“Be so good they can’t ignore you.”
—Steve Martin

Learn how to beat the algorithm in 2025 using Steve Martin’s strategy: be so good they can’t ignore you. This piece explores content excellence, attention psychology, and proven methods to grow your audience organically.

The Algorithm Blame Game

In 2025, there may be no phrase more frequently uttered—or more misunderstood—than “the algorithm is broken.” It’s become the standard explanation for every piece of underperforming content, every ignored post, every flatlined reach curve. Creators, consultants, entrepreneurs, and knowledge workers alike pour their best work into the digital void and walk away demoralized, convinced that the system is rigged or that visibility now belongs exclusively to the loud, the early, or the lucky.

But what if it’s not really the algorithm? What if, beneath all the frustration, it’s functioning exactly as designed—and what if the real problem is something much harder to admit?

What if the work just isn’t excellent enough to rise?

This is where Steve Martin’s famous line, often quoted and rarely understood, lands with a kind of brutal, clarifying force. Asked once about the key to his success, he said simply: “Be so good they can’t ignore you.”

It’s not a tagline. It’s not a productivity hack. It’s not even encouragement. It’s a blueprint. And for those paying attention, it remains the clearest strategy for growth in a world where attention is scarce, platforms are crowded, and shortcuts are vanishing.

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The Algorithm Isn’t Your Enemy. It’s Just a Mirror.

The mistake many people make is treating “the algorithm” like a sentient force—something that makes decisions about what to show and what to bury based on hidden biases or flawed code.

But the truth is more mechanical—and more difficult to escape:

Algorithms are nothing more than feedback loops fueled by human behavior.

They reward what people reward. They amplify what people choose to engage with.

When we talk about “the algorithm,” what we really mean is people. If your audience doesn’t engage—doesn’t click, read, share, or save—then the algorithm has no reason to promote your work.

You could replace the word “algorithm” with “audience” in almost every complaint and it would still be accurate. Instead of asking, “Why won’t the algorithm boost my content?” the real question is, “Why isn’t my audience responding enough to trigger the system?”

The algorithm isn’t the gatekeeper. Your audience is. And they’re only ever interested in one thing: excellence.

So when we say, “the algorithm isn’t showing my work,” we’re not describing a failure of technology. We’re describing a lack of traction with actual human beings. That’s not an easy thing to hear. But it’s honest.

And in that honesty, there’s freedom—because it means the path forward isn’t based on gaming the system. It’s based on doing work that resonates so deeply that the system has no choice but to pay attention.

Steve Martin wasn’t suggesting you chase perfection. He was describing the physics of cultural attention. Do something that’s so clear, so smart, so fresh—or so masterful—that people simply can’t look away. That’s the work that spreads. Not because it’s lucky, and not because it’s early, but because it earns its reach.

Cal Newport, the computer science professor and author of So Good They Can’t Ignore You, took this same principle and turned it into a full-blown argument against the modern obsession with passion. Newport’s core thesis is simple but deeply disruptive: passion is not the cause of mastery—it’s the result. People don’t succeed because they follow their bliss. They succeed because they become excellent at something valuable. And that excellence leads to autonomy, recognition, and, eventually, fulfillment.

In other words, Newport translated Martin’s creative advice into a career framework for the knowledge economy. He argued that rare and valuable skills are the real currency of meaningful work—not visibility, not inspiration, not vibes. And the only way to build those rare and valuable skills? Deep, focused, sustained effort—what Newport calls “deliberate practice.”

Psychological research supports this view. Anders Ericsson, whose work on expertise informed much of Newport’s book, demonstrated that true mastery is not the product of innate talent, but of consistent, intentional practice—often over a decade or more. What separates high achievers from everyone else isn’t brilliance; it’s sustained focus. In one of the most cited studies in performance psychology, Ericsson and colleagues showed that elite violinists practiced more deliberately, for longer periods, than even their talented peers. Their success wasn’t algorithmic. It was behavioral.

The takeaway is clear: the algorithm doesn’t need to be outsmarted. It needs to be outworked. And outworking it requires commitment to craft, not content.

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Steve Martin Didn’t Hack the System—He Outperformed It

Before he was Steve Martin, comedy rockstar, he was Steve Martin, niche oddball. His early routines were strange, abstract, and structurally alienating. He broke the rules of joke-telling. There were no traditional setups. No punchlines. Just surreal, disjointed, sometimes cringey bits that left most audiences puzzled. For years, they didn’t laugh. They didn’t clap. Many didn’t even stay.

