The Day Marvin Decided to Become an Influencer
Part 3
Marvin was still staring at the email from the micro tea company as if he had just won a ticket to Hollywood.
“Dear Mr. K., we find your videos refreshingly authentic and could imagine a cooperation.”
The mere word “cooperation” made his heart do a backflip. He took a screenshot and sent it to Tom.
Tom replied immediately:
“Congrats, Influencer-Boy. Ask them if they’ll buy you a new camera before you drown it in tea again.”
Marvin decided to act professional. So he asked his AI:
“Write a friendly but casual reply to a collaboration request, as if I’m a slightly overwhelmed but likable micro-influencer.”
The AI delivered within seconds. The email began:
“It is an honor to start a tea revolution with you.”
Marvin nodded and thought: “Yep. That’s exactly what people who know what they’re doing say.”
He sent the mail, resisted the urge to print it and frame it, and waited. And he realized that waiting in influencer life was just as annoying as waiting in office life.
Half a day later, the reply arrived: The company wanted to send a small package and asked him to make an “authentic review.” No script, no guidelines — just him, tea, and his camera.
“So… basically what always happens anyway,” Marvin muttered.
A few days later a box appeared at his door. Tom happened to be there when he opened it.
“Bro, this is the moment,” Tom said. “Your official entry into the league of people who hold tea in front of a plant for marketing.”
Marvin ignored the comment and ceremoniously pulled out three nicely designed tea tins and a handwritten card:
“We look forward to your honest feedback. Stay wonderfully real.”
“Okay,” Marvin said. “Honest I can do.”
He set up his filming area in the living room. This time he secured the camera with a stack of books and a rubber band.
“I’m learning,” he whispered proudly.
The AI helped him draft a script. On his screen it read:
“Hey guys, today I’m trying the new matcha blend from…”
Marvin skimmed the text, deleted half of it and thought: “If they want authenticity, they get my kind of authenticity.”
He hit record.
“Hey guys,” he began, “you know my legendary matcha explosion. Today we try it… civilized.”
He took a deep breath, held the tea tin to the camera dramatically and said:
“Smells like my life might actually get organized today.”
He even managed to scoop the powder neatly into the bowl.
“See? No powder tsunami, no green cloud…”
At that moment he tripped over his own tripod. The camera shook, the focus jumped to his chaotic bookshelf and the mic captured a clear, panicked “Aaaaaaah!”
The remarkable part: The tea didn’t spill. Nothing flew.
“Okay,” Marvin puffed as he straightened the camera. “What I was saying: I’ve grown as a person.”
He took a sip, looked seriously into the camera and said:
“Guys, I don’t know if I got more mature or if this tea is just mature for me, but… this tastes like: ‘I don’t have my life together, but this sip brings me one step closer.’”
He finished the video, cut out some awkward pauses but kept the near-fall — because the AI reminded him that his audience loved it.
That evening he uploaded the reel:
“From matcha chaos to semi-controlled tea existential crisis. #ad #notad #idk”
The reactions came quickly:
Comments like:
“This is the most honest ad I’ve ever seen.”
“I want that tea. And your chair. And your gravity-defying cup technology.”
“Influencers who admit they don’t have their life together = instant follow.”
The tea company wrote him the next morning:
“We laughed until we cried. Sales have jumped already today. If you want, we can extend the cooperation.”
Marvin sat on his couch, staring at the message, feeling a mix of joy, panic and caffeine.
Tom wrote afterward:
“Congrats. You’re officially ‘that tea guy who almost falls over.’”
For the first time, Marvin felt like he had created something of his own. Not perfect, not planned — but real enough that strangers on the internet related to it.
That evening he opened his notes app. The AI had already generated a new suggestion:
“10 ideas for your next content series: ‘I try to optimize my life and only slightly fail.’”
Marvin grinned. Maybe this wasn’t just a phase. Maybe you could actually turn light chaos into a concept.
He looked into his phone camera, reflexively hit record and said:
“Okay internet, you apparently want more. Your favorite chaos-potato is trying to develop a real content strategy now… what could possibly go wrong?”