You probably know someone who is excellent at something and unknown for it.

The woman who has run the same cafe for eleven years. The man who took over his father’s shop and quietly made it better.

The physio half the neighbourhood swears by, whose Instagram has 40 followers and a photo of a plant.

They are not bad at what they do. They are busy doing it. Being good at something and being known for it are two different jobs, and almost nobody has time for both.

Meanwhile the internet fills up with people who chose the second job.

Visibility used to be what you got for being excellent. Now it’s a skill of its own, and anyone can practise it, including people with nothing behind them. So the good stories stay where they started: behind the counter, in the back of the shop, in the head of the person who never mentions it.

I’m a journalist.
I was trained to get people to say the thing they’d never write down, and then decide what the story actually is. I spent 14 years doing that for brands, most recently for a Belgian fashion group.
What I do isn’t posting. It’s finding the story that was already there.

Nobody Knows It Yet is a season of work in Ghent. Four short videos a month, enough to test what works and then keep doing it. One condition: someone has to be on camera.

I’m the first case, by the way. I’m packing a life into boxes, deciding what comes with me and what doesn’t, and starting a business in a country that isn’t mine, with a camera running. It seemed unfair to ask anyone else to do something I hadn’t done first.