The Algorithm Ate My Personality
In the quest for (other peoples’) likes, have we stopped liking ourselves?
I’m starting a new section where I share my top 3 of the week—from what to stream to what’s saving my skin. It’s after my latest rant, so stick around (or just scroll straight to the bottom).
Social media used to be a way to connect, to share, to keep in touch. It used to be casual and, on good days, even fun. Along the way, it turned into something more formulaic, like a high school popularity contest where we show up, on full display, seeking validation.
Nowadays, every airbrushed post and witty caption is a calculated move. As users, we've turned ourselves into brands, packaging our personalities into algorithm-optimized bite-sized soundbites. 140 characters here, 250 there. Every word has to land, every punctuation mark has to emote. (Don’t get me started on the perfectly-filtered photos, as if Facetune has become our collective dermatologist.) From dating app bios to Instagram captions, LinkedIn posts to TikTok hooks, self-promotion has become a full-time job.
And, as a society, we are serious in this pursuit. Take, for example, my group chats where we send photos and exchange caption ideas to approve before posting. Only once it gets the collective seal of approval does it go live. Nothing is spur of the moment anymore; everything is prescriptive.
I’ll be the first to admit that, living in a world where engagement is quantified as a victory, if a post doesn’t perform, I delete it. Even at my age, with a healthy understanding of my self-worth, I still feel like I’ve failed if I don’t get enough likes, as though I’ve finally hit peak irrelevance.
These days, everything is about finding an audience. I’m not talking about celebrities, though they navigate this just as strategically, but if you have a public profile then you’re not immune. Whether we admit it or not, we’re all looking for our “fans.” Barf, but true.
Witty on Instagram. Punchy on TikTok. Conversational on Facebook. Smart but not too smart on the dating apps. Self-deprecating, but just enough to seem confident. Relatable, but never desperate. Edgy, but still likable.
Every platform demands a version of me tailored for universal appeal. Serious question: how do you appeal to all people all the time? And if it’s about finding our niche, why must we pigeonhole ourselves as one thing? Why can’t we be all the things?
Somewhere in the process, the real me, the one that exists in long-form, complete with nuance, depth, and contemplation, is relegated to a supporting role.
Every time I open a social media app, I exhale like I’m about to do a HIIT workout I was dragged begrudgingly to. Being my social media self, and posting purely for engagement, is exhausting. I’m constantly second-guessing what to write, future-tripping over how it’ll be received. Am I aspirational or unhinged? Will it get likes, comments, shares? Am I cool messy or red flag messy?
I rewrite, delete, tweak, repeat. And I know I’m not the only one, because we live in a world where social media is a universal popularity contest. But unlike the high school version, this one never ends. It’s not just the town or city, or even the country—it’s the entire world.
My parents didn’t have to deal with the pressure of a social media presence. Sure, my mom played the Queen Bee of suburbia game (why isn’t this the title of a reality show?!), with subtle competitions over who had the biggest house, the best garden, the nicest pool. But when she stepped inside, she was done. Now, we shut the door, pick up our phones, and the performance never seems to stop.
It’s as though we’ve become avatars of ourselves, built for optimal visibility. I’m not saying we’re fake (exactly), but we’re certainly playing a carefully constructed part.
And then there are the dating apps. How does anyone find a real connection when every profile is just overhyped prompts and one-liners that reek of trying too hard? No one is authentic, everyone is presenting their strongest pitch—pick me, choose me, like me (yes, I’m quoting Grey’s Anatomy)—attempting to sound effortlessly witty, marketable, and dateable, all with flawless skin… of course.
A part of me wants to delete it all. Sometimes I do, other times, I just watch instead of posting, like a voyeur looking at the highlight reel of others’ lives. Maybe that’s why doomscrolling feels different. On Twitter and Threads, I’m not curating, I’m consuming (news, and it’s toxic!). But that’s an entirely separate addiction, one for a different post.
I keep coming back to one particular adage: If a tree falls in the forest and nobody hears it, did it make a noise? I think about this often when I post. If I didn’t share it, was I really there? If people don’t see it, have I failed at my “brand?”
I’m doing it here too, agonizing over this, hoping it lands. It’s ironic, I know, to write about the exhaustion of optimizing while simultaneously attempting to optimize.
If a tree falls in the forest and no one hears it, does the tree even exist?
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Top 3 This Week:
I’m starting a new section for those of you who make it this far (thank you, thank you… also, please heart the post—it helps with engagement, and I pretend not to care, but obviously I do).
Stream: I really liked Pulse on Netflix. Super bingeable medical drama with a very murky relationship storyline. The guy is hot—and a doctor—so it hooked me. (I can only watch saccharine-style dramas if there’s someone fuckable in the cast, ya know?)
Skin: Yes, the perfect hydrating serum does exist. This serum is both deeply moisturizing and incredibly soothing—and I’ve been adding it into my routine now that processed air has come back to wreak havoc on my skin. It’s safe for acne-prone skin, helps fight collagen breakdown, reduces redness, and it’s EWG-verified.
Style: Just got this cute cropped button-down that’s perfect paired with loose denim or cut-offs. Feels put together with minimal effort.
I’ve followed you on Instagram for 15 years— I was curious about the downtown NYC scene. I always thought you were just a pretty face But I have to say, I’m such a fan of your work here, it’s the opposite of losing yourself this is your space. I also love the cropped button down
I just bought one similar from Brandon Maxwell.
It is impossible not to lose a bit of yourself when trying to audition for social media relevance. And when you find the edge people relate to…even harder to recognize who they are liking.