The video is going viral.
Gwyneth Paltrow — yes, that Gwyneth Paltrow — addresses the camera in her signature wellness-calm tones in her role as a “very temporary” spokesperson for a tech company called Astronomer. And she wants you to know: Everything is fine.
Why wouldn’t it be fine?
In case you were under a rock two weeks ago, here’s the situation: A couple got caught in an awkward kiss-cam moment at a Coldplay concert. The man was Astronomer’s CEO. The woman was Astronomer’s head of HR. Both are married to other people. Their reaction to seeing themselves on the camera produced, unfortunately for them, an internet-meme-ready moment and a very shareable clip.
Rather than let it fade, Astronomer leaned in hard.
Paltrow (who was once married to Coldplay frontman Chris Martin) makes brand-aware jokes that ignore the incident while promoting the company’s services and upcoming event.
Most of the internet, predictably, swooned. “Genius,” said one commenter. “Iconic marketing,” said another. “Whoever did this deserves a raise.”
But some of us got the “ick.”
Yes, it’s clever. Yes, it’s fast. But I don’t think it’s smart. Or useful. Or even particularly strategic.
It did, however, get me thinking about a bigger challenge marketing and content teams are facing today.
There’s a difference between creating something and releasing it. And somewhere along the way, brands have confused the two.
Are we in the peak “just ship it” era?
“Just ship it” has become a kind of mantra for makers, marketers, and startup founders alike. It’s a rallying cry against perfectionism, a shove toward action over hesitation.
And to be fair, the sentiment behind it isn’t wrong. Everyone who works in content and marketing has seen ideas die on the whiteboard or linger in draft folders while their spark fades.
Shipping something — anything — can feel like proof of life. It shows momentum. It creates a feedback loop. It keeps the creative engine from stalling out.
But somewhere along the line, the nuance got lost. “Just ship it” stopped being a remedy for creative paralysis and started being a stand-in for the sugar-high, fast-food value of attention. If you made it and shipped it fast, then it must be good.
Or at least good enough to get attention, which marketers often valued at a premium.
Astronomer-gate might just be the sign that we’ve reached peak “just ship it” culture.
How MVP became a creative escape hatch
The phrase “minimum viable product” (MVP) explains this trend.
When coined in 2001, MVP described a clever way to test assumptions with minimal effort — like a strategic science experiment in product or campaign form.
But now it’s used to justify everything from duct-taped demos to almost-launch-ready products to half-baked content campaigns held together by stock photos, an edgy headline, and a prayer.
That’s the trouble.
Shipping something doesn’t make it meaningful. Or right. Or wise. Especially if you conflate cleverness with relevance or attention and clicks with strategy.
Attention ≠ strategy
That Astronomer video is an undeniably savvy piece of content. It’s self-aware. It rides the cultural moment with a perfect little wink. But that doesn’t mean it was the right move.
I’ve gotten some pushback on my discomfort with the piece.
Marketers point out that, today, attention is everything. And for a relatively obscure brand like Astronomer, getting this much visibility this fast is an opportunity you don’t pass up.
Maybe.
But I ask: “Attention from whom? And for what?”
This scandal isn’t likely to sway existing customers. Nor is the ad likely to win over future ones. So, if it’s not about customer impact, then what exactly is it about?
The whole creative message is, “Watch us willfully ignore the noise and stay focused on what we do best.”
That’s not the message of a brand that’s trying to build equity. It’s a brand trying to change the subject as fast as possible. It’s not steering into the skid; it outsourced the response.
Blame the (now-fired) couple. Reposition the company as the reasonable adult in the room.
But I’d argue it does anything but that.
At best, it’s a very expensive version of the classic kid response to their parent’s admonition to “Stop hitting your sister!” (hovering their finger an inch from her forehead and yelling, “Not touching! Not touching!”).
Sometimes, you don’t need a brand response. You need a brand pause. And I think Astronomer had a knee-jerk reaction to clever content and said, “Just ship it.”
What Seth Godin (probably) meant
The “just ship it” mentality wasn’t born in a modern product development room. It has roots in the teachings of brilliant people, including Seth Godin. In his book The Practice, Godin encourages creators to develop the habit of creating and sharing work regularly — not because everything they produce is brilliant, but because the act of doing is where growth happens.
It’s a powerful idea. And it echoes something much older.
“We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.”
