Let’s be honest: we’re all performing. Whether it’s TikTok, Instagram or Snapchat, we’ve all curated little versions of ourselves that fit into “ideal” aesthetic boxes.
There are the matcha-drinking, cargo-pants-wearing “feminists.” There is the linen-wearing, slick-back, “clean girl” persona. There is the indie playlist sharer posting random photo dumps that try to look effortless but took two hours to post. And, of course, there are the Labubu, Sonny Angels and Miffy collectors whose shelves look like a museum of overconsumption.
The performative self is driven by cultural trends, the one that seeks affirmation through likes and shares and attention.
But then there’s us. The real us, who panic swipes on 15 TikToks at once so our “For You” page doesn’t get boring. Who lives in an oversized hoodie all week because it “still smells fine.” Who swears they’re in their “gym era” but somehow hasn’t stepped foot inside one since January. Our true selves aren’t polished. They’re chaotic, unfiltered and probably drinking from a half-empty Stanley cup that hasn’t been washed in seven days.
Social media, in particular, thrives on the performative self. One click and the alter-ego that posts playlists of songs you pretend you discovered before they blew up, and who shares the irrelevant and ambiguous Instagram notes that absolutely no one cares about awakens. And honestly, there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s fun to play a character sometimes. A little delusion never hurts anyone.
But the problem comes when we forget our true self. The obnoxious, annoying and slightly embarrassing version of ourselves deserves just as much space. Constantly putting on a show can get exhausting, even if it’s just for a couple likes and comments. And sure it starts off harmless, a filter here and a little Facetune there. At some point, you start performing so much you forget who you were before you started curating it all. You start measuring your worth in views, comments and shares. You feel like you have to be on all the time, constantly performing, constantly comparing and constantly chasing an aesthetic that no longer even feels like you anymore.
That pressure builds. You stop posting the silly photos because they don’t match your feed. You delete videos where your voice sounds “weird.” You start feeling like the real you is too much or not enough or no longer postable. And that’s where it gets dark and lonely. The more we edit, polish and filter ourselves, the harder it becomes to be okay with our unfiltered reality. Suddenly, you hate your face without the slim-smoothing filter. You avoid mirrors when you’re not camera ready. You start seeing your body, your smile, your skin as something to change instead of something to just be in.
It’s scary to think about, but it’s real. Teenage girls begging for nose jobs for their 16th birthdays, guys obsessing over “Gym-Tok” because they think their bodies aren’t “good” enough or people using AI beauty filters so often they forget what they actually look like. Social media has turned insecurity into a trend, profiting off our self-doubt.
You don’t need to film every little moment in your life to prove you’re fun. You don’t need to “romanticize your life” all the time. Being real doesn’t look like a detailed Pinterest board or a color coordinated Instagram layout. Sometimes it looks like bed rotting and doom-scrolling through edits until 3 a.m.
People don’t connect with the version of you that you curate and refine to the tiniest blemish to put up for the internet. They connect with the person who sends “brainrot” memes at 2 a.m., screams the wrong lyrics in the car and somehow survives on energy drinks and cafeteria curly fries. They remember the laughs, stupid inside jokes and the chaos you bring. That’s the version that sticks.
