Worry about your own table
New day, same energy.
There are few people more childish to me than someone who goes out to a restaurant and can't mind their own table. They're listening to other diners' conversations, craning their neck to inspect everyone else's food and complaining to the server that they "don't understand why that table got their food before I got my food!"
First of all, you're not expected to understand, you're expected to wait.
Also, you don't know the details of that table's order (as you shouldn't). Putting aside that each dish has its own turn time, you don't know how those orders were expedited, or if the kitchen, for example, adjusted its workflow to accommodate duplicates. Your food might be taking longer than usual but that has fuck all to do with the random table you've selected as part of your crusade. Mind your business.
I understand minding your business is near-impossible when there's so much unfairness in the world. You need to be vigilant and collect and collate every receipt in order to support the hypothetical data-driven argument you'll have to present later on. But how much of this paranoia are you opting into and is it impacting your ability to focus?
Remember, you're out to dinner with friends, some of whom you haven't seen in years. This is a time to catch up, reminisce and make new memories, but you can't do that since you've prioritized being nosy under the guise of calling out inequity. And, no, if you could do both at once we wouldn't be having this conversation.
I debated on if I'd ever invoke Heated Rivalry in my posts because, at this point, what hasn't been said? Between the people who love it, those who hate it and those who haven't even seen it, everyone's launched a javelin at the Hot Take Olympics. I never picked up the books since, on the occasion I read a book about gay men, I always choose gay male authors, and I don't read books with cartoons on the cover. The series overall represents a number of modern publishing trends I find repellant but I also don't begrudge anyone's enjoyment of it. As for the tv show, I could've had a V-8.
I'm being transparent about my feelings about HR so nothing I say next is mistaken as a defense of it; its purpose here is as an example of a phenomenon that occurs every time one thing blows up. You know where I'm going with this, so grab your Kleenex:
Why are you reading HR but not these other queer books?
Why did HR get a tv show but not this other book that deserves (deserves!) attention?
Here's a basketball romance series but of course it won't blow up like HR because Black.
I've been working on my soccer player romance series for years with barely any pagereads only to end up hearing about HR every day.
The implication here is that HR's success (a confounding combo of timing, accessible IP and asscheeks) is a beacon for every other book's lack of similar success, and it's a weird one. I have no doubt there are better-written books in that subgenre (that I also won't be reading) that could've been adapted for tv and receive the flowers HR is getting now, but this point could apply to just about any adaptation. HR resonates with the people it's meant to. It could be considered an easy win in spite of its alternative subject matter and easy wins have the broadest appeal. Easy wins leave the kitchen first.
There's not much I can say for readers, but for authors who view HR's success with skepticism within the context of your own work, I offer this: Comparison is the thief of joy. You're gonna have to start thinking of yourself as one of one. The only one. Unique!
In The Artisan Author, Johnny B. Truant presents the concept of The Bookstore of You. We're not talking about the Black bookstore, or the queer bookstore, or the Black queer bookstore, or the Black queer sports romance breeding kink MPREG shifter bookstore. In this brick-and-mortar shop, only your books are sold, so you never have to see another author's books being chosen over yours. Imagine what it would feel like. It'd be like going to a restaurant where you're the only guest being served.
Now imagine, in this bookstore of you, no one buys anything. No other author is being chosen over you, you're the only bookstore for miles and the people coming in are real readers. So you start thinking about how to optimize or refine your product. Is it the concept, cover art, blurb, formatting, pricing, or something else? It's good to make these considerations but would you make them if this lack of sales happened in a store where other authors were sold? When you have no one to compare yourself to, it forces you to examine what's happening at your own table.
I've hit my word count max and run this metaphor into the ground. Hopefully it landed.