That quote gets misattributed to Aristotle, but it comes from Will Durant, who summarized Aristotle in The Story of Philosophy. Still, the point stands. Repetition matters. Showing up matters. Creative confidence is forged in motion, not in the pristine pause of perfectionism.
I think Godin was advocating for what I like to call “creating out loud.” His suggestion to build a habit of putting things into the world is intended to build creative muscle, not ego.
It’s not about chasing virality. It’s about refusing to wait for the stars to align before you express what you have to say.
But many people fall into a trap. The rush to turn that philosophy into a productivity hack flattens the meaning. Instead of a practice, it becomes a pipeline. Instead of exploration, it becomes performance. The nuance — the discernment — disappears.
And that’s where I break from the “just ship it” doctrine.
I don’t believe a creative act becomes real only when published. I think the act of making something is complete in and of itself.
Shipping it is a separate decision. A different kind of creative act. And it requires different thinking.
The art of creating vs. the act of releasing
Making something is an act of expression. Shipping it is an act of exposure.
Those two things can overlap. But they aren’t the same.
Creation is internal. It’s driven by curiosity, intuition, maybe even necessity. You write the thing. Design the thing. Draft the script, sketch the idea, build the deck. You shape a thought into a form. And when you’re done, you’re done.
Distribution is something else entirely. It’s external. It’s about context, audience, and purpose. It asks different questions: Does this represent us? Is this the right moment? Will it land? Will it help? How will it help?
Too often, those distinctions blur. In marketing, attention is frequently overvalued. And, the moment something is made, the pressure to use it to gather that sweet, sweet attention builds. Content becomes fast-food thinking, and that thinking becomes the message.
That’s how you get something like the Astronomer video.
You can almost see the sequence:
The scandal went viral.
Someone said, “What if we made a response?”
Someone else said, “What if we got Gwyneth Paltrow?”
Somebody else said, “How much is that gonna cost?”
Someone (probably very senior) said, “Let’s do it — but it has to ship fast.”
The creative act was real. The response and the content were clever. But the decision to publish was a public relations sugar high. Not a nutritious one.
Not every idea needs to be shipped. Some ideas are exercises. Some are explorations. Some are letters you write just to understand how you feel, then tuck away in a drawer.
Making something is an act of creation. Choosing not to publish it can be an act of wisdom.
Not every idea needs an audience. Just as not every piece of content needs to prove ROI, not every clever piece deserves an expensive campaign.
And this is the part that really matters: Not every good idea needs to go out right now.
Timing is part of the craft. So is context.
If the message isn’t aligned, it’s just loud
What if Astronomer had hired Gwyneth Paltrow but didn’t rush it? What if the company let the meme moment fade and instead brought her in months later in a different light?
What if, instead of referencing a viral mishap, they used her to draw a more relevant metaphor (and a deeper story) about data, orchestration, or information slipping into the world without your consent?
I’m not pitching that idea, exactly. But if your first response was, “That makes no sense because Gwyneth has nothing to do with their brand and that story,” then that tells me that the goal in this video has nothing to do with brand and everything to do with taking back the moment.
My point: They had options.
But when speed becomes the priority, discernment takes a back seat. And when “just ship it” becomes law, strategy becomes an afterthought.
Choosing when or not at all
Creative restraint isn’t inaction. It’s authorship.
It says: We thought about this. We made something, and we chose not to ship it. At least not yet. Not like that. Not in this moment.
The value of a creative act doesn’t come from whether it goes viral. It comes from whether it’s true. Whether it serves. Whether it lasts.
Sometimes, the thing you make is meant to be seen. Sometimes it’s just meant to be made.
And sometimes the brilliance isn’t in how fast you shipped it but in how long you sat with it. How much more you asked of it. Whether you waited for the version that felt less reactive and more aligned, more strategic, and more you.
So, here’s a gentle suggestion for marketers, brand leaders, and creators:
Make the thing. Love the thing. Then step back and ask yourself: “Is this the moment to share it? Does this say what we want to say to the world now?”
If the answer is “yes,” then ship it.
If the answer is "maybe" or "not yet," then don’t.
That takes guts. That takes clarity. That takes a team aligned not just on voice and brand but on values. It’s a different kind of muscle: harder to show off, but far more interesting in the long run.
Because just as we are what we repeatedly do, we are also what we choose not to do.
It’s your story. You decide when (and if) you’ll tell it well.
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