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The act of watching changes what’s being observed. In physics, this is known as the Observer Effect. Electrons, photons—they behave differently when under our gaze, as if they’re aware of the scrutiny. It's a principle that applies pretty consistently across the board. Even penguins act unnaturally when a documentary crew shows up. But what happens when the audience isn’t a few scientists or filmmakers, but billions of people? Every post, every thought, every move dissected in real-time—how does that level of attention reshape the observed? Or even the observer? Social media has made us both the observed and the observers, trapped in a relentless cycle of performing and watching. Every platform is a hyper-compressed theater of existence, except everyone’s both on stage and in the audience at the same time, nervously clapping for themselves while trying to outdo each other. And we’re surprised this hasn’t turned out well? On social media, the observer effect gets amplified to surreal levels. Every post, every “like,” every comment subtly (or not-so-subtly) alters how we think, act, and even exist. At this point, the line between genuine human expression and algorithm-driven self-parody has dissolved into a soup of memes, virtue vs vice signaling, and desperate cries for validation. You can’t even take a picture of your lunch without accidentally stumbling into some grotesque performance piece on wellness, lifestyle, or the inexorable march of "late-stage capitalism." When you know you’re being watched, you become self-conscious. You tweak your behavior, even if you think you don’t. Multiply that by the millions of strangers who can casually glance into your life, and it’s no wonder we’re all spinning into weird, contorted versions of ourselves. You might start out wanting to share a thought or a joke, but the moment you see it getting traction (or worse, not getting any), you start adjusting. “Oh, people liked this? Maybe I should do more of it. Oh, they hated that? Better pull back.” We’re shaping ourselves into characters based on fragmented, crowd-sourced feedback, adjusting in real time like some grotesque social marionette. How much of you is still you, and how much is a conglomeration of strangers’ expectations? It’s not that social media invented performance—humans have always performed for each other. But back in the day, at least the audience was limited to a few unlucky souls in the village square. Now, the entire world is the village square, and every impulsive thought is there for everyone to dissect. This hyper-visibility leads to hyper-vulnerability, which leads to hyper-defensiveness, which leads to…well, here we are. And so we live our lives half-aware that everything we do is a little skewed, a little staged, a little infected by the gaze of others. We start cultivating our personas like crops, feeding them whatever will make them grow in the fucked, algorithmic soil. We become curators of ourselves, slicing away inconvenient aspects of our identities, amplifying the parts that get the most applause. And before long, we’re staring in the mirror and realizing we don’t even know what’s real anymore. Is it any wonder our behaviors and ideas are so warped? When everyone’s watching, no one is really themselves. We’re all just reflections, bouncing off each other in a hall of mirrors, endlessly distorted and refracted until all that’s left is the hollow shape of what we think we’re supposed to be.
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