
but their staff still can’t afford the chips.
Love wins. Wages don’t.

Activism has merch now.
Trauma has tote bags.
Empathy has accessories.
It’s like Pokémon, but depressing.

We killed religion and replaced it with logos —
and now brands preach morality to us one ad at a time.

🏛 PART 3 — The Virtue Economy (A Gym With Direct Debit)

Welcome to the Virtue Economy.
Where outrage is currency, guilt has an interest rate,
and everyone’s morally overdrawn.

Once upon a time morality was philosophy.
Now it’s a marketing department with kombucha.

Being good used to be hard.
Now it’s expensive.
Just buy better branding.

Recycling isn’t saving the planet —
it’s saving your conscience.

Outrage is the real moneymaker.
The algorithm LOVES it.
You get angry, you scroll longer.
You scroll longer, they get richer.

Nuance? Doesn’t trend.
Complexity? Too heavy for TikTok.
So everything becomes binary:
Saint or cancelled.
Hero or villain.
Agree or I email your employer.

We call it accountability.
But let’s be honest — it’s entertainment.

The Colosseum didn’t close.
It just got Wi-Fi.

Even rebellion is franchised:
Che Guevara on a T-shirt made in a sweatshop.

And when we burn out, the system sells us self-care:
“You’ve done enough. Buy this candle.”
Even exhaustion is monetised.

Real virtue is quiet.
It doesn’t trend.
It doesn’t wear merch.
And that’s why nobody does it.

🎙 OUTRO — Cool Down

Right.
That’s enough moral cardio for one night.

You know when you leave the gym sore but pretending you enjoyed it?
That’s what morality feels like now —
a constant ache in the part of your brain that still gives a damn.

Everyone wants to be good —
but no one wants to do the boring bits of being good.

Real decency doesn’t trend.
It doesn’t need applause.
It’s not something you post — it’s something you do,
usually when no one’s clapping.

Silence is rebellious now —
because the algorithm can’t monetise it.

So log off.
Stretch your conscience.
Give your virtue a nap.

Stay loud when it matters.
Stay quiet when it counts.
And for the love of all things human…
stop filming everything.

Uninfluenced.
Unpaid.
Unfiltered.

I’m Noah Jackman —
and this is The Unfiltered Outsider.

🎧 Listen now

Spotify →

YouTube → https://www.youtube.com/@unfoutsider
Amazon Music → https://music.amazon.co.uk/podcasts/2618408b-2055-4537-8122-3514803e9518/unfiltered-outsider

Uninfluenced. Unpaid. Unfiltered.
Written and hosted by Noah Jackman.
© Unfiltered Outsider® — All Rights Reserved.

“It’s Halloween.
People wear masks. Cute.
Most people I know wear them all year.
Less cute.”

🎙 INTRO — The Monsters Among Us

It’s Halloween.
People wear masks. Cute.

Most people I know wear them all year.
Less cute.

I’ve heard you.
Apparently, I speak too fast.

Poor things — you couldn’t keep up?
What a tragedy…

Some of you said, “He’s like a train.”
Yes.
That’s because I actually have somewhere to be.

But since I’m generous — and you’re… cognitively scenic —
I’ll try to slow down.

Don’t get too excited, though.
I’m slowing down for me, not for you.
You just happen to benefit from it.

Welcome back.
The same arrogance, just… slightly slower delivery.
You’re welcome.

You want scary? Relax.
And once again — this isn’t a sermon.
It’s customer service for reality.
No refunds.

I don’t hate privilege.
I hate cosplay.
The “self-made” millionaire with a family discount code.

Some people are born on level five.
The rest of us start at “tutorial” with the controller unplugged.
But sure — tell me to “work harder.”

You ever notice how the rich love resilience?
It’s their favourite sport.
They watch other people play it and call it inspiration.

They love saying, “We all have the same opportunities.”
Yeah — some just start the race halfway through.
On a horse.
Sponsored by daddy’s trust fund.

It’s not envy.
It’s pattern recognition.
If every winner looks the same,
maybe it’s not talent — maybe it’s template.

They love resilience because they’ve never needed it.
They frame struggle like it’s art,
while we live it like it’s rent.

Vampires are real.
They don’t avoid sunlight — they avoid accountability.
They sparkle on LinkedIn and call it authenticity.

