“Right, quiet now. Nishma, that means you.” I heard that line roughly nine thousand times before the age of eleven. Every school report carried the same verdict in the same tired teacher biro: a pleasure to have in class, if only she’d stop talking.

‘She’ did not stop.

Ask any of my friends. I am famous, genuinely famous, for the long story. For the WhatsApp voice note that lands like a surprise feature-length podcast, complete with tangents, a full cast of characters and a dramatic pause nobody asked for. I have never once used ten words where four hundred would do. And for thirty years, that was the thing about me people learned to tolerate. Fondly, mostly. But tolerate.

Then something funny happened. The exact trait I was told to rein in became the most useful skill I own. Turns out the age of working with AI belongs to the talkers. Funny how it goes.

Everyone is typing at their AI like it owes them money

Short. Clipped. “Write a follow-up email.” “Make it shorter.” “More professional.” We treat the most capable thinking partner most of us have ever had like a moody vending machine. Coin in, snack out, thump it when it jams.

I did this for months. Then my wrists staged a quiet protest, I found a tool that types while I talk, and I stopped typing at my AI. Now I just talk to it. Same AI. Same me. The answers got better overnight. The only thing that changed was that I opened my mouth.

But the AI part is only half of it. Because I don’t just talk to brief the machine. I talk to catch my own brain before it wanders off.

My best ideas never arrive at my desk

They arrive on a dog walk. Milly’s nose is in a hedge, I’m three fields from a keyboard, and the whole shape of a talk or an essay lands in one go, fully formed, glorious, and gone in ninety seconds if I don’t grab it.

So now I grab it. Out loud, into my phone, mid-walk. The newsletter intro. The reply I’ve been dodging for a week. The story I want to tell on stage. The message to a friend that would otherwise have died in my drafts. All of it, spoken while it’s still hot, before the moment cools and I lose the good bit.

This isn’t a dictation trick for people too lazy to type. It’s a net for the ideas that used to get away. The ones that came at the wrong time, in the wrong place, with both hands full of dog lead.

Typing is performance. Talking is thinking.

There’s a reason talking catches what typing kills.

When you type, you edit. You can’t help it. The cursor blinks and some prim little sub-editor wakes up in your head and starts tidying before a single word reaches the page. You delete the messy bit. You cut the story. You trim the context to something that looks efficient and reads like a memo. By the time you hit enter, you’ve handed over a headline and binned the article.

When you talk, the sub-editor goes for a lie-down. You ramble. You backtrack. You say “oh, and the important bit is” halfway through a sentence, the way you would to a friend leaning on your kitchen counter. You give it the texture. The truth. The stuff that makes it sound like you, because it came out of you, out loud, before your inner critic could find her red pen.

A word for the grammar police, with love

I know it’s a touch blasphemous to sit here on Substack, of all places, and make the case for talking over writing. This is the church of the sentence. But I’ve never had much time for the snobbery of it. The dictionary police. The grammar prefects who treat a stray comma like a moral failing.

And let me be clear, because otherwise they’ll come for me: my spelling and grammar are A-plus. I know the rules cold. I just also know they were never the point. I have always, always been better yapping than typing.

My wonderful old colleague Charlotte worked this out long before any app did. For years her note to me was “get those digits on the keyboard, Nishma.” Firm. Loving. Completely ignored. Until one day she gave up, handed me a dictaphone and said, more or less, just talk, I’ll sort the rest. The Wispr Flow before the Wispr Flow. Charlotte, if you’re reading this, you were a decade early and I owe you a very long voice note.

It’s a dictaphone with a brain

That’s the bit that makes the tool more than a party trick. It’s an intelligent one.

It doesn’t just transcribe my mess, ums and false starts and all. It tidies the thinking as I talk. It knows the words I actually use, because I’ve trained it on them: the phrases I reach for, the places I want to sound casual, the places I want to sound like I’ve read the room. It loses the stumbles without losing me. And that is the whole game. A lesser tool would sand me down until I sounded like everyone else. This one keeps the grit and only takes the gravel.

So the story comes out first as a conversation. Warm, rambling, mine. And then, only then, do I edit. That’s when the red pen comes out, and I edit like Anna Wintour got hold of it. Ruthless. Cold. Cut, cut, keep, cut. Because you cannot edit a blank page, and you certainly cannot edit fear. But you can edit a ramble. A ramble is a gift. It’s raw material with a pulse.

