By N.E.N.I.N
Welcome to the Beige Parade
This isn’t a self-help column. This is a crime scene report. And the victim? Raw, unfiltered potential.
Mediocrity isn’t just a quiet failure. It’s a full-blown lifestyle now. A social costume. An entire performative ecosystem where people dress up their cowardice in the language of “balance” and “wellness” and pretend their resignation is maturity.
You can see it everywhere: the podcast host who once wanted to make films but now interviews corporate consultants on “authentic leadership.” The guy who used to organise protests but now posts motivational quotes about getting up at 5AM. The girl who could write like fire but now does PR for a company that sells vegan cat food.
They’re not lost. They’re hiding. And mediocrity is the costume.
Fear in Drag
Let’s make it plain: mediocrity is not a lack of talent. It’s a strategy. A cover story. A culturally sanctioned con.
People fear failure, not because failure is bad, but because it would expose the gap between what they say they believe in and what they’re actually willing to risk.
So instead, they rebrand the fear.
- “I’m just being practical.”
- “Not everyone needs to be extraordinary.”
- “I’m finding peace in the small things.”
No, you’re not. You’re scared. You’re dressing fear up like wisdom and hoping nobody clocks the costume.
The System Rewards Cowards
We live in a world that actively incentivises mediocrity. Think about it: You can get a promotion for never questioning authority. You can become internet famous for copying other people better than they copy themselves.
Real originality? It’s a liability.
The system doesn’t want thinkers. It wants replicators. It wants reliable little units who dream in pre-approved templates and fear standing out more than disappearing.
If you’re ambitious and loud about it, people treat you like a threat. But if you quietly file your edges down to a likeable nub, the world claps.
The Theatre of Functioning
You know what mediocrity really looks like? It looks like a to-do list with no meaning behind it.
Wake up. Shower. Scroll. Do your job. Pretend your job matters. Post about your job. Order dinner. Watch the same series everyone else watches. Have sex with someone who bores you. Call it connection. Sleep. Repeat.
It’s theatre. Routine in drag. Productivity cosplay.
And people cling to it like a safety blanket because the alternative — actually questioning what the hell they’re doing here — would require discomfort. Risk. Accountability.
“Trying” Is the New Taboo
We used to be ashamed of giving up. Now we’re ashamed of trying.
If you work too hard, you’re cringe. If you care too much, you’re intense. If you focus, you’re antisocial.
So, people water themselves down into vague, agreeable beige. They perform ease because effort makes people uncomfortable. Mediocrity, in this economy, is social camouflage.
People aren’t neutral. They’re neutered.
Case Study: Jordan
Jordan didn’t lose their edge. They sanded it down until it fit in a tote bag full of ethical skincare samples and unposted drafts.
They used to write with venom. Now they write copy for a kombucha brand and call it “creative strategy.”
They say things like, “I just want to be present,” but they’re not present — they’re parked. Emotionally idle with a perfect filter and a dead engine.
The Cult of “Almost”
Almost finished the book. Almost applied for the job. Almost moved. Almost told the truth.
This generation is haunted by what it nearly did. And instead of facing that shame head-on, people build entire personalities around avoiding disappointment. They spiritualise their procrastination. They moralise their mediocrity.
Almost is a lifestyle now. A branding strategy. A convenient way to never commit and never be criticised.
There Is No Deeper Meaning
Not everything has to be redemptive. Sometimes people just sell out. Sometimes they give up. Sometimes they shrink because shrinking is easier than dealing with the fact they never really wanted to be great — they just wanted the aesthetic of ambition.
And that’s fine. But stop calling it “growth.”
The Flattening of Everything
Everyone talks the same. Everyone dresses the same. Everyone posts the same 3×3 grid of books, candles, brown skin in golden light, captioned with a bell hooks quote they’ve never read in full.
Mediocrity flattens culture. It rewards palatability. It starves danger. It packages identity into marketable fragments until there’s nothing left but recycled slogans and bland aesthetics.
You Don’t Have to Be Special — Just Stop Lying
Here’s the truth: not everyone is interesting. Not everyone has range. Most people are forgettable.
That would be fine — if they didn’t spend so much time pretending otherwise. If they didn’t gaslight the rest of us into thinking we’re toxic for noticing.
You don’t have to be great. But own your mediocrity. Sit in it. Stop dressing it up in euphemisms and TikTok therapy buzzwords.
Don’t confuse comfort for conviction.
About the Author
N.E.N.I.N is a political writer, cultural commentator, and professional slayer of beige narratives. With a voice sharpened by satire and a mind allergic to mediocrity, they dissect British politics like it owes them rent. Founder of Nubian Narrator News and longtime critic of establishment theatre, N.E.N.I.N doesn’t believe in sacred god’s or silver spoons — only in systems that work and ideas that slap.
Explore more at https://nenin.co.uk
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