Are We Sacrificing Our True Selves for Social Media Likes?
I like to think of myself as someone who's navigated the digital world thoughtfully, but even I feel the pull. Your thoughts now come with filters. Your feelings are caption-ready. Your memories are curated. Your joy is algorithm-approved. How can I get more attention? And the more attention you get, the more you want. It puts you on this cycle, this treadmill that's getting faster and faster. You've got followers, engagement, and reach, but do you still have you? This resonates deeply with me because I've seen friends chase viral moments only to end up hollow. One acquaintance, a budding content creator, once told me she felt like her life was a series of photo ops—every activity chosen based on whether it would get clicks. It's changing culture in ways that prioritize spectacle over substance.
We live in a world where vulnerability is a marketing strategy and authenticity means crying on camera with good lighting. Social media platforms have created influencer culture, and influencers are people that look like us. They're shooting from rooms that look like our bedrooms, our kitchens, and things like that. The rise of creator and influencer culture around the world is having a profound influence on the way that society organizes, the way that economies operate, the way that politics is being framed and shaped, and the impact is fairly profound. In my view, this isn't just entertainment; it's reshaping how we interact, vote, and spend. Am I a full-time influencer? No, I am not. But I've dabbled in sharing my thoughts online, and I see how influencers used to sell us things. Now they sell themselves in weekly installments with discount codes. You're really only as good as your last post, your last viral post, your last post that got a lot of attention. And so imagine this is how you're making your income—you're constantly chasing the dragon. You don't even really know what the purpose is or what the goal is.
Your brand is your personality. Your hobby is your hustle. Your feelings are content. Personal brand became something quite normal that everybody is a bit worried about and concerned and really looking for finding a voice. I think that for as long as we have had social media, different people from different walks of life have used it in order to amplify themselves, whether it is amplifying ourselves in a personal capacity or a professional capacity. But when every moment becomes monetizable, when your life starts looking more like a Kardashian episode than a Tuesday, you've got to ask yourself, is anything still real? We used to ask kids what they wanted to be when they grew up. Now it's, are you more 'get ready with me' vibes or chewing into a mic for 2 million subscribers? Why do I think the artichoke is one of the coolest language stories ever? I'll show you via this 16th-century Italian artichoke. If you make good enough quality content online, it'll be seen and it'll be shipped like a message in a bottle on an algorithm to the people who really need that content. This is a different type of capitalism. I would say that it's online creator capitalism.
Welcome to the age of the curated self, where your worth isn't measured by your character, but your click-through rate. It's creating that sort of feeling of emptiness, and it's starting to shape our self-esteem—like, oh, you know, if this audience doesn't like what I'm putting up there, then who am I? In a large-scale study of over 100 creators and 153,000 YouTube channels, researchers studied these person brands and found a consistent formula. And in order to maintain a successful career, you must at least perform some form of authenticity. You're probably buying fake black olives from the supermarket. And if you spoke a Romance language, you'd know about it. One of the nice things about content creation is that you do feel like you're able to bring, for one of a better phrase, your true self online. The most successful creators weren't selling products. They were selling specificity. I'm listening. Made a to-do list, not a to-do list. A lived trauma. I can't lose 20 kilos. A body positive narrative. A messy breakup served with a side of skincare tips.
An influencer might post about their depression, and so they're telling a story about their depression and they're finding that that's getting a lot of engagement. The more digestible your niche, the more visible your brand. The more visible your brand, the more profitable your pain. But some of the other content that they're posting is not getting as much engagement. And so over time, they're talking more and more about negative things like their depression and so on and so forth. Right here, you can see that I make less than a dollar a day. And since I started posting 2 years ago, I've made a total of $5,000. So, here's the catch: What happens when your trauma is your content calendar? Where do you end and the content begin? Psychologists now talk about context collapse. It's when the boundaries between public and private, real and performative, blur so much, you're not sure who you're showing up for anymore.You may have heard people talk about getting a dopamine hit when they get a like on social media. It's not just mental; it's neurological. Every like, comment, and DM hits the same dopamine pathway as a Vegas slot machine. Gen Z is facing the worst unemployment rate in decades. A 2023 Morning Consult survey revealed that 57% of Gen Z individuals would choose to become influencers if given the opportunity. This interest is driven by factors including financial gain, flexibility, and the creative freedom that influencing offers. I saw TikTok and vertical video platforms as an opportunity because it gives us this fantastic direct peer-to-peer link that frankly I have not seen in other forms of journalism. But this isn't just about chasing clout. It's a response to a fractured economy. How am I expected to work a 9-to-5 every single day for the rest of my life?
