If, like me, you have a creative disposition, ADHD, and a serious impulsive streak, you're probably familiar with the concept of a side quest.
A side quest is a random activity that appears out of nowhere and briefly consumes you. Unlike hobbies, which suggest a certain level of long-term commitment, these flights of fancy are powered almost entirely by curiosity. They’re spontaneous and intense, but rarely stick.
A few months ago, I found myself embarking on perhaps my most unexpected side quest to date: I launched a short-lived FeetFinder account called High Arch Energy.
This wasn’t a cry for help or a financial emergency. And yet, one afternoon around 3 pm, after seeing a social media post about a stay-at-home mom who’d allegedly paid off her family’s mortgage through anonymous foot content, I found myself pitching the idea to my husband, Ethan, with a surprising level of sincerity.
“I have a crazy idea…” I said.
To be clear, neither of us are major foot people (not that there’s anything wrong with that). In other words, this wasn’t some long-repressed fetish. If anything, I think my brain became intoxicated by the possibility of additional low-effort income so I could carve out more time to work on my novel. “See babe, we can diversify our revenue streams… buy our time back!”
Also, and this is important context: I have pretty nice feet.
They’re small and delicate, with high arches and long toes, which I’ve learned is prized in certain communities. The ancient Greeks were actually obsessed with longer second toes and “considered them an aesthetic ideal of physical perfection.” I know, some people get all the luck.
On the day in question, I’d also gotten a fresh spa pedicure, so my feet were sparkling and looking their very best. The universe, it seemed, was presenting an opportunity.
Ethan, to his credit, responded the way a supportive husband should when his wife proposes anonymous sex work with no warning. He burst out laughing and said, “Honestly? This is exactly the kind of insanity I love about you.”
Which is how, a few hours later, after the kids were in bed, we found ourselves staging an impromptu foot photoshoot in our TV room. We went for moody black-and-white with high-contrast lighting and props like snakeskin boots and black tights.
Unfortunately, when I returned to my market research after the shoot, I discovered a major operational flaw in our business model. Namely: the most successful creators were showing significantly more ass than I had initially bargained for. Our photos were thoughtful and professional — even artistic. They were also, from a commercial perspective, catastrophically conservative.
Up until then, I'd imagined FeetFinder as a sort of whimsical side economy for anonymous women with nice arches and strong branding instincts. A marketplace where one could upload a few tasteful photographs, collect passive income, and return to their regular lives.
Instead, I discovered that many of the platform's top earners appeared to be operating under a much broader interpretation of the word "feet."
My existing content strategy — arches, calves, the occasional peek of thigh — was simply not competitive. This wasn't a foot business. It was an ass business with a foot-based entry point.
I briefly considered pivoting. Maybe introducing more implied nudity. Maybe purchasing some niche props. Jello crossed my mind… But before I could decide whether I was psychologically prepared for the next steps, life got in the way and the side quest got abandoned.
And yet, I still think about it sometimes.
Not because I secretly long to become a top seller on FeetFinder, though at this point I honestly can’t rule anything out. More because the entire episode feels strangely revealing about what ADHD actually feels like in adulthood, at least for me.
People often describe ADHD in terms of distraction or inability to focus. But for many people, it feels more like your brain is pitching new identities at the least opportune moments. The intensity of these fascinations can feel completely rational while you’re inside them. Like your mind briefly opens a portal into an alternate version of yourself and asks, “Should we become her?”
But increasingly, I’ve stopped seeing these side quests as evidence that I’m flaky or unserious. I think they’re often attempts — sometimes clumsy ones— to stay connected to curiosity and playfulness. To resist the deadening force of over-managed adulthood.
Not every side quest leads anywhere meaningful. Most don't.
For every novel manuscript, there are ten abandoned hobbies and half-finished business plans scattered throughout my life. The FeetFinder account itself generated approximately zero dollars — technically negative $14.99, if we're being precise — and remains, to this day, one of my less successful entrepreneurial ventures.
But the value of side quests isn't really where they lead, it’s what they reveal. The desire to be spontaneous. To entertain the little devil on your shoulder. What’s the worst that could happen?
That instinct — the one that asks "what if?" — has led me into some objectively questionable situations. It's also led me toward some of the most meaningful parts of my life.
So while High Arch Energy may never achieve the passive-income success I initially envisioned, I remain grateful for the experience. At the very least, it gave me a great story.
And if things ever get really slow around here, it's nice to know I still have options. After all, my FeetFinder account is active until February 2027.
Rachel Van Dolsen is a New York–based writer and PR consultant. She spends her days crafting stories—for clients and for her two children, who demand increasingly elaborate bedtime sagas. She writes the newsletter Close Enough to Burn on Substack, where she explores motherhood, creativity, and the occasional ADHD-fueled side quest.
source https://www.scarymommy.com/lifestyle/my-brief-entirely-unprofitable-feetfinder-career
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