Piss. People. Off. — The Strategy of Audacity

Here’s a rule I’m learning to live by: if you’re not pissing someone off, you’re probably not doing anything that matters.

We like to pretend we live in a world that celebrates originality, boldness, truth-telling. But history shows us otherwise. The most disruptive ideas, the ones that actually shift culture are almost always met with backlash first. From abolition to suffrage to Stonewall to punk to hip-hop to queer club culture, every revolution started as a threat before it became a blueprint.

The music industry is no different. Like most cultural institutions, it loves to consume rebellion after it’s been flattened into something palatable. Labels say “be yourself,” but what they mean is “be yourself in a way we can monetize.” They don’t mind you pushing boundaries, as long as they know exactly where you’ll land.

But here’s the real game: if you want to do something lasting, something alive, you have to make peace with being polarizing. Ask any artist, activist, or thinker worth remembering. The goal isn’t to be liked. It’s to be felt.

And that starts with asking the right question: not “How do I please everyone?” but “Who should be mad about this?”

Because pissing people off (the right people) is a sign you’re hitting something real. Something uncomfortable. Something necessary.

Frank Ocean doesn’t tweet because mystery is a refusal in a world obsessed with access. Kanye (before the spiral) rattled culture because he disrupted the script of how a Black man was “supposed” to behave in public. Charli XCX dropped BRAT in lowercase lime green, not as a gimmick, but as a middle finger to polish, to palatability, to pop music's obsession with making sense.

This strategy isn’t new. Audacity has always been political. Think of Nina Simone singing “Mississippi Goddam” at a time when it could’ve cost her everything. Think of ACT UP in the streets during the AIDS crisis, turning rage into visibility. Think of artists, magazines, radio, and underground parties during every regime that tried to erase truth with silence.

Controversy without purpose is cheap. But purpose that disrupts the status quo? That’s dangerous and vital.

Because safety keeps systems intact. Silence keeps the powerful comfortable. And if legacy means anything at all, it starts with choosing not to be liked, but to be loud.