The traditional 9-to-5 job is increasingly viewed by Gen Z as unstable and unfulfilling. Economic challenges, including stagnant wages and rising living costs, have led many to seek alternative income streams. A new article from Business Insider is shedding light on Gen Z's pivot from college to blue-collar jobs. A report by Deloitte indicates that 46% of Gen Z workers in the US are participating in the gig economy, highlighting a significant shift toward freelance and flexible work arrangements. This shift is driven by a lack of trust in conventional employment systems and a desire for greater control over their careers. I think there's this skepticism in traditional careers nowadays with the crisis in the job market being super tough, and I think there's a bit of this idealization, a bit of a fantasy that the content creator way is the easy way.
The creator economy is projected to reach $520 billion by 2030, reflecting the substantial economic opportunities within this sector. In a broken job market, you become the business. But building a brand from your identity means that who you are is never off the clock. Creators and influencers are dependent upon platforms in order to grow their online communities and then monetize them. And that creates a spectacular level of dependency upon platforms that do not necessarily give creators and influencers much say in terms of how the platforms work. According to a 2022 Pew Research Center study, 46% of US teens report being online almost constantly, a significant increase from 24% in 2014-2015. And when asked why, the top answers weren't boredom. They were to stay visible, not to fall behind, and to keep up my page.
But there's no question that creators who have been self-taught to become creators, who have little to no assistance in the way of talent management or more sophisticated kinds of support, often suffer burnout because they feel this obligation to always be online and a fear that if they are not online, then they will lose all of their community and then all of their revenue. This is the paradox of being online in 2025. You have to be authentic but also strategic. You're supposed to be real but also likable, aspirational, and consistent—basically be Zendaya but with a Canva addiction and no PR team. In today's algorithm world, it's quite common for self-expression to become self-commoditization suddenly because the algorithm rewards you quickly and loudly if you follow certain practices, if you replicate certain behaviors.
Hello again, guys. I had to hop back on to show them. You're told anyone can make it. That virality is just one reel away. That if you're not blowing up, it's because you're not trying hard enough. I don't like the idea of content creators sort of being blamed for having poor self-discipline when if you look at what's going on, they're sort of behaving within the ecosystem that they live in, and it's guiding their behavior. It all started with freedom. Anyone could post. Anyone could build an audience. Anyone could monetize themselves. No gatekeepers. No auditions. No agent taking 15%. Just you, a camera, and a dream. I act like you all the time. First-generation beauty and fashion and music bloggers in the 1990s, live-streaming cam girls were all securing various forms of monetization before social media even came along.
And for a while, it felt like the revolution was real. We identified with these people and we thought, 'Oh, that person is in a bedroom that looks like mine. That is a person who looks like me. I relate to that person. I resonate with them.' They weren't selling out. They were owning their story. But here's the catch nobody put in the terms and conditions: Freedom is scalable, but so is exploitation. Behind the promise of empowerment was something else entirely—a system designed not to liberate creators, but to quietly consume them. Hey guys, it's Amber. So today I wanted to do that ever so quick. Around 2008 is when YouTube first started to enter into advertising partnerships with YouTubers, and that's when the first big wave of creators emerged.It started to snowball, and it actually gives people the illusion that you know they could become famous too because in reality, you work for an employer you can't see, and their name is the algorithm. And no, it's not giving health benefits. I think it's very tricky to explain the algorithm. It seems like a bit of a mystery box. A 2022 study on algorithmic adaptability found that creators often modify their content timing and tone in response to how they believe platforms reward engagement—a behavior researchers refer to as algorithmic self-optimization. Algorithms are being adjusted hundreds of times a day through machine learning. So the platforms themselves can't even predict what will happen to content across all the different channels.
