(8 minutes reading time)
Recently, there was a fire dance performance at an ecstatic dance event. I was surprised to see that about half of the audience pulled out their phones to record it instead of being fully present in the moment. If asked, many of them would probably claim that they can multitask — that they can enjoy the experience while filming it.
But can they really? Can someone truly experience the emotions inside their body during a live performance when part of their attention is focused on keeping the phone steady, finding the right angle and ensuring that no one’s head is in the way?
This might not even be about social media. It shows how often we try to capture life instead of fully living it. We save it for later while missing what is happening in the here and now.
Seeking validation in the digital world
Some people then share these fragments of their lives online, secretly hoping for validation through likes and comments. It’s a natural human urge. We all want to be seen, felt and recognised. There’s nothing shameful about that — it’s simply part of being human.
But the more we rely on external responses, the more we train our brains to depend on them. Likes, shares, and comments trigger reward loops driven by dopamine, and over time this can weaken our inner sense of direction. We may lose touch with our intrinsic motivation, doing things not because they feel right, but because we hope others will approve.
Self-expression slowly turns into performance, and authenticity fades. Most people only post polished, happy, or ‘successful’ moments, while keeping their struggles and vulnerabilities hidden. Even when someone shares something raw or emotional, it’s often shaped for impact — a kind of performative vulnerability, aimed at achieving relatability or engagement.
The pressure to maintain a certain image discourages real honesty. Instead of expressing what we truly feel, we learn to suppress it. The more we present an idealised version of ourselves, the more we disconnect from our flaws, fears, shadows and insecurities. We get used to wearing the mask until it becomes difficult to remember how to take it off. This shift is slow and constant, which makes it even harder to notice.
Some people end up living more for the content than for the experience itself. ‘I need to post this so it feels real’ can become our inner voice, and we lose the true experience of the moment.
Selling the self: the price of visibility
Others post for different reasons. Although social media may appear to offer freedom, for many it becomes a subtle psychological prison whose walls cannot be clearly seen.
The self slowly turns into a product to be packaged and consumed rather than a soul to be truly understood. People market their personalities, shaping their identity to gain attention, approval or income. In the most painful cases, some feel forced to do this just to survive. Others chase wealth by masking their true selves and promoting a lifestyle based on superficiality and selfish gain.
For women in particular, value is often placed more on appearance than depth. This creates a self-perpetuating cycle of pressure regarding body image — for both those who post and those who watch. Filters and editing tools create a polished illusion. We start chasing an unrealistic beauty ideal and end up shaming ourselves for every wrinkle, flaw or so-called imperfection.
The unequal economy of attention
There is fame for the few — and much labour for the many. A tiny percentage gain visibility, influence, and wealth, while most spend hours creating content for little return. This imbalance creates unhealthy power dynamics, where attention becomes a currency, and worth is measured in numbers.
Meanwhile, it’s the users who produce the content, while the platforms profit. Their algorithms decide what gets seen, and what doesn’t. These are not guided by LOVE, humanness, or connection. It’s about money, influence, and politics. One reason social media has divided us into isolated echo chambers is that this strategy makes more profit. By keeping people in small bubbles, platforms turn each post into a more effective product.
Social media can create the illusion of connection. Having more ‘friends’ and ‘followers’ can lead to fewer authentic interactions. On the other hand, many people feel a sense of closeness to influencers or celebrities who don’t even know they exist — a one-sided connection that can replace truly meaningful relationships.
As we continue to watch these carefully curated lives, our perception of ourselves slowly becomes distorted. It fosters envy and self-doubt, creating a quiet sense that we are not enough. It promotes unrealistic lifestyles, making ordinary, grounded living feel insignificant in comparison.
The dominance of short-form content also takes its toll. It erodes our capacity for deep focus and our patience for slower, more meaningful experiences. Never before in human history has our attention span been so fragmented.
With our constant connectivity, there’s little space left for real self-reflection. We stay busy, distracted and disconnected from our inner world. Our shadows remain hidden. We get better at keeping our masks on and slowly forget how to take them off.
Building spaces for true belonging
What if we created a social media platform rooted in LOVE, true honesty, authenticity, and deep human connection, rather than exploitation, vanity, and division?
A place where we don’t just consume each other, but hold and support each other. Where shadows are not hidden, but welcomed. Where we grow together. It would be a space that doesn’t exploit our fears or sell our attention, but invites us to slow down, be vulnerable, and show up as we are.
This would require us to reimagine the design, incentives, and culture of existing social media platforms.
On this platform, we could remove public ‘like’ counts and follower numbers. These metrics often turn social media into a competition for attention and validation. Instead of encouraging sharing from the heart, they push us to post what gets approval.
We could instead offer simple interaction buttons such as ‘I felt this’ or ‘Thank you for sharing’. These could also be expanded into a scale from 1 to 5, enabling people to respond with a meaningful range, from ‘I strongly disagree’ to ‘I deeply resonate with this’. These options encourage reflection rather than just a quick reaction. They encourage people to slow down and really feel their response, rather than just tapping a heart out of habit. Only the author of the post would see these responses. This shifts the focus of internal reward from how many people reacted to how deeply someone was touched.
This small change can have a big impact. It removes all pressure to perform, compete or compare. It encourages honest expression because there is no scoreboard. It invites people to engage with each other on a more human level.
Rather than using feeds driven by the number of clicks, shares or comments, this platform would use an intention-based system. The algorithm would prioritise content that promotes emotional growth, empathy, kindness, and understanding. Users would see more posts that support their personal development and well-being, rather than content designed just to grab attention or provoke strong reactions.
From competition to cooperation
Beyond connection and expression, the platform could support a gift economy. Users could share their skills and resources, as well as provide support, without expecting payment or likes in return. This would encourage cooperation and generosity, moving us away from a culture of competition and consumption.
By creating spaces for mutual aid and collaboration, the platform would nurture a real sense of community. People would experience belonging not just through words, but through practical help and shared growth. This approach honours divine LOVE at the centre of true human connection, transforming the platform into a place where we support each other rather than simply scrolling past.
The platform could include ‘digital campfires’, which are small, safe and supportive spaces where people can share their fears, mistakes, doubts, and growth challenges. Here, vulnerability is seen as a strength, not a weakness.
Encouraging real stories of both joy and struggle helps to break down the masks we wear and the isolation we feel. Without fear of judgement, people can explore their shadows and heal together. This kind of honest sharing promotes collective growth and reminds us that imperfection and struggle are part of being human.
What if we dared to slow down, be truly present with ourselves, and connect with each other? How might our lives change if connection meant much more than just clicks and views? Can we imagine a world in which authenticity and kindness guide our interactions and our shared humanity is honoured?