I flew across the country for a 2-day conference and skipped Day 2. Here’s why.
📌 The Point:
From brand booths to echoey panels, my third CultureCon made me realize I’ve outgrown conferences built on vibes alone
credit: Shane Miller
This was my third CultureCon — my first in Brooklyn back in 2022, my second in L.A. in 2023, and this time, my return to Brooklyn for 2025. I’ve been to enough conferences to know when I’ve outgrown the format — but this time, the realization hit different.
Let me start here: my reflections aren’t a takedown. They’re a constructive critique of a space I genuinely admire. Imani Ellis, the founder and CEO of The Creative Collective NYC and CultureCon, has built something monumental — a home base for Black and Brown creatives to gather, learn, and see each other in all our multifaceted glory. I’ve watched the platform expand from a one-day affair into a national tour and a two-day, 100-panel cultural juggernaut.
But growth doesn’t always mean evolution.
The corporate creep
CultureCon 2025 was presented by Chase Ink, complete with a “Small Business Market” and café. Brand partnerships are part of the game — I get that. You can’t bring Michelle Obama, Issa Rae, and Tracee Ellis Ross-level lineups to the stage without corporate backing.
But here’s the thing: in earlier years, those sponsorships blended into the event’s DNA. Brand activations felt aligned — playful, culturally resonant, visually intentional. They didn’t just advertise to us; they spoke our language.
This year? The activations felt sterile. Less Black creative celebration, more corporate expo. When I walked away from the Chase Ink café with a mediocre matcha, it didn’t feel like a CultureCon experience. It felt like a sponsored ad break.
I’m not knocking the partnerships. I’m asking for intentionality. If you’re going to commodify community, at least do it creatively. Trick me a little. Give me storytelling, not signage.
The format problem
CultureCon has always marketed itself as “the premier conference for creators of color.” But I’ve started asking myself what that really means, and moreover, what value that promise delivers once you’re on-site.
The setup features two primary stages — the Creator Stage and the Culture Stage — with a lineup of back-to-back panels and fireside chats. Thousands of people cycle through, housed inside cavernous warehouses with all the charm (and acoustics) of an airplane hangar.
The mics are loud. The live captions are helpful. The energy is high. But the intimacy? Gone.
When conversations are capped at 25 minutes, many without Q&A or structured opportunities to engage with the speakers afterward, it’s hard to create anything substantive.
I was especially looking forward to seeing Scott Evans, whose revival of the talk-show format I just wrote about. His panel was great — thoughtful, funny, on-brand — but when it ended, he and his co-panelists were whisked off to the “talent alley.” A few fans managed to say hi, but there was no mechanism for meet-and-greets, no organized way to connect.
If this is “the conference for creators,” where’s the creation happening? Where’s the dialogue?
Instagram: @culturecon
The influencer blur
Maybe my biggest critique — and the one that made me ultimately skip Day 2 — is that CultureCon, like much of the digital landscape, blurs the line between creators and influencers.
I’m not talking semantics. I believe there are true differentiators worth addressing.
Creators build bodies of work. They shape ideas into products, content ecosystems, or platforms. Influencers, on the other hand, often build visibility, cultivating communities and credibility through consistent presence and personality. Both are valid forms of labor, and there’s certainly plenty of crossover, but they require different conversations, resources, and support systems.
When conferences conflate the two, they dilute both.
Because building a body of work demands strategy, legal protection, and depth of field — not just consistency or resonance in a moment. It demands conversations about ownership, intellectual property, and the longevity of Black creativity in an age of algorithmic exploitation.
And yet, the panels often hover around “authenticity” and “believing in yourself.” That’s not enough.
I don’t want to just feel inspired when I leave. I want to leave with insider knowledge, valuable connections, and action items.
The price of participation
Between airfare, hotel, rideshares, meals, and tickets, I spent north of $3,000 to attend. That’s a lot of money to walk away feeling under-stimulated — especially when I think about what that same investment could do for a small creative business, or even a micro-grant to another artist.
And that’s the deeper question: what’s the return on investment for the average attendee?
If the value is inspiration, say that. Inspiration is powerful — it’s fueled many of my biggest career pivots. But when events promise “resources and support for creators to thrive,” then deliver photo-ops, parties, and brand booths, we have to name that mismatch.
The bigger reflection
CultureCon 2025 did introduce new initiatives like the Founder Summit, intended to provide financial literacy, business resources, and funding access for creative entrepreneurs. It’s a step in the right direction. But as an attendee, I barely saw evidence of it on-site — maybe it was tucked away, maybe I missed it in the sensory overload. Either way, that’s a signal that the experience could use tightening.
At its best, CultureCon is a beacon. It reminds us that Black creativity is the culture and deserves to be celebrated on the grandest stages.
But celebration without depth becomes spectacle. And spectacle without access becomes exclusion.
If the next evolution of the creator economy is about sustainability, then our gatherings — our culture conferences — have to move past the optics of community and back into its essence: connection, creation, and contribution.
Final thought
I still have immense respect for what Imani Ellis and her team have built. Creating something of this scale for our community is no small feat. But as a creative professional, I’m no longer satisfied with inspiration alone.
I want rigor. I want structure. I want the conversations that help us protect what we’re building and deepen our collective impact.
Until then, I might be done flying across the country for vibes.
Sources:
“Fueling Creativity And Business: CultureCon Joins Forces With Chase Ink” (Forbes)
Briaan L. Barron is a media and cultural studies writer, brand architect, and CEO of Heye Frequency, a creator-led marketing agency. Based in Seattle, she has led marketing efforts for a broad spectrum of brands, from Amazon to the region’s most recognized cultural nonprofits. A graduate of Sarah Lawrence College and grad school dropout of Boston University’s MFA program in Film & Television Studies, Briaan’s work centers on liberating overlooked voices from personal and systemic barriers to true autonomy.