The chatterbox was right all along

We got this one wrong.

The whole industry taught us to “prompt”. To engineer the perfect string of instructions, as if we were programming a microwave. There are courses. There are enormous decks. There are men on LinkedIn selling “the only 12 prompts you’ll ever need” for £39, cash upfront. And every bit of it points the wrong way. Briefing an AI was never a coding problem. It’s a conversation problem. And the best brief has never been the shortest, tidiest one. It’s the one where you actually explained what you wanted and why, tangents and worries and all.

Who is world-class at that? The talkers. The over-explainers. The ones who give “too much detail” in meetings and send the feature-length voice note. Every trait the office quietly filed under “a bit much” is now, out of nowhere, an advantage. The chatterbox spent thirty years being told to get to the point. Turns out the detail was the point.

So. What to actually do.

Stop typing at your AI. Talk to it. Get a tool that turns your voice into text (I use Wispr Flow, and my wrists have sent it a thank-you card) and brief it like you’d brief a clever friend who genuinely wants the context. Claude, mostly, in my case. Then use it for everything else too. The walk-idea. The dodged email. The message you keep rewriting into beige. Catch the thought where it lands, not where the keyboard happens to be.

These are my stats …

And if you catch yourself editing before you’ve even spoken, that’s the old teacher in your head. Ignore her. Talk first. Edit later, as savagely as you like.

And the bit that still makes me laugh: I love writing more now than I ever have. More essays, more posts, more of this. Not despite the talking. Because of it. AI didn’t replace the writer in me. It has quietly opened up a hundred doors that felt shut before, and it finally let her out of the room where the keyboard was keeping her quiet.

Go figure.

Right, Milly’s at the door and I’ve got roughly nine ideas to talk into my phone before they escape out of my ears.

Talk soon. Literally.

Nishma x

You’ll be Switched ON to: talking.

P.S. If you fancy trying the thing that started all this, my referral link gets you a month of Wispr Flow, free: wisprflow.ai/r?NISHMA1. Yes, it’s a referral link. No, Milly still doesn’t get commission.

Christmas 2025. The kids were away in Scotland with Dan, the house was properly quiet for the first time in years, and I was alone with the thought I had been outrunning for months: burnout was coming for me.

I could feel it approaching the way you feel a cold coming, that heaviness behind the eyes before the symptoms declare themselves. And I knew the odds were not in my favour. Burnout is wildly common among female founders, especially first-time founders, every bit as much as the corporate executives we usually write the think-pieces about. Possibly more. We just carry it with less scaffolding and fewer people watching.

Faced with that, I did what I always do when something threatens the ideas I care about. I refused to give up on them. And then I did possibly the nerdiest thing available to a woman alone at Christmas.

I dived back into AI. Not a dabble. A proper, sit-yourself-down, learn-everything-you-can dive.

I should be honest about my starting point. I am a tech geek. Yes, I worked at Google, and yes, the last big project I led before leaving was the launch of Bard, the thing the world now knows as Gemini. So AI was hardly new to me. In fact, on my first solo holiday after leaving, I sat on a beach in Mexico and decided to get nosey about everyone else’s AI, because I had only ever really known Google’s.

But that was dabbling. Finding out enough to get by, treating each discovery as one and done. Plenty of us live there. From years in tech I know that most of us use less than 10 per cent of what the tools we already own can do. And I had grown properly tired of hearing techbros explain, at length, how little they did any more because they had built themselves agents and systems and were building with AI.

The bright fire of approaching burnout turned out to be exactly the kick up the backside I needed. I put the time in. And time, plus natural geekiness, plus curiosity, turned into something I had not planned: I started building things. Small tools and systems that took real weight off, at home and in the business. At first they saved me time. Then they improved the work itself. And then they became something far more interesting than either: extension. Not doing less. Being capable of more. It was never really about saving time. It was about extending what I was capable of.

I showed some friends, purely out of sheer delight, and they all said a version of the same thing. You have to do something with this. You have a gift for making AI exciting instead of scary.

I dismissed it at first. Obviously. But by then I was hooked, and I love learning and experimenting too much to stop.

Here is what I kept noticing, though. The number and pace of AI launches is wild, and I completely understand why so many people feel left behind, overwhelmed or utterly despondent. And sitting in the middle of it all is a blind spot almost nobody in the industry mentions. Look at the marketing, the messaging, the use cases, the armies of influencers these companies engage. There is next to nothing aimed at midlife people. The very people most likely to be under enormous pressure, holding down careers and businesses while caring for kids and ageing parents, often while their own bodies stage a hormonal coup.