Why does everybody look exactly the same? All content creation is starting to look the same. No one really has unique style. This constant adaptation can constrain creative freedom and lead to a homogenization of content. You can see how this can sort of start shifting their identity, how they feel about themselves over time. So, this is where the algorithm can really shape an influencer in a certain direction. Think of it like a treadmill except the speed isn't set by you. Keep running or start slipping backwards. You want to understand the algorithm in order to make your content perform better. But there's always this risk of changing too much your authentic self, the message you want to communicate, and all that.
A study from the University of Texas at Austin revealed that the opacity of platform algorithms often distracts creators from their creative endeavors, leading to stress and decreased job satisfaction. Furthermore, research indicates that creators experience high levels of job insecurity and stress, with algorithm changes ranking among their top fears. A study from University College London found that TikTok's algorithm started feeding teens 13% misogynistic content, and by day five, that number jumped to 56%. And it doesn't stop with misogyny. It applies to everything: body image, politics, trauma baiting, fake outrage. Maybe I don't look good, maybe I don't sound good, maybe I'm not articulate. And it starts to really sort of seep into how people feel about themselves.
If it's toxic and gets clicks, the algorithm is into it. And here's the kicker: It doesn't just warp what people see; it warps what creators feel pressured to post. Any scenario in which a content creator is making content, you know, they're going to have to find a way of making that sustainable. Creators aren't just expressing themselves; they're reverse engineering themselves for maximum visibility. Because in the attention economy, balance is boring. Outrage is king.
In a 2022 AIN survey of 300-plus creators, nearly 80% reported experiencing social media burnout at least occasionally, and 66% said it had harmed their mental health. On Instagram alone, 71% of creators reported burnout, with around half describing it as significant. Most cultural and creative industries suffer from a tremendous amount of psychological stress because being creative 24/7 is not possible. Message me if you want to, but other than that, I will see you in my next video. Even the ones who make it aren't safe because one misstep, one algorithm tweak, one week where the internet decides you're cringe now—poof. Years of content collapsed faster than a BeReal notification. You're not just managing content; you're managing your own relevance.
Meline Georgetta. For a while, she lived the dream that the influencer economy promises. Her niche: fitness. Her business: herself. And the numbers spoke for themselves—over a million followers, lucrative brand deals, a thriving online coaching business. The stricter her diet got, the more likes poured in. The smaller her body, the bigger her platform. By 2019, the cost of the hustle was hard to scroll past: disordered eating, body dysmorphia, burnout dressed up as 'that girl' energy. She wasn't just hurting herself; she was unknowingly passing the mic to every toxic body standard she was trying to outrun.
Meline made a radical choice. She shifted her content. She began advocating for anti-diet culture, body neutrality, and emotional well-being. And the response? Followers gone. Brand deals ghosted. The algorithm: crickets. Turns out healing doesn't trend. Meline Georgetta's story is not rare. The algorithm gave her millions, but it nearly cost her herself. But not every creator gets swallowed by the system. Do you know someone who does foreigner talk when they go on holiday? Is the bar open? Open. Lots of people on social media feel pressurized to really niche down, and that is what any marketing guru tells you. And that's one means of growth, but it's not a means of growth for everybody. You know, we're all multifaceted individuals. It's quite rare that any of us fit into this perfect box or niche.
What if growth isn't just about playing the game? What if it's about changing the rules altogether? In an ideal world, a content creator shouldn't do anything to change who they are to make content online. If a content creator feels like there is a difference between who they are, who they feel like they really are, and the persona that they've put forward online, that doesn't sound to me like a very sustainable content creator career. So, if self-expression has to be optimized to survive online, is there still room for something real, something hopeful? I'm really optimistic about social media, and I'm concerned about some of the practices of social media companies. For me, both of those things can be true at the same time.
