I don’t think we’re wrong to feel watched.
Media is moving in that direction. Doxxing is real. Call-outs are permanent. Algorithms remember longer than people do. Sometimes it feels uncomfortably close to a Black Mirror episode — like we’re inching toward a social score based on how we behave, what we say, and how acceptable we are online.
At the same time, it’s never been easier to disappear.
I live in Las Vegas, and that contradiction is impossible to ignore.
It’s Easier Than Ever to Disappear — Even Where You Live
I’ve lived in Vegas for years and have run into people I know maybe three or four times in five years. Not because the city is empty — but because most of us are almost always just… at home.
We don’t linger. We don’t run into each other organically. Cities are bigger, routines are tighter, and isolation is quieter than it used to be.
Reinvention is absolutely possible now — even in the same city.
And yet, it’s never felt more anxiety-producing to wonder who might be watching.
The Internet Isn’t Fake — It’s Permanent
I remember my aunt warning me about internet dating years ago. She suggested I meet men at pool halls instead.
Think about that.
Meeting strangers in dimly lit bars, drinking late at night, sharing proximity and nothing else — somehow that felt safer to a previous generation than meeting someone online.
There was another rule baked into that advice too: don’t shit where you eat.
Don’t mess with your home base. Don’t complicate your hobbies. Don’t entangle your social survival with your dating life.
That part actually made sense.
What’s changed isn’t risk — it’s documentation.
The internet follows you. It attaches. It remembers.
We didn’t know more about the strangers we met back then. We knew less. We shared proximity, not values. Our pools are bigger now — for better and worse — and we act like that makes us more exposed, when really it just makes things more honest.
The internet is real life now. It just lasts longer.
We Assume Instead of Talking
You don’t have to talk to someone anymore to feel like you know their life.
You assume.
You infer.
You build a story from fragments.
That explains a huge percentage of millennial relationship problems.
We stopped asking and started assuming.
We replaced conversation with observation.
We let vibes replace context.
That isn’t awareness — it’s distance.
We Perform Because We Know We’re Being Watched
Most people aren’t posting to share reality.
They’re posting for applause.
That doesn’t make them shallow. It makes them human.
We’ve created a quiet shame loop:
perform to look good compliment instead of ask avoid discomfort pretend we don’t care
We’re entertainers at our core. Always have been. Look at who makes the most money in the world — it isn’t the people doing the most meaningful work. It’s the people capturing attention.
Popularity still matters like it’s high school — except now it’s monetized.
Likes turn into ads.
Ads turn into money.
Money turns into influence.
And influence quietly kills authenticity.
That’s why influencer vetting is broken. Everyone eventually becomes biased by the paycheck. Questioning authority gets trained out of us early, so instead of asking why, we learn how to optimize.
The Trauma Was Always There — We Can Just See It Now
People like to say everyone is more broken now.
They aren’t.
The trauma was there — often worse — it just wasn’t documented, archived, and replayed forever. We focus on anomalies now because visibility makes everything louder.
Exposure didn’t create dysfunction.
It revealed it.
And instead of responding with curiosity, we perform around it.
I Worked in Digital Ads — This Is Personal
I didn’t just observe this system. I helped build it.
I worked in digital advertising and media buying. I’ve targeted people based on the details they freely gave the internet. It’s not abstract. It’s specific.
Using social media means being the product.
Your attention is sold.
Your patterns are sold.
Your data is sold.
For many people and businesses, it’s a necessary evil for speed. Money buys exposure. Exposure buys popularity. Popularity buys more money. The loop is clean — unless you get lucky and go viral, which is usually timing, not merit.
That isn’t legacy.
That’s amplification.
Popularity Isn’t Connection
We’ve started approaching relationships the wrong way.
What do I want?
How does this benefit me?
How do you make my life better?
It’s like dating when you only care if they like you — not if you like them.
Connection isn’t about highlights.
It’s about understanding people.
It’s about caring past what looks good.
For the good, yes — but also for the bad.
And often, most importantly, for the comebacks.
Why I’m Choosing Consistency Over Performance
Consistency isn’t about output.
It’s about showing up.
I learned this through skincare of all things. At first, nothing happens. Then subtle changes. Then the compounding effect hits and you wonder why you didn’t start sooner.
One spa day means nothing.
Fifteen minutes a day can change things that last years.
Writing works the same way.
So does healing.
So does trust.
Maybe one person reads this now. Maybe another reads it ten years from now. That’s how real relationships form — slowly, quietly, without applause.
What People Actually Want
AI is powerful. I use it. It’s incredible for systems, science, and efficiency.
But it misses something essential: experience.
People don’t want perfect answers.
They want to know what it felt like when things were messy.
That’s why people read Reddit.
That’s why people read Yelp.
They want truth without popularity attached.
Why I’m Doing This Anyway
I’m choosing to slow down on purpose.
A blog isn’t a big move. It’s small. Under $100. A hobby. An archive. But it’s mine.
Owning my blog means:
owning my words owning my images owning my archive owning my evolution
Even if no one’s watching yet.
Especially then.
Because the internet isn’t fake.
It’s unfinished.
And the most valuable thing left in it might be people willing to show up honestly — not to perform, but to document what it actually looks like to be human.