Chameleons Always Win.

This one’s a bit weird, I’ll admit. But stay with me.

And yes, we’re thinking of the same green-coloured, scaly gecko that lurks in the wild, camouflaging itself to its surroundings—a Chameleon.

You likely haven’t heard of one, never mind seen one, since your elementary friend’s 8th-grade birthday party.

“Josh, what’s the relevance?” you probably ask yourself.

See, chameleons are unique.

And I don’t say that lightly.

As a writer, someone who’s constantly behind-the-scenes, practising my improv skills as I arrive at the office and throw on my various client masks, moulding myself to fit their online persona.

I’ve realised something.

I, too, am a chameleon.

As the day progresses, flipping from one profile to another, switching up my whole personality and having numerous identity crises on daily.

I’ve realised that I, too, must possess this same transformative ability, somewhat envious of chameleons.

Realised that my superpower is to blend in as opposed to standing out.

Each client I work with is a new branch, a different leaf, and I am tasked to adjust my colours accordingly.

The field of writing in which we operate is less about putting words on paper and more about becoming invisible within someone else's voice, mastering their tone, rhythm, and intentions until it feels like it was theirs all along.

On the flip side, a chameleon transforms out of a basic need for survival.

For me, a mere necessity to thrive in my craft. I must slip into my clients’ shoes, feel the world through their eyes, and articulate that in words.

The transformation is subtle, not forced, like water taking the shape of its container. The better I can "disappear" into their voice, the more authentic the message becomes.

Think of it as dancing with different partners, each with their rhythm.

Some prefer a quick step, others a slow waltz. But the key is to match their pace, let them lead, and guide them without stepping on their toes.

To be a chameleon is to master empathy and observation.

I simply adjust, adapt, and wait for the next moment to show my true hues.

In this line of work, to “chameleonise” is about watching, learning, and adapting.

It’s about knowing when to speak up and when to step back.

The art of becoming.

The art of fluidity.

And the art of words bending into something that feels entirely, beautifully, not mine.

Snapped this in the city—rainy, moody, and somehow still vibey. Guess even in the rain, the lights know how to show up.

Enjoy, and I’ll catch you next Thursday.

Best moves,
Josh