After all the hype died down, which it eventually did, I thought the #GirlLove Challenge would die too. It might become a once-upon-a-time viral hit. However, the video birthed a passion within me, and in 2016 I hired a team and launched #GirlLove as a full-fledged social campaign. Today, as I write this, #GirlLove has a complete social strategy and is an episodic series on my channel. It got me inside the White House to discuss women’s issues with Michelle Obama and recently allowed me to travel to Kenya to learn more about women’s education in the Maasai community. Furthermore, a #GirlLove rafiki bracelet was created in partnership with ME to WE (an amazing organization—Google them) and the proceeds are going toward giving Kenyan girls scholarships to attend secondary school. I also held a workshop in Singapore to teach young girls how to spread #GirlLove, and the venue was completely sold out. All of this happened because my collaboration didn’t work out. Every success that #GirlLove has is a direct result of molding the broken pieces of a previous failure.
In most negative situations in life, you can create a positive outcome if you just look hard enough. Aside from the #GirlLove Challenge, there is a much greater example from my life in which I took something not so great and made it great. When people ask me what I’m most grateful for in life, they get confused when I reply, “Depression.” I started making YouTube videos in 2010 because I was trying to make myself happy and escape depression. I thought if I could make others laugh, then I could also make myself laugh. My dedication to YouTube was me self-medicating; it was a pick-me-up, a distraction, and a goal to work toward. To this day, depression is the worst feeling I’ve ever encountered in my life. It was heart-wrenchingly painful. Everything I have today—every video, success, and opportunity—is the direct result of taking that pain and turning it into something positive: comedy. I’ll never have to take a pottery class because I’ve already molded the most difficult thing: my life.
To take failure and turn it on its head, to make something unexpected out of it, is a beautiful thing. I could have abandoned the #GirlLove Challenge. I could have let my depression take me down a path that led nowhere. But instead I decided to get my hands dirty with some Play-Doh and create something new. Often we’re too busy being disappointed or upset to recognize that the tools we need to create a new masterpiece are right in front of us. They just require a little rearranging and assembly. Don’t let disappointment blind you to potential. Roll up your sleeves, use your creativity as glue, and mold your success.
MY LIMO PULLS UP and the driver walks around to open the door for me. As soon as I step on the red carpet, my fans go crazy and start chanting my name. Cameras are flashing and my security is surrounding me. I’m about to walk into the premiere of my very own movie, A Trip to Unicorn Island, a documentary that follows me on my world tour. It’s taking place at the prestigious Chinese Theatre in Los Angeles. The entire street is shut down for my event. The film is a hit and I have a blast at the afterparty. People are congratulating me left, right, and center. Mama, I’ve made it.
Fast-forward to two days later and I’m nervously driving around a studio, completely lost, already two minutes late. I park somewhere random and speed-walk toward the closest person I see to ask for directions. They have no clue. I find someone else and they proceed to draw me a map on a pamphlet with a dying pen. I race left, then right, then left again, trying desperately to follow these chicken-scratch directions. Finally I find the building and walk into my audition. I sit down in a small room with a water fountain and two other people. No one even looks at me. Eventually a woman calls my name and I follow her into an even smaller room. She riffles through some paperwork without giving me a proper look and says, “Do you have your headshot?” Confused, I reply, “Um, my agent should have sent all my information.” She looks up at me and says, “Oh, sorry. Found it. Lilly, right?” Yup. That’s me. I do the audition and within 120 seconds I’m back out the door, struggling to find my car. I am a nobody.
These two experiences are my life in a nutshell. Within forty-eight hours I go from being a superstar to “Lilly, right?” Sometimes it’s even within the same day. In the digital space I’m considered a star, but in Hollywood I’m just another person waiting to audition. I’ve learned that success in one area of your life doesn’t guarantee or entitle you to success in another. That’s why A-list celebrities have relationship problems and the most popular kids in school may not have the best grades. Just because you’ve climbed one ladder doesn’t mean you won’t have to start from the bottom of another ladder.
When I decided to try getting into TV and film, it took me a while to get used to the audition process. I come from a world where I write, shoot, edit, and release my own content. I make the rules and I know what I want. When I walk into an audition, I have one sentence describing the character I’m supposed to play and a roomful of people watching me critically. It’s the perfect atmosphere to ensure that you DON’T do your best. But just like I earned my stripes on YouTube, I knew I would have to start from the bottom of the Hollywood ladder. My career in the digital space gives me a slight advantage because I have a good agency repping me, but regardless of that, I’m still out there auditioning for two-line cameos in movies. I’m at the top of one ladder and at the bottom of another.
Is it frustrating? Of course. I’m doing a diagonal split across two ladders and my legs hurt. So why do I do it? Because I don’t want my pride to get in the way of achieving everything I want. The last thing I want is for my ego to prevent me from thinking I shouldn’t have to earn something. If I want to expand my brand and skill set, which I do, then I need to earn it, which I will.
It’s also a matter of respecting a different ladder and everyone on it. The climb up any ladder teaches you lessons and provides you with the necessary experiences. If I went from the top of my current ladder to the top of another ladder, I would have no clue what was below me. I would be inexperienced and probably fall to my death. In the same way, someone from another industry who jumps onto my ladder shouldn’t expect to be on top. With all due respect, if you’re going to stand beside me on the ladder I’m on and have no idea what a YouTube annotation is, that’s problematic.
There are many examples of people who have climbed multiple ladders and will probably continue to do so. The Rock (have I mentioned him before in this book?) went from being a pro wrestler to being a successful actor. That’s two ladders. He didn’t start his acting career as the world’s most-paid actor; he earned that title by climbing his way up. Drake went from acting to music. That’s two ladders as well. Justin Timberlake did the exact opposite and went from music to acting and back again. There is no all-access pass. No matter who you are, there is going to be something you want to do that will require you to start from the bottom. That shouldn’t scare you because you’re a Bawse and you thrive on challenges. You don’t feel entitled to success—you feel empowered to earn it. So earn it, again and again.
OUT OF THE BLUE
2010 It’s such a weird sensation to feel unimportant and invisible, and yet also feel like every person in the world is staring at you. I feel like there’s a huge neon sign above my head that reads “depressed” or “worthless.” I want to stay in my room all day, sitting in the dark, locked away from the world. That’s where I feel safest, although, to be honest, I’m the least safe person in my life.
When I’m walking down the street, everyone is looking at me. I might not see them looking at me, but I know they are. My brain is telling me they are. My darkness is an aura that does not go unnoticed. I hate when they look at me and I wish they would leave me alone, because I’m not proud of the person they see. I’m so uncomfortable in public and around people. I look down nervously and wring my hands in my pocket, counting down the seconds until I can be alone again, until I can hide again.
The only sanctuary I have is at the temple. I go there every day and sit in the back, as far away from everyone else as possible. But I still feel as if everyone is looking at me. Why wouldn’t they? I radiate sadness.