In this era of celebrification, we’ve turned our lives, homes, dogs, and kids into public figures in their own right. Armed with the technology to develop cult followings, we’ve curated fantasized versions of ourselves and contributed to this parallel universe where our best versions can live without menstrual bloating. The constant exposure is at its peak, requiring us to show up with stellar performances. Everyone is watching. But the gap between our authentic selves and the personas we broadcast only widens. Is it so surprising that many of us can also be so unhappy?
There is extant literature on the implications of social media use on our mental health: Intensified exposure has been shown to contribute to depression, anxiety, loneliness, and a skewed idea of beauty and self-worth. A study found that those who spent more time looking at online content also showed more body dissatisfaction and low self-esteem, mainly because of the constant comparison to others in their network. It’s all real and scary stuff navigating through a labyrinth of likes, shares, and retweets that entrench vicious and addictive dopamine cycles.
Even the pandemic, which forced us to integrate technology into our everyday lives—has exacerbated self-perceptions through too much exposure to Zoom. When Zoom replaced work and social settings, it forced people to be in front of their cameras so much that doctors found a phenomenon of Zoom dysmorphia. People suddenly faced skin, nose, or neck issues and wanted cosmetics to fix the “problem.” We are always trying to control other’s impressions of us, which we achieve through manipulating settings, appearances, and manners.
For younger users growing up with the ubiquity and overreliance on digital networks, this constant exposure builds pressure to upkeep an unnatural projection. Donna Haraway suggested that we are now shaping “cyborg identities” in that our sense of self is no longer just shaped by natural constructions like gender, race, or identity—but by technological systems. She suggests that our identities are constructed and fluid, shaped by how we use and negotiate technology into our lives.
I can see this today but in a little bit of a more pessimistic light. Our online and offline worlds become entwined in fantastical reality, where online cultures dictate the sense of self we bring into the real world. Though trends like “That Girl” or “Girl Dinner” are intentionally harmless, they have also been criticized for their potential to become idealized, putting pressure on others to strive to be a certain way. The other day, while ordering my coffee, I noticed the barista had tattooed freckles on his face, a new beauty trend that is viral on TikTok. Getting in on a trend is all fine and well. But when TikTok trends or Zoom usage usurp our self-perceptions, where do we draw the line?
The idea of the presentation of self as performance is not new. Sociologist Erving Goffman theorized in his 1959 book The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life that social interaction is a performance where individuals present themselves to others based on cultural values, norms, and expectations. He likened life to a theatre stage and argued that just like actors, people in social situations manage their behaviors to create specific impressions in the minds of others. We are always trying to control other’s impressions of us, which we achieve through manipulating settings, appearances, and manners. Looking at my feed, I can’t relate to the persona I’ve made of myself. It is as authentic as it is performative.
This decades-old theory holds for the platforms that set up the stage for our live performances. In the 1990s, scholar Sherry Turkle wrote about how technology creates a “culture of simulation” where we construct new selves through social interaction. Online, we can play a role as close to one’s image and likeness or as far away from it as possible. There is a sense of leaving our physical bodies behind and embodying our online selves when we immerse in digital spaces. Looking at my feed, I can’t relate to the persona I’ve made of myself. It is as authentic as it is performative. And it’s not a comfortable experience to see the contrast of both versions—one that is “on brand” and carefully curated; and the other reflective of the messy reality of daily existence. If not approached cautiously, the lines between our authentic selves and our performances can become blurred.
It’s a balancing act to remind ourselves that digital platforms are tools for genuine connection and expression rather than yardsticks by which we measure our self-worth. The challenge lies in embracing these platforms for their connectivity and creativity but keeping mindful of how they impact how we see ourselves. It is okay to step away from the screens. For someone who has lived through all iterations of social network evolution, this is a conversation I am cool with having. I have seen many versions of myself on LiveJournal, Friendster, MySpace, and Multiply—all selves carefully crafted, eventually eviscerated, and now gone and nothing more than a digital trace in the internet’s cacophony.
