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My name is Andrew Zilchman, and I am so fucking tired of being Adrian Zayne.

The voice. The charm. The polished charisma. I’ve worn it like a suit for ten years, and it still doesn’t fit.

Adrian Zayne gets the followers. Adrian Zayne gets the girls — or at least teaches guys how to pretend they do. He sells confidence in bulk. Certainty by the byte. Charisma on subscription. And if you say it all with enough balls? People believe you.

But lately, I’m not just tired of being Adrian Zayne. I’m tired of Adrian Zayne, period. Of the smugness. The shortcuts. The certainty. And maybe—just maybe—so is everyone else. Maybe the algorithm’s finally bored of six-packs and soundbites. Maybe people want something real.

Or maybe I’m just projecting.

My phone buzzes. I don’t check it. I know the rhythm by now: first the followers, then the backlash, then the spin.

I close my laptop. The monologue can wait. I’ve already said everything a man like me is supposed to say. The cold plunge, the boundary speech, the little sermon about discipline over desire. I could do it in my sleep. Sometimes I think I have.

Buzz. Buzz.

It’s a message from Tyler, my assistant.

TYLER :

You’re trending under #Zetamale hashtag. Currently at 2.7 million views and climbing. Average watch time: 92%. Engagement’s through the roof— stitches, duets, reaction takes.

ME:

What platforms?

TYLER :

You’re being quoted on feminist TikTok and misquoted on Twitter. Instagram’s recycling your old clips with clown emojis. We’re entering meme territory. And yes, I checked. Momentum's organic, not bot-driven.

ME:

Where did it start?

TYLER :

There is this blogger, Emily Parrish. Hosts a podcast called Let Me Finish. Started four months ago, about 90k followers as of today. High engagement, mostly women 25–40. Liberal vibes.

ME:

send me a link

Tyler sends it instantly. No caption.

So, Emily Parrish. I hit play.

There she is.

Too hot for a feminist.

Barbie face, Barbie proportions—just with long dark hair instead of the regular blonde.

Tank top situation: strategic. Lighting: suspiciously flattering.

She looks like a skincare subscription ad that wants to cancel you.

Emily leans into the mic .

“What separates our Zeta specimen from the rest of the pack? Alphas chase. Sigmas retreat. Zetas sell retreats about not chasing.”

Oh, we’re doing this.

I keep watching.

“Alphas need the throne. Sigmas need the cave. Zetas need the camera.”

This isn’t just a rant. It’s performance. It’s crafted. Every punchline lands like it’s been A/B tested on her group chat. And I respect the hustle.

I pause the reel on her mid-eye-roll. Zoom in. She's annoyingly photogenic, even when she’s calling me emotionally unemployed.

Tyler pings again.

TYLER:

You’ve been invited to BuzzBattle. You and her. Live panel. Audience questions. No script. Broadcast in thirty countries. You in?

I stare at the message for a second.

BuzzBattle with the Zeta Slayer. Live, no script?

Challenge accepted, hottie.

ME:

Yep. I’m in. Let’s give them a show.