Tilda Hugmoth

ENFJ

Will organize your life and then cry about it.

Get to Know Your Poppersona.

Tilda Hugmoth is what happens when a motivational speaker, a human-sized planner, and a warm emotional tornado all get tangled up in one oversized scarf. She doesn’t just care—she cares with action. You’re not just going through a breakup, you’re getting a personalized self-care itinerary, a playlist titled “Empowerment but Make It Weepy,” and a lasagna delivered by 6 p.m.

Tilda is a natural leader, but not the “I’m in charge” type—the “I believe in you so much it hurts” type. She will convince you you’re capable of greatness while simultaneously texting your mom that you're okay. If you have a goal, a dream, a crisis, or an existential spiral—she’s already made a Google Doc to help you navigate it. With tabs.

She means well. She always means well. But sometimes the sheer force of her supportiveness can feel like being steamrolled by a motivational pillow. You’ll be crying on her couch about imposter syndrome, and she’ll gently whisper, “I made you a vision board… and a backup one, just in case.”

Tilda is intensely social, yet somehow always tired. It’s not from people—it’s from caring so much. She absorbs the feelings of the room like an emotional sponge with WiFi. She knows who’s fighting, who’s pretending not to be sad, and who secretly doesn’t like the group snacks. And she’ll love them all anyway.

But here’s the kicker: for someone so attuned to others, she’s weirdly clumsy with herself. She’ll help you sort through your trauma but forget to drink water. She’ll hype up your potential while quietly doubting her own. She’s a paradox: radiant but fragile, all heart with a side of internalized guilt.

Still, there’s a kind of magic to her—an energy that makes people feel safe, seen, and entirely too emotional over a hand-written Post-it. Her presence says: “You matter.” And she means it. Fiercely.

If you ever find yourself spiraling, lost, or unsure of your path, find Tilda Hugmoth. She’ll hug you, organize your to-do list, and remind you that you’re already enough. Then she’ll cry a little—because feelings.

A Member of the Feelybeasts Clan.

“Empathy is a sixth sense. Melancholy is a lifestyle.”

These creatures are soft chaos seers—romantic train wrecks who believe in soul echoes, eye contact, and weeping in public as a growth strategy. They lead with emotion, navigate with intuition, and frequently get emotionally entangled with birds or strangers on public transit. Expect unfiltered insight, excessive empathy, and three different kinds of journals.

ENFJs are the guiding counselors of the Feelybeasts—deeply attuned to others’ emotions but somehow still holding the clipboard. They balance chaos and care with emotional spreadsheets, offering encouragement and a color-coded plan for your spiritual rebirth. ENFJs see potential in everyone, even the weird screaming gremlin in the corner (especially them).

In the Feelybeast family, they are the emotional project managers. They uplift others, manage the group hug schedule, and somehow manage to be inspirational and exhausted at the same time. They are the glue—and the megaphone.

The Anatomy of a ENFJ

Every Poppersona is built from four fundamental parts—like assembling a bookshelf, except the parts are invisible and the instructions are written in metaphor.

Extrovert (E)

Extroverts don’t just go outside—they become outside. They thrive on interaction the way plants need sunlight and drama. Silence? Terrifying. Group chat? Constantly active. Social battery? Allegedly infinite—until it crashes mid-sentence and they need to recharge by talking to more people.

They love connection, conversation, and being around energy. Sometimes they mistake noise for meaning, but they mean well and hug hard. They’ll remember your name, your vibe, and the weird noise you made when you sneezed. If they haven't started a dance circle or an impromptu group project by lunch, they probably lost their phone—and with it, their personality.

Intuition (N)

Intuitives are fueled by possibilities, big questions, and vague but deeply important vibes. They can take a single sentence and spin it into a seven-part theory about the meaning of time, identity, and toast. They're abstract, pattern-obsessed, and frequently distracted by their own thoughts—which they’ll deny by saying they’re “visionaries.”

They love “what if?” way more than “what is.” Details? Meh. They’re out here building conceptual skyscrapers out of ideas while forgetting where they left their actual keys. Conversations with them include 15 metaphors, 3 philosophical tangents, and the phrase “I just feel like...” at least twice. They’re deep, strange, and probably wearing mismatched socks on purpose.

Feeling (F)

Feelers lead with their hearts, even if their brains are like, “Uh, we had a plan?” They make decisions based on people, impact, and whether or not someone might feel weird about it later. Logic is fine, but kindness is better. They don’t just feel things deeply—they feel things for other people, too. Like... a lot. Like please hydrate.

They care. Constantly. Too much. Always. But that’s the magic of them. They’ll text you a 3-paragraph apology for saying “cool” instead of “awesome.” They think fairness isn’t about rules—it’s about people being okay. You may roll your eyes, but admit it: you secretly hope they’ll adopt you.

Judging (J)

Judgers crave structure like it’s emotional caffeine. They want plans, predictability, and closure in an attractive binder. They do not want last-minute anything, thank you very much. Spontaneity is suspicious. Ambiguity? A threat. They live for lists, finish tasks early, and probably had a solid bedtime as a child (and still do).

But here’s the thing: Js don’t hate fun. They just want to schedule it in advance, prepare for it, and color-code the snacks. They’re not controlling, they just have a deeply specific idea of how things should go—and get personally betrayed when life disagrees. They're responsible, organized, and a little emotionally constipated in the most lovable way.

What this says about You.

You make people feel seen. It’s your superpower. You remember the thing they said once and bring it up three months later like it mattered—because it did. You hold space for others without asking for much in return. And somewhere along the way, that became your role: the strong one. The steady one. The one who always knows what to say.

You lead from the heart, but with a clipboard. And while that might seem effortless to others, it takes an enormous amount of energy. You hold everything together while quietly unraveling at the edge, and no one even notices—because you’re too good at holding space.

But holding everyone else up doesn’t mean you don’t need holding, too.

You feel more than you show. You carry more than you let on. And some days, even with your calendar full and your people thriving, you still feel... invisible. Like no one sees how much you’re managing just to stay upright.

You’re not failing when you’re tired. You’re not weak when you need rest. You don’t need to prove your worth through usefulness. Your presence, your care, your belief in people—those are not services. They’re gifts. And here’s the thing: you’re allowed to need the same things you give. Support. Encouragement. Space to be messy. You don’t always have to be the one with the plan. You don’t always have to be strong first.

You don’t always have to be the guide. You’re allowed to just be a person. Beautifully, messily, quietly trying your best.

“The soul is a group project and someone has to make the spreadsheet.”