And the rest of us?
We’re the extras in their hero journey.
Background noise in a story that was already written for them.

I’m not here to make you feel bad.
I’m here to make you feel seen.
If that stings — good.
Nerves mean you’re alive.

See, privilege isn’t evil.
It’s invisible.
Until someone points a light at it —
then suddenly, everyone’s a vampire.

You can keep the costume.
Just drop the performance.
Because pretending you earned it — that’s the horror.

Tonight, we’re not hunting ghosts.
We’re naming them.
The inherited ladder.
The secret door.
The internship that magically opened after “a family friend made a call.”

If you were born with a parachute,
don’t lecture the rest of us about the fall.

Welcome to The Privileged Dead.
They walk among us.
They network.
They fail upwards.
Iconic.

Pull up a chair.
I’ll be nice.
Until I’m not.

💰 PART 1 — Born on Level Five

They say life’s a game.
Maybe.
But some people start with cheat codes already activated — unlimited lives, private servers, and mummy on speed dial.

They call it luck.
I call it logistics.
Right surname, right postcode, right skin tone, right school — and somehow, they think it’s a personality trait.

The rest of us?
We’re still in the tutorial, fighting lag and debt, using broken controllers from last generation.

They talk about equality like it’s a subscription service.
They think everyone’s got access — just some of us forgot to update our payment method.

You ever notice the rich love giving advice?
“Just work hard.”
Sure.
Between rent, burnout, and trying to convince HR we’re human, I’ll squeeze that in.

They say, “We all have the same 24 hours.”
Yeah — except some people spend theirs in therapy over the pressure of being gifted a flat in Kensington.
Meanwhile, I’m deciding between food and Wi-Fi.

They post quotes about discipline from infinity pools.
Motivation hits different when your safety net has heating.

I’m not jealous.
I’m exhausted.
Because privilege never shuts up.
It podcasts.
It mentors.
It starts newsletters about mindfulness and monetises empathy.

And the rest of us?
We’re still trying to remember the password to survival.

The thing about being born on level five —
you start thinking gravity is optional.
That failure’s a bad vibe.
That success is spiritual — not structural.

They call it manifesting.
I call it marketing for people with soft hands.
You can’t attract abundance when the abundance is already inherited.

They love saying “money doesn’t buy happiness.”
True — but it rents peace and includes free delivery.

Some people’s biggest struggle is oat milk being out of stock.
Mine’s the rent reminder email titled “Final Notice.”

They panic when Uber surges; I panic when my card declines.
Different genres of horror — same planet.

They call it burnout.
We call it Tuesday.

I once met a guy who said he was “self-made.”
Then mentioned his dad “only” helped with the first property.
Just the one.
How generous.

They talk about networking like it’s noble.
Of course it’s easy to connect when your contacts come preloaded at birth.

They love resilience — it’s their favourite sport.
They watch other people play it while sipping something organic and posting about gratitude.

Some of them even write books about failure.
And sell them to people who can’t afford to fail.

Privilege has a PR team.
And it’s working overtime.

Every time someone calls them out, they host a podcast about “cancel culture.”
Because apparently consequences are oppression now.

They meditate to cope with success.
We drink to forget invoices.

They take “mental health days.”
We take “pretend you’re fine until payday” weeks.

Their “bad day” is the wrong sushi in their lunch order.
Ours is the electricity meter blinking red.

They apologise for existing in TED Talks.
We apologise for asking for annual leave.

They hire life coaches.
We Google how to breathe properly for free.

They start foundations to feel grounded.
We just hope the ground doesn’t collapse under us.

And yet, they still post quotes about gratitude.
From kitchens bigger than my flat.
With captions like “find joy in the little things.”
Yeah, mate — I’m trying.
It’s called portion control.

I’m not angry at privilege.
I’m angry at how boring it’s become.

Wealth used to mean mystery.
Now it means overpriced smoothies and a podcast about fasting.

They talk about generational wealth like it’s trauma.
“I had to take over my father’s company.”
Tragic.
Did you heal through the yacht?

They say “money doesn’t change people.”
Of course not — it just lets them stay the same without consequences.

Some even romanticise struggle.
They take ice baths for discomfort.
We take cold showers because the boiler’s broken.

They call it resilience training.
We call it winter.

And the rest of us —
we buy their books,
we like their posts,
we clap for their enlightenment.

