Who We Are When We Are Online

It seems to me that at one point, it was a mark of pride to help out a friend in need. That is to say, when a friend called you up with a particular problem, a conundrum of some sort, it was your job to take on that problem in conversation. To sit and wrestle with that problem temporarily, as deeply and carefully as if the problem were your very own. If you could not reach a meaningful solution or even some guidance, it was another point of pride to offer a solution by way of another friend.

“So and so is a mechanic, I will put you in touch…”

“I’ve a friend who is a lawyer, let me reach out to him…”

As I write this, I am already beginning to feel I am speaking in an antiquated tone. And none of this is to say that there are not great friends in this world, but in large part, the way we treat one another is a crafted illusion, brought on by where the pervasiveness and ubiquity of social media meets a deranged, practically psychotic capitalist nature to all things; even our relationships.

Social media is where the furthest logical conclusion of capitalism is born; that is, the branding of oneself. I don’t know where else the final stage would be. That all a person really needs to do is exist, and therefore is eligible for a type of money-making system, where inventiveness and work are not really required. Producing anything tangible or reliable is not particularly high on the scale of priorities. But the selfie, and therefore the “self”, are just as reliable indicators of business acumen as the three stripes that make up Adidas, or Coca-Cola’s classic swirling red logo.

What is wanted, it seems, is to make money, and in many cases, a damn good living just being yourself. And oh, the living you can make with the right smile, chest size, lighting, etc. The strategy is baked into the platform, and I can’t name too many big platforms on social media where the posts have not been commodified, where ads are not prevalent, and sponsorships and brand ambassadors are not roaming the feeds scouting for their next collaboration.

And in full disclosure, I am part if, too, in a small way. As an artist, it feels like Substack is the only game in town. I have dispensed with my Instagram a while back; however, it may be necessary to return to it. The prevalence of this tech makes us all entrepreneurs, of a kind, whether we like it or not.

While I am an artist and writer, not an influencer, I can hardly blame those who look out upon a broken, uncertain economy, the frozen wages of yesteryear, and the disdain and distrust of higher education, and think to themselves, perhaps becoming an entrepreneur, albeit a rather templated and unsophisticated type (in concern with the comical facsimile of the influencer), just may be the answer.

It is not for me to wag my finger at it here. It won’t do a damn bit of good. I can only say as an artist, I feel I need to play the game a bit, too. But have slightly more restraint when those efforts feel they may be encroaching on whatever integrity I may need to reserve for myself and my work. Still, the artist will forever trudge along, searching for the magic tool to unlock anything that may eventually resemble a career. Perhaps it is Instagram, perhaps it is Substack. Perhaps it is nothing; some days, I feel like a fool.

And what I have noticed is that this dynamic may turn many of us into fools. Substack is quite fond of community talk. We talk about support; we talk about banning together. We scroll through thousands of posts encouraging us to write that novel, to get back to work. That this or that is what great dialogue is; we are reminded of those writers who got started in their forties, and it’s not too late for us!

This, of course, is what we all might want to hear. And good news, because there is plenty of it and there is no end in sight. But notice, with all the community talk, it is rare that someone can answer an email, actually respond to text, actually show any signs of actionable support unless it works for their brand. Unless they can do it within the public eye and therefore reap the public rewards of their doing-goodness. Because everybody is a business, everybody is for sale.

Readership, connection, and true support for the fellow writer are so often done in private, quietly, and are likely to be quite rare. And those who speak of it so loudly are often doing so for their own brand.

What is clear is that social media and its fully evolved system of monetization is a broken promise. And that does not mean we cannot carve out some small community here and there, or that there isn’t any good to it all. But the artist in me has always said, “my role is rid myself of delusion”. And speaking for myself, I believe it must constantly break that fantasy, that spell, to see all this work for what it is. And what exactly it is, I am not sure. But I don’t want any promises; I am more skeptical now than ever.

Wrong Speak is a free-expression platform that allows varying viewpoints. All views expressed in this article are the author's own.