And midlife women are building more businesses than ever. For them, AI is not a toy and it is not a threat. Used well, it could be a saviour. It could help them switch off so they don’t burn out. Switch off the 11pm admin. Switch off the noise in their own heads, and the voices around them feeding the doubt.

They could finally switch off, if someone would just help them switch on.

So I tested that idea in public. I gave a talk at WACL’s Festival of Talent in Scotland, (thank you Jules for having me), and watched a room of 200 women go from politely disinterested, or quietly certain they were “fine with AI”, to excited, curious and hungry for more. That room told me everything.

Then I built the 30 Day AI Challenge. Think couch to 5k, but for AI. One small prompt a day, designed to take you from anxious to confident and curious, with one rule that never bent: you stay the author. AI is the colleague, the editor, the thinking partner that pushes back. Never the voice that replaces yours.

Truthfully, I was testing myself more than anything. A hundred and twenty people signed up. Then, with no promotion at all beyond a plea to share it with someone who needed it, the list grew past 800.

And the comments started arriving.

That last one is the whole point. Not one clever output. A habit. Experimenting and learning every day. The prompts I taught will date within the year, half of them probably already have. The curiosity does not date. That is the real success: building the habit of looking at a hard, stuck, boring task and thinking, could AI help me with this, and actually meaning it.

I was blown away. So I did the thing the challenge had quietly been training me for. I looked honestly at my whole portfolio of work, and I doubled down on Switched ON. A media business at the heart of a movement and a platform, helping people get switched on, to AI first and to whatever comes next, closing an AI skills gap that is widening by the month, and releasing the creativity and innovation that gets trapped behind fear.

So was born Switched ON.

And here is what I am actually here to do with it.

To translate it. To take the jargon, the hype and the daily wave of launches and turn it into something you can use on a Tuesday.

To question it. Not to clap along with every announcement, but to ask the harder things. Is it any good. Who is it really for. Who does it quietly leave out.

To make the content that helps you work out what you genuinely need to know, and, just as importantly, what you can happily ignore. Because most of the overwhelm is just noise you were never meant to carry.

To be a practitioner, not a pundit. To show you how I actually use this. Hands on the keyboard, the wins and the cock-ups, in public.

To be a protagonist, not a spectator. In the room, on the stage, in the story. Not watching it happen to me, and not letting it happen to you either.

To challenge it. All of it. The tools, the people building them, and the whole landscape they are building it for. Because someone has to ask the hard questions on behalf of the people it keeps overlooking.

That is the job. All of it in service of one idea:

helping people make sense of what’s changing, so they can thrive in what’s next.

The mission is gaining momentum.

Which brings me to the thing people asked for next. Not more prompts. A room.

Switched ON Sessions

Because here is what thirty days of watching women teach themselves showed me: doing it alone works, but it is the slow road. A room is the fast track. Two hours working with AI side by side, with someone to lean over your shoulder at the exact moment you get stuck, compresses weeks of solo trial and error into a single evening. The challenge was couch to 5k. This is the training day with the coach running next to you.

So here it is.
The first Switched ON Session, 15 July in London, in partnership with Gamma.

In the workshop we will build beautiful presentations that actually land and design scroll-stopping carousels like the ones you have watched me make, working with AI the whole way through, and you will leave with them done, not on a to-do list.

Then we go to dinner. Do not mistake the dinner for the wind-down, it is where even more of the learning happens. The best tips, the honest questions, the “show me that again” moments never come from the stage. They come out around the table, between courses, from the woman sitting next to you. I have watched it happen at every dinner I have ever hosted, and it is the part people talk about for weeks.

Seats are deliberately few, because the whole point is a room where everyone gets seen.

Book your seat: lu.ma/switched-on1

If you have been waiting for a sign to start, this is it.

Come and pull up a chair.

Nish x

Honestly, who isn’t knackered.

Show me a woman who is on top of everything right now and I will assume she is fibbing. The full list: school run, meal plan, email backlog, the boss thing, the daughter thing, the friend thing, the ageing-parent thing. Whether bloody peptides actually do anything. Whether jelly shoes are having a comeback. (I pray that they are not.)

And, somewhere in the middle of all that, we also need to be on top of AI as well.