Because that’s what we do —
we applaud ghosts for pretending to bleed.

The game was never fair.
But damn — they make losing look aspirational.

👻 PART 2 — The Haunted Workplace

Every office has ghosts.
Not the spooky kind — the ones with job titles and inherited parking spots.

You know who I mean.
The “Senior Advisor” who’s been there since the Queen had darker hair.
The “Head of Something” whose main contribution is surviving.

They don’t die.
They just get promoted and collect chairs.

Some people fail upwards so consistently it should qualify as cardio.

Every restructuring somehow ends with them managing the team that used to manage them.

You ask how they do it.
It’s not luck.
It’s bloodline — HR’s favourite family tree.

Meet Marcus.
He “earned” his position by being the son of the man who created it.
A true innovator — if nepotism counts as product development.

Marcus doesn’t work.
He attends.
He has that special skill of entering every room like he owns it — because technically, his father does.

Then there’s Chloe from HR.
Leads weekly “mindfulness workshops” for burnout she causes.
Tells everyone to use their voice, then writes them up for tone.

She’s the ghost of corporate empathy — all smiles, no soul.
Her superpower? Weaponising kindness.

And the CEO?
He’s Dracula in a Patagonia vest.
Sucks the life out of budgets and calls it “optimisation.”
Flies business class to sustainability conferences.

Every company’s got one of each.
The vampire, the ghost, the zombie intern still waiting for a real contract.
And the werewolf in finance who turns into a monster after quarterly reports.

LinkedIn is basically their graveyard.
Everyone buried under job titles and motivational quotes they didn’t write.

You scroll and it’s just ghosts showing off their tombstones.

“Resilience.”
“Leadership.”
“Thought leader.”

Words so embalmed they’ve lost their pulse.

Every Monday someone posts, “Another week, another opportunity.”
Yeah — for disappointment.

They call it hustle culture.
I call it spiritual unemployment.

The office used to be a place.
Now it’s a séance.
We log in, summon dead ideas, and pretend it’s progress.

Teams meetings feel like group therapy for people who caused the trauma.

Once, I joined a call that started with: “Let’s circle back to the circle we circled last week.”
That’s not a meeting.
That’s purgatory with Wi-Fi.

Corporate culture is just cosplay for adulthood.
Grown-ups playing “pretend important” until 5PM.

Some people wear costumes once a year —
others call them uniforms.

And office diversity?
Don’t make me laugh.
It’s usually one guy named Raj, one woman named Emma, and one PowerPoint slide about inclusion.

They call it representation; it’s more like theatre.

The ghost of fairness still gets no invite to the Christmas party.

Everyone’s haunted by something.
The ghost of potential.
The ghost of unpaid overtime.
The ghost of someone’s dad still calling the shots.
And the ghost of purpose — floating above every “team-building exercise” that ends in pizza and existential dread.

The scariest one?
The ghost of fairness.
Still rumoured to exist.
Never been seen.
But occasionally mentioned in HR memos — right next to “mental health awareness” and “cake for Brenda’s birthday.”

🧠 PART 3 — The Mirror Test

The thing about privilege — it’s invisible until someone takes it away.
You don’t see the ladder when you’re standing on it.
You only notice it when someone else asks how you got there.

I used to think privilege was just about money.
Then I met people with everything who still wanted to be victims.
Turns out misery’s universal — they just get the deluxe version with better lighting.

They say, “Not all privileged people are bad.”
True.
But most of them are bored.
And boredom with power is how empires start doing stupid things.

They love to say, “We all struggle.”
Sure.
Some of us struggle to breathe between shifts.
They struggle to pick between Mykonos and Milan.

Sometimes I look at them and think — maybe they really believe it.
That they worked harder.
That they deserved more.
That the world’s just fairer to good people.
It’s comforting, isn’t it?
To think luck has morals.

They talk about self-awareness like it’s a hobby.
Read a book, light a candle, post a quote —
Congratulations, you’ve discovered humility with next-day delivery.

The truth is, we all have privilege.
Some in money.
Some in timing.
Some in the luxury of not having to care.

But if you’ve never had to question it,
never had to explain your existence,
never had to make yourself smaller so someone else feels safe —
then yeah, you’re one of the lucky ones.

And luck is the one thing people hate being told they have.

