A few days ago, I came across a post online. It was bold, ambitious, and to some, even charming. A woman, known mostly for her stint in pageants and a few controversies, announced her desire to run for mayor. Her caption was filled with buzzwords, bold promises, and the kind of dreamy nostalgia that social media eats up.
And then she said she wasn’t serious. That it was just a post. That people were taking it too far.
But here’s the thing about words: once you release them, you don’t get to control how far they travel, or how deeply they cut. You post something bold, maybe absurd, maybe provocative, and watch it stir people up. When it does, you brush it off with, “Relax, it’s not that deep.”
But it is that deep. You can’t drop a match in a dry forest and say, “Well, I didn’t mean to start a fire.”
Words matter. Influence matters. Whether you admit it or not, there are people, young girls especially, who are watching, taking notes, and learning what ambition looks like by observing how adults play pretend with power.
When you have influence, even a little, what you say echoes beyond your intention. That’s the trade-off. That’s the responsibility that comes with a platform. And if you’re not ready to carry that weight, then maybe you’re not ready to speak so loudly.
Why are we so quick to treat serious things like props? Leadership, governance, public service, these aren’t costumes you wear for content. They aren’t punchlines. They’re sacred responsibilities.
This is a generation hungry for relevance, for virality, for shock value. And somewhere in that hunger, we’ve confused clout with calling. But just because people are watching doesn’t mean you’re ready to lead.
And no, this isn’t just about her. This is about all of us, what we celebrate, what we share, what we excuse, and what we laugh off even when it deserves more reverence. Somewhere along the way, intentionality got replaced by impulsivity. Everything that provokes a reaction becomes content, even if it costs our dignity, our integrity, or our future.
The packaging sells more than the purpose. And we, the audience, are too quick to buy.
I’ve turned that post over in my head, not because I’m threatened by women who aspire to lead. I’m not threatened by her ambition. In fact, I pray more women rise.
Women like Indira Gandhi, who led through war and crisis. Like Amelia Earhart, who flew into uncharted skies because she believed women could. Like Oprah Winfrey, who rose from trauma and poverty to change millions of lives. In the Philippines, I look up to Miriam Defensor Santiago’s fire, Leni Robredo’s humble leadership and relentless work, Kara David’s dedication to the margins, Jessica Soho’s fearless journalism.
They ground me. They remind me that I still have much to become. That having a voice is not enough, you must have a vow. A vow to serve. A vow to build. A vow to leave people better than you found them.
Let me be clearer; the world does not need another pretty face. We are not lacking in that department. There is no shortage of beauty on our feeds. What we do need, desperately, are women with backbone, women with depth, women who carry burdens, not just branding.
We need women who don’t just post about change, but show up for it. Women who have gone to the trenches, walked the muddy roads, visited the far-flung schools in the mountains, where children walk for hours under the sun or in the rain just to learn their ABCs. Women who have sat with grieving mothers who cry just to put rice on the table. Women who’ve seen poverty not through statistics, but through tears.
If you’ve never gone there, never seen it, smelled it, or felt it, then maybe you’re not ready to talk about leadership. Because real leadership is born in broken places. It begins in sweat, in service, and in sacrifice. It starts when you say yes to the uncomfortable, when you willingly step out of your comfort zone to build something that costs you your old life, and turn that calling into a mission that changes other people’s lives for the better.
Nowadays, everybody wants a platform, but very few want the pain that comes with true service. People chase likes like they’re votes. We reward charisma but rarely check for character. One viral post and suddenly, everyone’s calling themselves a changemaker.
But visibility is not vision. And a microphone in the wrong hands isn’t empowerment, it’s just noise. Sure, bad publicity is still publicity. And yes, some posts are written precisely to provoke. People know how to stir just enough controversy to stay relevant. But relevance without responsibility is a dead end. The noise eventually collapses under the weight of its own emptiness.
Leadership isn’t about being noticed. It’s about being needed, and showing up anyway, even when no one notices.
God doesn’t anoint influencers. He anoints servants. He doesn’t elevate those who shout the loudest, but those who kneel the lowest.
Leadership, real, kingdom leadership, begins in secret places. In quiet faithfulness. In difficult choices. In showing up when no one’s clapping. So, when someone says they want to lead, I don’t look at their speech. I look at their track record.
I’m going to stress this once again: if you’re using your influence just to stir the pot, you’re not leading, you’re distracting. And the last thing this generation needs is more noise pretending to be direction.
And I’m not here to discredit her achievements, but as someone genuinely curious, I think it’s fair to ask:
• What were her tangible contributions beyond winning a crown?
• What legacy did she leave during her reign?
• What causes did she genuinely and consistently champion?
• Did she initiate, support, or sustain any outreach programs?
• Was she affiliated with NGOs or community projects that continued after her term?
• Did she ever use her platform to elevate causes bigger than herself?
Because if the only basis is exposure, then sure, bad publicity still works. But if the conversation is about legacy, impact, and purpose, that’s a completely different discussion.
We need people who mean what they say, who stand for what they believe in, and who don’t need to go viral to feel valuable. We don’t need another personality with no platform beyond aesthetics. We need women and men with grit, depth, and devotion. We need leaders who break ground, not chase trends. We need people whose lives are louder than their posts.
People who shift a room not because of how they look, but because of what they carry: wisdom, vision, compassion, truth.
Because leadership isn’t a title, it’s a testimony. It’s not claimed in captions; it’s proven in the trenches. And if your foundation is built on clout and aesthetics, it will crumble when life gets real. Storms don’t care how pretty you are. Real leaders? They show up. They serve. They sacrifice. They don’t wait for a stage, they move in purpose, even in silence.
This world doesn’t need another pretty face. We’re full of those. What we need are women bold enough to go to the hard places, love the unseen, and lead with fire and faith. Women who go to the mountains, walk with the forgotten, fight for the unseen, and lead not for attention, but for transformation.
So, next time, before you post about power, make sure you’ve tasted pain. Before you speak of leadership, make sure you’ve served. And before you chase influence, be sure you’re anchored in purpose.
Stop chasing the spotlight. Start chasing substance. Let your voice be backed by values. Let your influence be rooted in integrity. Let your life be proof of your purpose. Be more than a pretty face. Be the fire. Be the soil. Be the one who breaks the ground, so that others can rise