The tools. The prompts. The pace.

That bloke in the gilet on LinkedIn with the wifi router, the two ChatGPT prompts and the screenshot of “another six-figure month, two tools changed my life, DM me for the playbook.”

The conflicting advice. The endless thinkpieces.

The “which one do I even start with?” question nobody answers cleanly.

The slight ick about whether any of it has been built for us.

Honestly? I have spent half this weekend scrolling reels of dogs and binging Rivals 2 (squeal, it is amazing), to ignore the overwhelm and confusion of the lot of it. Hand on heart. And the other half diving deep into Perplexity ‘Computer” and some new Claude updates!

But I want to make a case here, because I do not think it has been made well to anyone who looks like us.

This thing called AI? I think it is the washing machine of our generation.

Not glamorous. Not trendy. Just one of those once-in-a-generation tools that could genuinely give us our time, our brains, and bits of our lives back. If, and this is the if that matters, we get into it on our own terms.

Why a washing machine

I still remember the day my family got a washing machine in the 1980s.

End of doing endless rounds of washing and drying between me and my sisters. Suddenly we could eat dinner, stack the dishwasher, and be on the sofa in time for EastEnders. That tiny bit of time given back changed the entire evening. More Albert Square. Less drudgery. (Pat Butcher’s earrings, especially.)

It has also been widely reported that women’s housework fell from around 58 hours a week, in the early twentieth century, to 18 hours a week by 1975. Largely thanks to labour-saving devices.

A 40-hour saving. Which is, by remarkable coincidence, exactly the size of the working week we were then politely invited to step into.

The electrical appliances gave us back our time. The working week came along and lumped itself on top. (Please note this is not fact at all - just my pondering so)

We have not, as a category of human, been short of work to do.
We have been short of time, money, and recognition for it.

So this time, let’s make sure the time AI gives back goes where we want it to go. Not into another extra job that gets dumped on us. But into our businesses. Our children. Our health. Our writing. Our rest. Our investments. Our second careers.
Whichever of those is the one you actually need most.

Use this technology to solve your problem. Not someone else’s.

Just one more email

I do not live with many regrets.

But honestly. There were times when my children were young and I chose one more email over one more moment.

“Yes, yes, I’ll come play in a minute.”

And of course, you do not. Because you have been in meetings all day, and now your real work is starting. So you just need to finish the deck, send the email, tidy the thing, prep the note.

And then one day you go in thinking, right, now let’s sit down and play Barbies.

And she does not want to. Because she has grown out of Barbies.

If someone had come to me then and said here is a tool that can quieten the noise, speed up the grind, sharpen your thinking, and give you back some of your life, I would have bitten their arm off for it.

That is the why behind all of this.

Not a TED-talk why. The actual one. I am 53. I have three businesses, two children growing up too fast, a list of things I want to do before I am done, and a refusal to spend another decade muscling through work that a properly used machine could do for me in eight minutes.

I am, by way of credentials I am only going to give you once:

an AI enthusiast, not an expert. Tech-minded, always.

One of the last things I did at Google before I left was help launch Bard, now Gemini. So I came at this with a head start in interest, not in mastery, because nobody has mastery yet. The tools change every Tuesday.

What I do have is a year of testing 220-plus tools. £6,000 of training. Daily use. Every mistake going. And the willingness to say in public what worked and what didn’t.

The bigger gift is the thinking

There is something almost nobody is talking about loudly enough in any of the AI conversations right now.

This is not just a tool. This is a cognitive extension,

Not a replacement for our brains. An amplifier of them. I’m thinking differently, smarter, and deeper than I have in years because of the tools in my hands. I’m building apps and websites I never thought I could build. I’m learning faster, I am more curious, I am more creative. I am asking better questions, getting sharp second opinions, and pressure testing decisions in 20 minutes that used to take 20 days.

The time it saves is real, and it is wonderful. (Microsoft Research reports knowledge workers saving 40-60 minutes a day using AI well). The bigger gift, honestly, is the thinking: the expansion of what I can hold in my head, build in my hands, and ship in a week. The stretch in curiosity and in comprehension, finding pockets of my brain and my ideas that I hadn’t discovered before.

Cognitive extension needs confidence, as does embracing AI. Confidence comes through action, small, regular action. The kind that feels less scary when you do it alongside other women who are also doing it for the first time.

Why the bloke in the gilet got there first

Not because this is hard. Because nobody designed any of it for us.

