There is a cost to being different. Trust me, I’ve paid it in full, with interest.

When I walked into Apple Music as the Head of Global Consumer Marketing, I didn’t blend in. My hair was big. My personality was bigger. My wardrobe didn’t whisper “tech exec.” 

Once, BuzzFeed called me “the coolest person to ever go onstage at an Apple event.” Flattery aside, it taught me that being different draws attention, but it also draws fire. People will celebrate you publicly, only to turn around and question your celebration. They’ll call you bold until your boldness makes them uncomfortable.

Still, I wouldn’t change a thing. Because while being different is expensive, it is worth every penny.

Many of us spend our professional lives trying to fit into systems that were never built for us. We dilute our ideas to make others comfortable, we hand over control of our reputations to colleagues, bosses, the “industry.” While it may be easier in the short term to go with the flow, it is a losing strategy in the long term. 

Here’s what I mean.

The long-term cost of being different 

Being different comes with a price tag that compounds over time. It’s the pay gap that never quite closes, the promotion ceiling you can’t break through, and the work you drive forward that somehow earns applause for someone else. When the credit doesn’t follow the contribution, neither do the accolades, the awards, or the visibility that turn a career into a platform. And those things matter because they’re what lead to the next chapter: the book deal, the speaking circuit, the “industry expert” label that gives you freedom and leverage later on. 

So the long-term cost of being different isn’t just about what you’re paid today; it’s about the opportunities you’re quietly denied tomorrow.

The long-term benefit of being unapologetically yourself is that you stop waiting for permission to matter. There’s a deep wellness in that—authenticity, pride, the quiet confidence that comes from knowing you didn’t shrink to fit someone else’s idea of success. But today, it’s more than personal fulfillment; it’s strategy. With social media, podcasts, and personal platforms, you don’t have to wait for a magazine feature or a “Top 100” list to validate your brilliance; you can build the proof yourself, in public. 

The real power is in self-validation: advocating for your ideas, your work, your voice, until your reputation carries its own weight. That’s exactly how the bets pay off over time. Those choices, rooted in conviction and visibility, stack up. Suddenly, the story you were brave enough to tell about yourself back then becomes the reason you’re thriving in the present.

Owning your difference 

Somewhere along the way, we decided that using “I” was arrogant. That saying “I did this” or “I built that” was somehow selfish. I don’t mind being called “self-centered” because who else am I supposed to center? It’s not arrogance to own your achievements; it’s accountability.  

That being said, it’s also important to form your own circle of cheerleaders. Not the polite kind who clap quietly from the sidelines, but the kind who will stand on tables and shout your name. In business, we often talk about a “personal board of directors.” I love that idea, but I think we should go further. Build your hype team. The people who know your wins and aren’t afraid to broadcast them. Because the truth is, no one succeeds alone. You have to give others the script if you want them to sing your song.

Now, I know what some of you are thinking: “Boz, isn’t self-promotion risky?” Sure, if you do it poorly. But if you do it authentically—if you’re promoting what’s real, what you’ve earned—then it’s not arrogance, it’s clarity.

Self-promotion isn’t just about visibility; it’s about trust. When you actively tell your own story, you become a credible source, an authentic practitioner rather than a theorist. People believe in those who live what they preach. When you establish yourself as an expert in your field, you not only build your personal brand–you add tremendous value to the organizations and brands associated with you.

I’ve seen this firsthand throughout my career. During my time at Pepsi, as the Head of Music and Entertainment Marketing, I deliberately put myself out there, sharing my wins and celebrating the innovative work my team and I were doing. That self-promotion wasn’t about ego; it was about control. Because of that visibility, Billboard named me one of the top women in music. And when Beats Music (soon to become Apple Music) went searching for a head of marketing, I wasn’t a hidden gem waiting to be discovered. I was the obvious choice, because I had already proven I was among the best in innovative, unconventional marketing, able to bend the rules in a traditional corporate structure just enough to create magic without breaking the system. 

Had I played it safe or stayed quiet at Pepsi and Apple, I might never have been considered for future C-suite roles at Uber, Endeavor, and Netflix. My willingness to promote my work and to stand in my difference made me visible. It made me trusted.

That visibility opened doors I never imagined. In my first episode of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, I shared my career highlights—not out of vanity, but to show who I am and how hard I’ve worked. This led to the opportunity for me to co-host NBC’s On Brand with Jimmy Fallon. It was a risky, untested show that required more than on-camera presence. It demanded real marketing expertise. My self-promotion built that bridge.

That’s why I always say: control your narrative, or someone else will.

The real cost, and reward, of being different 

Not everyone will cheer you on. The more visible you become, the more others project their insecurities onto your confidence. They may call you “too much,” “too loud,” or “too ambitious.” I’ve heard it all. And every time, I’m reminded: that’s exactly what got me here.

Being different is costly. It can be lonely. It can be exhausting. But it also gives you something invaluable: ownership. When you stand in your difference and tell your story before someone else does, you gain control over the narrative. 

So, if you’re reading this and wondering when to start taking credit for your own magic, the answer is simple: right now. Not six months from now. Not after your next promotion. Not after someone gives you permission.

Because here’s the truth: nobody’s coming to save your reputation. If you hand that power to someone else, don’t be surprised when they fumble it.

Being different comes with a cost. But conformity? That’s even more expensive—and it pays no dividends.