When was the last time you did something completely for the fun of it?
I mean completely.
You didn’t take a photo of yourself doing it. You didn’t make a video. You didn’t think about whether it could become a series.
You didn't wonder if other people might pay you to teach them how to do it.
When was the last time you took up a hobby and stuck with it without eventually thinking:
If I did this a little differently, filmed it, talked about it, or taught someone else how to do it, I could probably make some money.
I’m asking because I want to know what ever happened to people just having hobbies?
In 2026, specifically in the United States, it feels like we’ve reached the culmination of turning almost anything into some form of side hustle.
People like Gary Vee and Omar El-Takori tell us to “be the content” or that “everything is content.” We’re constantly inundated with “day in my life” vlogs, “here’s the side hustle that made me six figures,” and guides promising to help you become a millionaire.
I’m by no means hating on those people.
I enjoy their content.
Mostly.
The main issue is that if you spend enough time on that side of the internet, you’ll start looking at your own life differently.
An interest becomes an opportunity.
An opportunity becomes content.
Content becomes an audience.
And an audience, eventually, is supposed to become money.
Once you enter the rabbit hole of trying to make money online, it’s extremely easy to become consumed by it.
And this isn't happening in a vacuum. A lot of people genuinely feel financially insecure. Prices have risen. Jobs can feel less permanent. AI has introduced another layer of uncertainty about what work will look like in the future. For some people, additional income isn't about becoming an entrepreneur. It's about creating breathing room.
The COVID-19 pandemic gave many people a glimpse into the world of making money online, and over the years since, we’ve watched the creator economy grow with new faces, businesses, and ways to make some extra cash.
What doesn't always make it into the aspirational version of that story is what happens after the hobby starts making money.
Monetizing your hobbies is difficult, especially if you’re not entrepreneurial or business savvy.
But even when it works, something changes.
Something that was your escape from the world now has deliverables.
The camera you picked up because taking pictures was fun now needs to pay for itself.
You don't just take the photo anymore. You start wondering whether it's good enough to post. Whether people will engage with it. Whether you could sell prints. Whether someone might hire you after seeing it.
The hobby hasn't necessarily stopped being fun.
It has acquired a job.
And no one can create that balance for you.
I’ve gone through this many times as someone who’s been creating things online for more than 10 years and side hustling since 2018.
Before the pandemic, we saw the rise of YouTubers, bloggers and people making money online selling courses and information. If you were a part of “hustle culture,” you probably had some sort of side hustle in addition to your 9-to-5—if you even had one of those.
I was starting my freelance photography journey, making YouTube videos and working part-time as a wedding photographer and videographer with a wedding production company.
I was maxing out my side-hustle capacity.
But why?
Back then I was following creators like Evan Ranft, Hallease, Sara Dietschy, and Tyler Babin, who were all, at least at various points, self-employed creators.
They had leveraged creative interests into full-time work.
From where I was sitting, it looked like they had figured something out that I hadn't.
They were making money from things I considered hobbies, which made me believe I could transform my hobbies into money too.
Diving deeper down the rabbit hole, I learned that it wasn’t just photography and videography communities doing this.
Gary Vaynerchuk’s AskGaryVee showed people turning almost anything into money online: music, cooking, video games, card collecting, and more. Almost anything you could think of as a hobby could theoretically have content built around it and eventually be monetized.
Once people started taking that advice and seeing returns, the boom was on.
Every day it felt like someone else was becoming an overnight viral success.
Being online and inside that content circle only fueled the fire.
If I made more content.
If I could hack the algorithm.
If I could optimize the plan.
If I could just figure out what everyone else had figured out.
Then maybe I could make it too.
And while it worked for some people, I started noticing something else happening—to other people and eventually to myself.
The thing you do because you love it can become the thing you feel obligated to do because you've built an audience, a client base or an income around it.
And that transformation felt strange.
You can still love photography while occasionally hating being a photographer.
You can love making videos and dread opening an editing timeline.
You can love writing and still ruin it for yourself by checking page views every fifteen minutes.
Making money from something isn't proof that you've ruined it. But making money introduces a new relationship that wasn't there before.
There is another version of the side-hustle story, though, and I don't want to confuse the two.
Many people don't start driving deliveries after work because some entrepreneur on Instagram convinced them to “monetize their free time.”
They need money.
People are taking on additional work to cover bills, absorb higher costs or give themselves some protection if their primary income disappears.
That's not hustle culture. That's survival.
And sometimes the person trying to monetize photography because they love photography is also the person who could really use another $500 this month.
The line between ambition and necessity gets blurry quickly.
Which is why I'm not interested in telling people they shouldn't have side hustles.
I have them.
I need them.
I've also tried turning one into my full-time job.
I understand the appeal.
What I'm questioning is the idea that every interest we have needs to justify itself financially.
Maybe there doesn't need to be an answer.
Maybe there just needs to be permission.
Find something that brings you joy and keep it away from the pressure of money.
Read for your own enjoyment.
Play video games without worrying about streaming them.
Take photos and print them for yourself, your family, or your friends.
Learn to cook something without starting a food account.
Go somewhere beautiful without turning it into a vlog.
Make something terrible and don't show anybody.
Nowadays it feels like everyone is sharing more and more of themselves online, but you don’t have to.
You are allowed to have interests that aren't part of your personal brand.
You are allowed to be mediocre at something you love.
You are allowed to spend money on something that will never make the money back.
There are parts of your life and identity that can remain private and enjoyable.
You don’t owe the internet every aspect of yourself.
And you don't owe every hour of your life to the pursuit of more income.
Maybe one of the more rebellious things you can do in an economy that constantly asks what your attention is worth is decide that something you love isn't for sale.
Keep something for yourself.