The early evangelists were largely men. With a particular flavour. Half a gilet, a wifi router, two hours on ChatGPT, screenshots of their dashboards, and a confidence-to-competence ratio you could measure from space. They wrote the playbooks. They built the courses. They set the tone.

The tone is wrong. The examples are wrong. The use cases are wrong. The promises are wrong.

And the layer behind that. The tech companies building these tools are, almost without exception, run by men. Predominantly a male-led industry. With one wonderful exception worth flagging here: Anthropic, the makers of Claude, has a female co-founder and a senior female team across engineering and product. It is not a coincidence that Claude is the AI I keep going back to.

So a lot of women look at AI and (reasonably) decide this is not for me.

Then we layer on three quiet problems.

One. We think it might be cheating.
As if AI is a cheat sheet. As if writing with help is morally lesser. As if delegating the dreary bits of our jobs to a machine is not what every executive assistant in history was for.

Two. We are uncertain.
Not in a melodramatic way. In a perfectly reasonable, structural way. The technology is moving fast. The marketplace is loud. The information is conflicting.

Three. We are knackered.
Burnout is the perfect condition for being overtaken by a technology you do not yet understand. The people getting the most out of AI right now are the ones with the most time, the most encouragement and the most cover to fail. Statistically, that is not us.

I keep hearing the same three sentences from women, every single time:

I don’t have the time.

I don’t know what to start with.

How am I supposed to keep up?

Those are not laziness. Those are the perfectly reasonable responses of a generation of women given more to do and less margin to do it in, every single year, for as long as we have been working.

It’s time, ladies. It’s time.

Last month, Reese Witherspoon told her 30 million followers, almost verbatim:

She is right. The research backs her. Women use AI less than men. Less likely to be encouraged. Less likely to be recognised when we do.

And the bit I cannot let go of. Most of the women I speak to who do use AI are using somewhere between 1% and 5% of what these tools can actually do for them.

The upside of one of the fastest, biggest technology shifts of our lifetime is being unevenly distributed before it has even properly arrived.

This is why I think it matters so much. If we close the AI skills gap for women now, while the window is open, we have a shot at far more than time.

The wage gap.
The maths changes when you are more productive, more visible, more leveraged.

The pension gap.
Long-term wealth compounds from what you can earn and invest now.

The funding gap.
Less than 2% of UK venture capital goes to all-female founding teams. The thing money is usually for, at the start, is hiring. If you can build AI agents that get you to product and revenue before you need to raise to hire, you arrive at the funding conversation showing the work, not asking permission.

The progression gap.
Senior roles are inaccessible to women not because of capability. Because of the volume of extra work the seat demands. AI is the assistant you were never given. The one nobody can stop you hiring.

The visibility gap.
This is the one I work on every day. To be unmissable to the customers who could choose you, you need consistent, high-quality content showing up where they are looking. Visible to humans through brand. Visible to AI engines throughl AEO, Answer Engine Optimisation. The thing about content systems is that they require time you do not have.

AI lets you build a system that scales, while the writing stays unmistakably yours.

Tools to amplify, never to author.

Our greatest advantage is our humanity.

But not if we’re invisible.

Two choices, one room

Now, of course I also worry about AI. The environment. The jobs. Whose voice gets amplified. Whose data is in it. The children whose first relationships with creativity and research are being mediated by a chatbot.

I am paying attention.

But if we are not in the rooms where this is being built, the technology will be built without us. If AI engines and AI tools are part of the infrastructure of what happens next, and they very obviously are, I want us inside it figuring it out, asking the questions, deciding what gets built next.

Stand back and watch as the people who already had a head start get a free upgrade.

Or lean in. Learn together. Make this one work for us.

Every technological revolution before this, the loom, the printing press, the typewriter, the personal computer, the internet, was largely written, owned and shaped by men. The benefits got distributed unequally. The work that came with each of them got distributed unequally too.

This one is being built right this minute.

We can be in the room as it is being built, or we can be told what the rules are when it is done.

This time, we hold the pen (mouse).

Why me? Why not me?

This was not the direction I was expecting things to take in this era of my life!
For a while I assumed I wasn’t equipped to lead this work. Like every woman, I assumed I needed permission. Wasn’t expert enough. Wasn’t qualified enough. Wasn’t the right person.

Then I remembered what I tell other women, repeatedly, on stages and in podcasts and in DMs.

Nobody is coming.