If the problem was simply burnout, we'd fix that with rest. If it were just toxic followers, we'd block and move on. But this thing runs deeper. It's baked into the platform and your sense of self. The fix: It's not move to a cabin or throw your phone in a lake. That's the trap—convincing you your exhaustion is your fault. But this isn't about discipline. It's about design. So the question isn't, should I quit social media? The real question is, who's cashing in on me turning myself into content? Because right now, the system isn't broken. It's working exactly as it was built. A 2024 study published in the Cyberpsychology Journal of Psychosocial Research on Cyberspace coined the term 'social media contingent self-esteem.' Translation: It's what happens when your entire sense of worth rides on how your last post did. What we lose when we are trying to brand ourselves before we figure out who we are is the calmness, the stress-free process of doing it at your own pace, and the neutrality of doing it on our own because we are exposed to too much influence.
The fix may not be to stop posting. It's learning to uncouple your identity from your engagement stats because you can't mindfulness your way out of a system that profits from your dysregulation. Because right now, influence has been hijacked by metrics. Success is a scoreboard. Followers are currency, but audience isn't intimacy, and scale is not the same thing as safety. Meanwhile, over in the slow but sane corner of the internet, smaller, more community-focused platforms like Patreon, for example, can reduce burnout. And that's where you're going to find more meaning in the interactions that are happening on those types of platforms as opposed to the bigger platforms where there's wide exposure. Platforms like Discord allow for closer ties to their more accepting friends and fans and community members. So, these platforms can allow for a more nurturing environment that would support creators. Fewer followers, more connection, lower burnout, higher vibes.
Paid out over $70 billion to the creator economy over the last three years. Only job is to give them a voice, make them successful. It's literally written into the mission statements. YouTube and other platforms offering monetization say payouts don't just reward creators; they fuel creativity, amplify diverse voices, and spark content that educates, inspires, and connects. We work at the point where creators and audiences meet, and platforms like Instagram have done a lot to empower creators over the last 10 years—turning passions into careers and funding more of what audiences love. Now the mission is to inspire creativity and to bring joy.
Turns out when influence stops meaning 'be everywhere all the time for everyone,' the game changes. The real problem was never that creators were addicted to attention. It's that platforms are addicted to creators. And as long as your identity remains monetizable, the algorithm never stops running. We used to want to be seen. Now we want to be watched. And somewhere along the way, we forgot there's a difference. Every activity that we engage in, we're thinking of as a photo op. It's not kind of how we normally engage. And so it's changing culture very much in that we're the activities that we decide to do are based on 'is this going to get clicks.' It's really important that social media platforms listen to us, the creators, when we say that something's wrong, when we say that there's something within the platform that needs changing. But it isn't as equal a relationship as it should be.But maybe real success isn't who you convince the world you are. It's who's still there when the feed goes dark—not the followers, not the metrics, not the brands—you and the people who see you, not as content, but as a person. As humans, we need to bond with other humans. We get much satisfaction and healing from bonding with other people. And so emotional resilience is built through those bonding experiences. So spending time with people offline, spending time with people doing different experiences, being vulnerable, emotional intimacy—those are the types of things that are going to build emotional resilience.
Because if the performance never ends, if the mask sticks so long it becomes skin, who would be left underneath when the ring light's off? The space of the solitude, the space of the dreams, those little awkward things that only happen in your mind—they are harder to reach now. They're harder to find a vessel for expression. The real danger isn't fading from the algorithm. It's vanishing from yourself one curated post at a time. So before you chase the next like, share, or sponsorship, ask yourself: Is this you, or just a really well-lit version of who the internet taught you to be?
#SocialMediaReality #InfluencerBurnout #CreatorEconomy #AlgorithmTrap #DigitalSelf #MentalHealthOnline #AuthenticityMatters #GenZStruggles #ContentCreation #PersonalBrand
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