But Martin didn’t pivot to appease the crowd. He doubled down on craft. He honed the weirdness. He tightened the timing. He kept going—not to go viral, not to trend, but to become undeniable. And eventually, he did.

Audiences started leaning in. Friends brought friends. Suddenly, what once confused people now mesmerized them. He hadn’t changed the formula to make it easier to digest—he had elevated it to the point where people had to pay attention.

He didn’t get famous because he found the right audience. He became famous because he became the kind of performer the audience couldn’t ignore.

This isn’t a story about comedy. It’s a parable for every creator operating in a system that seems indifferent to their work. You don’t need to go viral. You need to become irreplaceable. You need to build things so well crafted, so resonant, so compelling, that people have no choice but to engage.

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The Real Reason Most Content Fails

We are drowning in content. Every second, the internet is flooded with tweets, reels, blog posts, carousels, and email blasts. Much of it is technically competent. Some of it is even interesting. But very little of it is truly excellent.

Why?

Because excellence takes time. It takes attention. It requires restraint and precision and ruthless self-editing. It demands that you not just publish something—but that you say something. And most people, in their rush to stay visible, skip this part.

This isn’t just opinion—it’s backed by research. According to a 2021 study from the Content Marketing Institute, 87% of high-performing marketers reported that their content strategy focused on “quality over quantity”—a sharp contrast to underperforming brands who reported publishing more often but with lower editorial standards. In other words: more doesn’t equal better. Better equals better.

Content strategist Erika Hall argues that clarity and usefulness are the real cornerstones of traction. In her work on information design and content architecture, Hall emphasizes that people don’t engage with content because it’s frequent—they engage because it’s meaningful. That means saying something original, helpful, or emotionally resonant. Not just showing up, but showing up prepared.

Neuroscience also offers insight here. Studies on attention and memory—such as those conducted by Daniel Kahneman and others—have shown that our brains prioritize and retain content that creates emotional salience or cognitive dissonance. In other words, we remember what surprises us, challenges us, or speaks directly to our internal frameworks. Forgettable content is processed and discarded. Memorable content sticks because it interrupts the pattern.

And I’ve seen this play out personally. For a long time, I found myself making excuses. If a piece didn’t land, I’d blame the algorithm. I’d say the platform was off that day, or that the headline didn’t hit the right timing window. It was easy to pretend that quality wasn’t the issue. But deep down, I knew better.

Then one week, I stopped making excuses. I took a draft that was “good enough” and gutted it. I rewrote every section. I tightened the argument. I layered in real research. I slowed down and focused on building something worth someone’s time.

When I published it, the reaction was immediate—and unmistakable. My subscriber base more than doubled that week. People shared it. Commented. Quoted lines back to me. It didn’t go viral, but it moved. And it moved because, for once, the work was genuinely undeniable.

That week changed how I saw everything. I realized the algorithm wasn’t the gatekeeper. I was. My shortcuts, my impatience, my comfort with “almost good enough”—those were the real blockers. Once I committed to building work that deserved attention, the system finally responded.

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You Don’t Need to Game the System. You Need to Build for It.

Here’s the good news: The system still works—for the right kind of work.

Algorithms still reward the same things people reward:

• Clarity
• Depth
• Usefulness
• Surprise
• Emotional resonance

If your article teaches something new—if it makes people think, if it makes people feel, if it makes them nod, highlight, save, or share—it will get amplified. Maybe not instantly, and maybe not at scale. But eventually. Because platforms don’t want more content. They want compelling content. Content that earns attention because it holds attention.

You don’t need to post every day. You don’t need to chase every new tactic. You don’t need to pivot your positioning for the fifteenth time this year.

You need to be so good they can’t ignore you.

Not because you’re loud. Not because you’re early. But because what you made actually deserved attention.

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Final Word: Excellence Is the Only Algorithm That Never Changes

You can’t blame your way into traction. You can’t complain your way into growth. You can’t wish your way into attention.

But you can work your way into resonance. You can outlast trends. You can sharpen your craft to the point that your name, your work, your ideas become impossible to ignore.

That’s what Steve Martin was saying. Not “be clever.” Not “go viral.” But: Become unmissable. Become too insightful, too funny, too useful, too smart, too unforgettable to scroll past.

In a world trained to forget, make something people remember.

That’s not a gimmick. That’s not a marketing strategy. That’s the job.

And it’s still the best way—maybe the only way—to beat the algorithm.