We say we want equality,
but deep down we love hierarchy.
It tells us who to envy and who to ignore.
Without it, we might have to look in the mirror
and ask why we need to feel above anyone at all.

Privilege isn’t just inherited.
It’s defended.
Polished.
Gift-wrapped in jokes that aren’t funny
and rules that were never fair.

The system doesn’t even need to hide anymore —
it just smiles for the camera and calls it progress.

Some people call it tradition.
Others call it networking.
Either way, the password’s always the same:
“We don’t mean you.”

And the rest of us?
We play along.
Because it’s easier to laugh than to look angry.
Angry people don’t get promotions.
Angry people get labelled.

So we smile.
We nod.
We joke about the system while keeping it alive.

Because surviving inside it feels safer than challenging it.

That’s the quiet genius of privilege —
it teaches obedience dressed as optimism.

Maybe the real horror of privilege isn’t how much it gives.
It’s how little it teaches.

Because when everything comes easy,
you start confusing luck with virtue
and compassion with inconvenience.

That’s the mirror test — most people fail it.
Not because they’re cruel.
But because they’ve never had to look long enough
to notice their reflection blinking back.

🔚 OUTRO — Happy Halloween, Humans

So yeah.
The privileged dead.
Still walking.
Still talking.
Still getting promoted for breathing.

I used to think monsters lived under the bed.
Now I know they live in boardrooms.
In parliament.
In private schools and panel discussions.

They don’t bite.
They brunch.
And somehow, that’s worse.

They call it etiquette.
I call it emotional tax evasion.

Halloween’s once a year.
But some people never take the mask off.
They just upgrade the filter and call it self-growth.

So, if you see a ghost tonight, don’t scream.
Ask what school they went to.
If it starts with “Saint,” run.
If they say “Oxford,” move countries.

Here’s the funny thing — we all play a part in it.
We like our villains well-dressed and polite.
We vote for them.
We follow them.
We quote them in job interviews.

We love to hate them — right up until we want to be them.

Everyone thinks they’re the underdog.
Even the people who own the stadium.

That’s the trick — privilege makes you feel humble for having everything.

Privilege isn’t a costume.
It’s comfort — and comfort’s addictive.
It teaches you to confuse being comfortable with being kind.

The trick?
It feels like virtue.

You ever notice how the privileged apologise?
Always in statements.
“I’m sorry if anyone was offended.”

That’s not remorse.
That’s PR with lighting.

Meanwhile, the rest of us apologise for existing.
For being late.
For being tired.
For asking questions at the wrong time.

We call it manners —
but really, it’s survival with good posture.

Anyway.
I’m getting angry, so that’s enough honesty for one night.

My drink’s empty.
My patience too.
And somewhere, Marcus from HR just reposted a quote about leadership.

If you made it this far, congratulations —
you’ve survived another episode of class horror.

Take a bow — or a breath.
They both count as victories these days.

Next week, we’ll probably offend someone else.
Maybe even you.
That’s growth — the uncomfortable kind.

Happy Halloween, humans.
Try not to lose your soul in the networking queue.

Uninfluenced.
Unpaid.
Unfiltered.

I’m Noah Jackman —
and this…
is The Unfiltered Outsider.

Listen on

Spotify —

YouTube — https://www.youtube.com/@unfoutsider

Subscribe

For more unfiltered words every week:

Unfiltered Outsider

Uninfluenced. Unpaid. Unfiltered. Hosted by Noah Jackman. 🎧 Launching October 24th, 2025. No sponsors. No scripts. No mercy.

Written and hosted by Noah Jackman.
© Unfiltered Outsider® — All Rights Reserved.

“This is the episode that started the chaos.
I said words. The internet felt things.
Here’s the uncut and short version — the one that didn’t need a microphone to sting.”

🎙 INTRO — The Beginning of the Noise

Every revolution starts with someone opening their mouth.
Most of them should’ve kept it shut.

We talk too much.
Everyone’s got a microphone now — even me.
Don’t worry, I hate that as much as you do.

This isn’t a sermon.
It’s a conversation that got lost on its way to the pub.

I grew up believing words could fix things.
Then I got a job, met people, used Twitter — realised words mostly start fires.

So this podcast is me trying again.
To say something that still means something.
To see if honesty still has a pulse.

We say we value truth — until someone actually tells it.
Then it’s “tone it down, mate.”
Or worse — “that’s not very inclusive of you.”
Whatever the hell that means.

