Call it a soft launch of my loudest thoughts—the ones I’ve rehearsed in my head, made up fake scenarios about, dropped in group chats with my besties, and the ones sitting in my TikTok drafts. Messy? Maybe. Necessary? Absolutely. Because my Notes app is starting to judge me.
I’m not your usual boarding school nepo baby whose ‘worst’ life experience was flying first class and not private (tbh, good for you because I wish), but I’m what Frank Ocean calls ‘those poor un-American girls,’ born in Kazakhstan, raised on three different continents by a stiletto-wearing, PhD-professor Eastern European mother who made me a baddie just like she is.
I’ve played a lot of characters—influencer (aka funniest person on the internet & an unpaid content factory), model, a micro-celebrity. Basically, LinkedIn if it had a breakdown and started oversharing. But this voice? This is my unfiltered inner voice (that haunts me just like the rest) that got tired of waiting to be ‘on brand.’
No Caller ID is where I’ll spill the stuff that never makes it out the drafts. A place for—as they call me—’crazy and unhinged’ Sonya to reveal another side of her that nobody has gotten to see or feel. It’s like getting a 3AM call from your crazy ex that you dated a decade ago, crying and begging you to come back.
This is for the girlies, the gays, the ghosted, the emotionally overcooked, and everyone who’s mastered the art of pretending not to care while lowkey spiraling.
No Caller ID is calling. You picking up?
Sonya xx