You do not need to wait to be invited.

The only question worth asking is, why not me?

So. Why not me.

I have the AI comprehension and the skill. I have the ability to build community (Glittersphere is my evidence). I have the enthusiasm, the excitement, and the slightly-delusional optimism this work needs in order to convince enough women that AI is genuinely the greatest opportunity to come our way in a generation. I am relentless about making a difference.

And, very practically, I cannot do the work I already do, helping women become unmissable to the customers and audiences who could choose them, without the AI fluency piece.

The two halves of the mission are not separable. They never were.

So here we are.

I have seen this shape before, by the way.

A few years ago at Google, I led a programme called Digital Garage. A brilliant programme, originally built by a number of different people inside the business. It provided free digital skills training, in person and online, to many thousands of people across the UK. We even, at one stage, had real physical garages: shop fronts on the high street where people could come in and train. Brilliant to meet, first-hand, the people walking through the door. We never targeted it this way, but 70% of the people who came across the threshold to take up that free training were women.

I saw what those skills did to those lives. Up close. With evidence. Women who got their first business off the ground because they finally understood SEO. Returners who got the job because they could build a website. Parents who reskilled because they finally understood what was on the other side of digital marketing.

This thing now happening with AI is the same shape. Same gap. Same window. Same opportunity. Just bigger and faster.

That is why I care so much. Because I have already watched what happens when women get a real shot at a new technology with the right support. They do not just catch up. They go past.

So. Switched On.

Switched On is what happens when women decide they are tired of being told what AI is by men who have used it for six weeks. We want to switch on and get switched on..

It is currently built by me, for the rest of you, but it will grow and evolve because we will all build it and shape it. It is part newsletter, part workshop, part course, and mostly a sense of community. The kind where you can fire off “this prompt just changed my life, look” at 11pm and three women reply with their own. The kind where you can ask the daft question. The kind where the answer is not “google it,” the answer is “hang on, let me show you.”

Switched On is the AI fluency part of the Sparkle and AI promise of Glittersphere, my community for unapologetic, ambitious women. Glittersphere is the space to build visibility, AI fluency and connection. Together is how we achieve financial and time freedom.
I can’t wait to be able to kick-back on a beach, Pina Colada in hand!

I am learning alongside you, properly. I am not sitting above this telling you what is true. This weekend I was wrestling Claude into doing the thing I wanted, clocking the latest changes, creating systems and sketching the first three weeks of the 30-day challenge I am running.

The technology never sits still. The community is what makes that survivable.

So, what happens next

First, I am handing you my Tools Handbag.
I am not often one to share my handbag with anyone (the lipstick collection alone is a thing of beauty), but this one feels important.

220 tools tested. 28 selected. I am still swapping them, adding to them, occasionally binning them as new things turn up. It is a great place to start. Wispr alone has already transformed lives, I am not exaggerating. The handbag is available when you subscribe (which is free for now). For those who have already subscribed to my Substack (thank you) - you will find the link in ‘chat’!

Second, the free 30-Day AI Confidence Challenge.
Kicks off Thursday 20 May. One specific thing a day, for 30 days. Built for building a habit, not impressing the gilet brigade. Free to join at nishma.co/30daychallenge

Third, the workshops, the online training, the cohorts.
Because what I keep learning is that it is so much easier (and more fun) to learn alongside each other than alone. Details on those coming soon.

One last one last thing

Absolutely no gatekeeping here.

If this lands for you, send it on. To the friend who’s knackered and needs help. The friend who keeps saying she doesn’t know which AI tool to try first. To the colleague who is one prompt away from a properly different week. To the woman in your group chat who will lose her mind over the time she can have back or the work she can create.

The cognitive power and extension is what excites me the most about AI, as well as the time-save!

Forward this email. Share the post. Tag her in the comments.

Let’s make Switched On the space for all of us.

This time, we hold the pen/mouse.

For 25 years the internet rewarded scale, budget and backlinks. Women, small businesses and personal brands were structurally disadvantaged from the start.

This shift is not like that one. It cares about clarity over scale, specificity over reach, the brain you bring, not the budget you can afford.
It is the most under-priced equaliser I have come across in years.

If you have ever felt like the rooms got smaller as the technology got bigger, I am telling you, hand on heart, this is the room.
We are the people. Now is the moment.

It’s time, ladies. It’s time.

Nishma x

Powered by glitter. Opinions all mine.