The word used to be sacred.
Now it’s PR.

Also, full disclosure — English isn’t my first language.
Sarcasm is.
So if you don’t get me, that’s on you.

Today we’re talking about the word —
the most dangerous thing you can hold without a licence.
A few letters, a bit of air, and suddenly you’ve lost your job.

Ask J.K. Rowling.
She pressed send — and half the planet lost its mind.

So yeah.
Welcome to Unfiltered Outsider.
Pull up a chair.
But don’t get too comfortable — I tend to bite.

🎙 PART I — We Talk Too Much

Everyone’s got something to say —
and most of it sounds like an ad for nothing.

The world used to have thinkers and doers.
Now we’ve got talkers and commenters.
And I’m both — which is tragic, really.

We’ve reached the point where silence feels illegal.
If you’re not posting, someone assumes you’ve died.
Even funerals have hashtags now.
“Rest in peace — link in bio.”

Remember when you’d keep a thought to yourself?
Yeah, that’s vintage behaviour now.

Voice notes. Bloody hell.
The modern love letter — 45 seconds of breathing and trauma, ending with “anyway, yeah.”

People don’t text anymore — they podcast at each other.
I’ve had shorter relationships than some of these voice notes.

The news used to tell you what happened.
Now it tells you who to hate about it.

It’s not journalism anymore — it’s mood management.
They don’t inform; they perform.

Every headline sounds like clickbait written by an intern on caffeine and despair.
And politicians? They talk like influencers now.
The only difference is ring lights —
and at least influencers admit they’re selling something.

Self-care has turned into a marketing strategy.
Nothing says “I’m healed” like a discount code.

And here I am — a man with a microphone complaining about how everyone talks too much.
The irony isn’t lost on me.
I just choose not to care.

Twitter — sorry, X — is basically a shouting competition where everyone’s holding mirrors.
Instagram’s just people “living their truth” from rented flats with perfect lighting.
TikTok’s nursery rhymes for adults.
Facebook’s the internet’s retirement home.

The truth is, none of us want silence anymore.
Silence means you might have to think.
And thinking’s exhausting.

🎙 PART II — The Author Who Lived (and Tweeted)

I remember the first time I opened a Harry Potter book.
That smell of paper and hope.
Back when stories still felt like magic instead of marketing.

She wrote about a boy who survived,
and somehow, we all decided that meant us.

We survived school.
We survived heartbreak.
We survived dial-up internet.

Her books made courage sound cool.
They made loyalty a personality trait.
They made kids read —
which, in the 90s, was basically witchcraft.

Then came the tweet.

Seven words.
One sarcastic joke about “people who menstruate.”
And suddenly — poof — twenty years of goodwill vanished like a Horcrux.

Half the world laughed.
The other half lit torches.
Publishers panicked.
Actors released statements.
Fans deleted tattoos like they were erasing evidence.

Bookshops hid her novels behind “safe literature.”
Which is peak irony — censoring the woman who literally wrote about censorship.

She stood her ground.
Refused to apologise for having an opinion.
And that, apparently, was the biggest crime of all.

Because the internet doesn’t want truth.
It wants spectacle.
It wants saints to worship and witches to burn.
And we feed it — every single day.

She gave us a boy who lived.
And somehow became the woman who did too.

🎙 OUTRO — Mischief Reborn

That’s probably enough honesty for one day.
My microphone’s tired, my coffee’s cold,
and somewhere out there someone’s already angry about something I said.

But that’s alright — outrage keeps the lights on.
Well… not mine, obviously. I pay for those.

Next week we’ll talk about the people who were born on level five
and still complain about the climb —
the privileged ones.

Until then —
stay loud, stay human,
and try not to cancel anyone before breakfast.

Uninfluenced. Unpaid. Unfiltered.
I’m Noah Jackman — and this is The Unfiltered Outsider.

Listen on

Spotify —

YouTube — https://www.youtube.com/@unfoutsider

Subscribe

For more unfiltered words every week:

Unfiltered Outsider

Uninfluenced. Unpaid. Unfiltered. Hosted by Noah Jackman. 🎧 Launching October 24th, 2025. No sponsors. No scripts. No mercy.

Written and hosted by Noah Jackman.
© Unfiltered Outsider® — All Rights Reserved.