Business F!ck Ups I’ve Made (So You Don’t Have To)

If someone tells you they’ve never truly cooked something in their business, they’re either lying, or their business is a week old. Even then, I'd proceed with caution.

This year marks ten years behind the keyboard in the beauty industry, five of those years solo. Which means the fuck-ups aren’t theoretical — they cost me. In real money. In real time. In real “what's the going rate for 30-something-year-old mum feet?” moments.

I’m not even talking about the classics. Like the time I sent five unfinished emails to a 20k database, thinking I was “sending tests” (I was not). Or when I booked a glorified backpackers for Beauty Expo for a team of 20 because I was terrified of going over budget (and didn’t read the reviews). Or when I accidentally bought tickets to Harry Potter and the Cursed Child on the company card. All during my early 20s, working in-house. Character-building, sure. Iconic? Obviously.

But when you're running your own show, the stakes are higher. The mistakes? They hit harder because when you are the business — the strategy, the delivery, the payroll, the voice note girlie and the Google Sheets gremlin — your mistakes don’t just cause embarrassment. They cost energy. Momentum. Money.

Here’s what I’ve learned the hard way.

F!ck Up One: I Tried to Make My Tone of Voice Someone It Wasn’t

I won’t get all “let’s unpack this in therapy” on you, but if I did? We’d probably find a well-meaning but deeply internalised idea that I had to present as the polished, pastel, polite industry writer—the kind who wears linen and speaks like a wellness retreat ad.

So, I toned myself down. I swapped sneakers for stilettos. Bottled the sarcasm. Maintained blonde hair that required its own salary. Wrote captions that made me sound like someone who ends emails with “Warmest regards,” unironically.

Expensive blonde hair in question

Because I thought that’s what success looked like.

Then I had a baby. Then I sat nap-trapped for the 4000th time, watching my identity slide out the window with another Peppa Pig episode. And I cracked. I wasn’t going back to work as someone I wasn’t. I couldn’t.

So when I came back? I showed up as me. The all-black-wearing, F-bomb-dropping, sneaker-obsessed, emotionally-available, occasionally unhinged brunette who knew her shit and wasn’t afraid to say it. My copy got better. My clients got it. My brand clicked. And for the first time, I actually wanted to show up.

The Lesson: Don’t dilute yourself for 'professionalism' because authenticity resonates. I know, it’s hard to “just be yourself” when you've spent years unlearning the feedback from gaslighty managers and that one walking red flag of a situationship from 2011 who said you were “too much” (Hi, therapy), but the truth is: your quirks, your voice, the real you — that’s what builds brand magnetism. You’re not for everyone, but the right people? They’ll hear you loud and clear.

Fuck Up Two: I Created Content “Because I Had To”

There’s a special kind of dread that hits when you realise you’re halfway through writing a post and you have no idea why you’re writing it: just vibes and the low-level guilt of not having posted in a week.

This phase — let’s call it Content Panic Paralysis — hits hard when you’re doing everything yourself. I'd churn out content just to tick a box. No strategy or purpose—just a vague sense that I should be posting. The result? A mishmash of posts that didn't align with my brand or serve my audience.

The Lesson: Creating content without intention is like exfoliating twice a day — technically, you’re doing something, but you’re also slowly destroying yourself. Every piece of content you make should have a job. Are you trying to be discovered, drive traffic, build trust, or convert? Pick one. Then, create accordingly. And for the love of bandwidth, reuse your good stuff.

Fuck Up Three: I Wrote Like I Was Paid Per Word

Can someone please send 2020 me a polite-but-firm Slack message that says: “Rach, your captions don’t need to rival a PhD thesis.”

I was out here writing 1,200-word landing pages like I was applying for a bloody scholarship. Captions that got cut off halfway. Emails that needed snacks to get through. Pages that said in 500 words what could’ve been a dot point and a “book now” button.

Look, we all go through our overwritten era. But I was milking that cow dry.

As I worked in editorial, I learnt the magic of less. Space. Subheadings. Punchy transitions and writing the first draft, then cutting it by a third.

The Lesson: People don’t read copy because they have to — they read it because it’s good. So, make it readable. Use subheadings and dot points, and trust your reader’s ability to fill in a little blank space.

Fuck Up Four: I Created Cool Sh*t… and Let It Die There

“Build it, and they will come” is a lie told by liars who never ran a business.

I poured hours — weeks — into free guides, paid tools, and helpful resources. Then? I’d post it once and wonder why no one downloaded it. I assumed “great content” would sell itself.

It doesn’t.

Now? Every single piece of content I create has a path. Blog → lead magnet → nurture email → offer. Everything connects. No dead ends. And the difference in leads, conversions and client clarity? Immediate.

Give your content a job. Give your job a funnel. Make the funnel lead somewhere that isn’t a dead-end. Your mum can still be your biggest fan, but she doesn’t need to be your only subscriber.

The Lesson: A great product without a plan is a really expensive hobby. Build a funnel—even a simple one. Think: Where do people find you? What do they get? Where do you lead them next? Build content that guides, not just shows.

I’ve been doing this for a long time, and while I’d love to say my copywriting journey has been one big, glowy serum ad, the truth is? It’s looked more like trial and error with a few accidental reply-alls.

The thing is, business isn’t a straight line. It’s more like a crooked eyebrow wax — you live, you learn, you fill it in better next time.

So, if you, too, have sent a rogue email, written 600 too many words, or dropped the ball on a killer offer — welcome. You’re still doing great.

And if you’re ready to clean up your copy mistakes (without having to learn the hard way like yours truly), grab one of my tools, download a guide, or shoot me a DM that says, “pls help.”

I’ve already cooked the mistakes. Now it's time to eat the good bits.