The TikTok Rollercoaster, My Rogue Bra, and an Accidental Fashion Win

Let me tell you about the TikTok rollercoaster. Not the metaphorical one you imagine—though yes, emotionally it’s very Space Mountain—I mean the actual one. You know the ride at the fair that’s equal parts thrilling and mildly traumatic, where you’re clinging on for dear life and slightly wondering if the whole thing’s going to collapse mid-ride? Yeah. That one. That’s TikTok for creators.

For weeks now, I’ve been posting daily, trying every format, every funnel strategy, every half-whispered rumour about what might please the algorithm gods. I’ve been methodical. Strategic. Possibly a little bit obsessed. And for the most part, it’s been… quiet. Not awful. Not great. Just that kind of deafening silence where you start wondering if TikTok’s shadowbanned you for having too much personality.

Then something weird happened.

I posted a video—a comedy skit about my bra, of all things. A silly little moment where I’m minding my business (and by that I mean not wearing a bra), and Auntie Brenda phones in with her usual menopausal rage about underwire and the structural failures of modern support garments.

It wasn’t meant to sell anything. It wasn’t polished or aspirational. I was just wearing an outfit I liked—good trousers, soft oversized tee—because it happened to be clean. That’s it.

Except then… it took off.

The video got over 12,000 views. People started asking where my trousers were from. Where my T-shirt was from. I’ve been trying to get people to buy fashion through my account for two years, and I’ve never seen that kind of reaction.

In the past 24 hours, I’ve sold multiple pieces from that video—three pairs of trousers and two tees, just by existing in a mildly exasperated state and letting Brenda do her thing. No big call to action. No link in the caption. Just a moment of actual life.

So what does this mean? That bras are cursed? Possibly. That people respond to realness? Definitely. That you can spend weeks planning your content calendar only to accidentally make sales in a video where you’re being bullied by an off-screen character you made up for a laugh? Absolutely.

I don’t have a neat conclusion here, except this: if you’re a creator, especially one trying to sell things, don’t underestimate the power of being yourself (or being your chaotic alter ego’s unwilling sidekick). I’m going to keep experimenting, keep posting what feels good, and maybe—just maybe—listen to Brenda a little more often.

Because apparently, she knows how to shift product.

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Postscript: The Algorithm is a 1980s Council Slide

Honestly, the TikTok experience is less “tech platform” and more “makeshift amusement ride built in 1984 by someone from the council with leftover scaffolding and a dream.”

Gen X will get it: those metal slides that were either freezing cold or scalding hot, shot you down at 80mph, and deposited you in bark chippings with permanent emotional damage. That’s TikTok. Every day.

Then there’s the Jeff Bezos fantasy:

Jeff turns up at my house and says,

“So… do you want to join Amazon?”

And I’m just there in my comfiest loungewear, lighting a wax melt, going,

“Sorry Jeff, can’t talk now. Brenda’s on the phone about bras again.”

And finally, we arrive at the Euthanasia Coaster.

If you haven’t heard of it, it’s a (very real) concept rollercoaster designed to gently kill you with a series of increasingly intense loops. Honestly? That’s how this app feels sometimes. It starts off all excitement and promise, then slowly spins you into existential despair.

But despite it all? We’re still here. Still creating. Still uploading. Still selling trousers by accident while trying to survive the ride.

TikTok may be the Euthanasia Coaster of content creation—but I’m still strapped in, arms up, screaming into the algorithmic void.