Something was different. Millions of people have become acquainted with the face of Bartosz Kowalczyk in recent months. It’s one of the many consequences of social media fame.
But as it appeared before me ahead of a chat full of serious issues and authentic laughs, my first question spilled from my mouth before I could catch it and shove it back down my throat.
“What have you done to your face?”
Thankfully, no offence was taken. A bright smile followed, and a degree of bemusement. Kowalczyk himself seemed unable to justify why he, a 23-year-old from Edinburgh, was spending a Friday afternoon with temporary face tattoos plastered from forehead to cheek.
“Just for YouTube, eh.” Fair enough. The chuckles told a story of self-awareness, but also of self-confidence. 10 months prior he was waking up every morning to spearhead his car cleaning business. Now, social media stardom has changed everything.
“My dream job’s always been a YouTuber. That was what I wanted to do. But I was posting videos, spending hours editing, spending money for them only to get 100 views. It’s very demotivating to keep going.
“A friend said I should start posting on TikTok, and I did without really thinking about it. I woke up before going out to clean cars, said my usual stuff, and it got over 300,000 views in three days."
As notoriety grows, so does apprehension. Concern about what others say about your newfound following seems inevitable in a case like this, but for Kowalczyk, a determination kicked in to not be deterred.
“It was always in the back of my mind, what people might be saying about me. But whether I’m doing this, or cleaning cars and running my own business, people are always going to have something to say behind your back. Whatever the situation, you shouldn’t really care about that - about other people’s opinions.”
As is alluded to, this sense of paranoia is normal for many people, in many scenarios in our many lives. The bravery to step into a brighter spotlight becomes even more impressive when you consider Kowalczyk’s struggles with anxiety, and his candid nature in sharing it with his adoring audience.
“I am just very socially awkward, and have really bad anxiety. I just thought maybe if I do YouTube, it would help me get over it and realise that people don't really care about what you're doing as much as you think they do in your head.
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“I've posted a couple of TikToks where I spoke about anxiety, that I'm quite anxious and nervous and scared. And I’ve had a couple of comments from people like, 'imagine being so good looking and funny and still being anxious', but it doesn't really matter how good looking or funny you are, or how nice you smell or whatever. That’s not what determines whether you have anxiety. It’s not how it works.”
A young man from a working-class community in Scotland opening up about mental health in such a public forum is not yet normal. With content offering viewers potential anxiety easers, and trying out activities in search of less internal strife, Kowalczyk is doing more than ticking a box. He’s offering real solutions, while in turn, finding some for himself.
“I think that's why I enjoy it so much, because I just feel like posting stuff and meeting people made me realise that it's not as scary is what you make it out to be.
“It does depend on the day though. I still have days now where I'm just as bad, if not worse. And I would rather just not speak to anybody and just lay in my bed. I do think about it sometimes whenever I'm having a good day, I just couldn't believe I was so awkward and weird back then. It’s still up and down.”
The serious nature of our conversation shifts swiftly as I ask if the people around him have changed, if he’s treated differently as “that guy off TikTok.” Consistent laughter interrupts a story of the return to a local pub after a lengthy hiatus.
A starstruck bartender offered the proposition of dreams. Free booze for the rest of the evening, in exchange for a simple, measly follow. Much to Kowalczyk’s amusement, much to his friends’ delight, a deal was struck, and a feeling that this additional attention had its benefits sunk in.
Booze isn’t the only thing that becomes free when you rack up a massive following online. Brands frantically flinging clothes in your direction, event companies practically pleading for your attendance, bakeries desperately dishing out their finest brownies in search of your (very) public approval. It’s this assumption that Kowalczyk struggles with.
“I always just be myself. I don’t see the point in trying to be someone else. I’m just honest. I think that’s why some brands don’t want to work with me. They expect, because they’ve sent me something for free, that I’ll say I love it. They don’t want you to be honest if you don’t like it.”
This act of telling your followers how groundbreakingly fantastic a product or service is has become widely accepted as the modern day role of the “influencer”. Worshipped by some, maligned by many, it’s a tag that comes with pros and cons - it’s a tag Kowalczyk doesn’t voluntarily wear.
“Well, most people would probably say that I’m an influencer, but I don't really think I am. I don't feel like I influence anything except random, weird shit.”
Granted, he may not be your quintessential influencer. But in discussing men’s mental health so honestly, in engaging with his audience in the hope of helping their struggles, in simply making thousands of people around the world smile every single day, Bartosz Kowalczyk is certainly influential.
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