We like to tell ourselves we post for us: for memories, connection, fun. While this may sometimes hold for users adding to their digital diaries, it’s important to acknowledge that social media doesn’t just give us autonomy; it gives us an audience. Pretending that audiences don’t influence us might be its own kind of performance.
I tell myself I post online because I want to, because it feels good. It’s not deeper than that, right? But the more I began to doubt this, the more uncomfortable it became.
It’s not that posting “for me” is false. I do enjoy having control over what I put out there. I like deciding what’s visible and shaping how I’m perceived. Something is empowering about that. But if no one were watching, if it wasn’t a public display, if there were no views, no familiar names seeing it, would it feel the same? Would posting my achievements or aesthetic photos still give me that same rush of gratification?
Maybe autonomy online isn’t as pure as we think.
The Audience We Pretend Isn’t There
Social media is a form of self-expression. It’s how we curate an aesthetic, document our lives, share opinions, and establish a sense of community online. Through digital influence, some people can even build entire careers by leveraging social media. However, with such an incessant abundance, social media also invites self-evaluation. We adjust angles, brainstorm captions, and constantly check engagement. We notice when certain people interact with our activity because it ignites feelings of validation or acceptance.
While this doesn’t necessarily categorize the average user as “shallow,” it certainly makes us aware of the concept of perception. This holds a hint of irony, because if autonomy means freedom from influence, is there ever a possibility that we can really be altruistically autonomous online?
Our followers aren’t neutral observers. They’re classmates, friends, exes, new acquaintances, coworkers, family, people we admire, and people we compare ourselves to. Even if we don’t consciously think about them, they exist in the background of every post. Their perception of us subtly shapes what we share and how we share it.
when Authenticity feels Like Performance
There are ways people try to push back against performativity culture. We’ve seen influencers, for example, promote “real life” angles and unfiltered moments through their content. In a world where the power of reality-bending alteration is at our fingertips, this vulnerability is valuable. However, this also exists within an audience. Authenticity and nonchalance are inevitably performed somewhere.
Admitting that other people influence us can feel uncomfortable, since we want to believe we are completely self-directed. We admire the unbothered. We equate not caring with confidence. Caring, on the other hand, can feel like insecurity.
Caring Is Human
Humans are wired to care about perception. Long before social media, social acceptance meant safety, and belonging meant survival. Because of this, being cast out wasn’t just embarrassing; it was endangering. That instinct didn’t disappear. It simply adapted when our communities moved online.
Of course, we care how we’re perceived. Of course, we enjoy being seen as competent, attractive, successful, and interesting. That’s social wiring, not a moral flaw.
We express ourselves in ways that shape perception every day through the clothes we choose, the makeup we wear, and the tone we employ in different rooms. We adjust depending on context. A job interview version of us isn’t the same as a late-night-with-friends version. We possess the intelligence to adapt to varying social spheres without appearing deceptive.
Social media didn’t invent performance; its integration into modern life just made the stage bigger. This raises the question of whether the real performance might not be posting, but rather the idea of pretending we don’t care who’s watching.
Maybe autonomy online isn’t about eliminating influence. The autonomy we should be leading with online may be about recognizing it. This might involve being honest with ourselves about why we’re posting, and who we imagine on the other side of the screen.
Maybe I don’t post just for myself. The uncomfortable truth is that I like being perceived. I like having a hand in how I’m seen. Because perception feels good. Because validation feels good.
Autonomy isn’t just the absence of influence; it’s the willingness to admit it exists and still decide who you are anyway.