Social Media and the Pressure to Be Always On

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Once upon a time, fame was reserved for celebrities, politicians, and people who had either done something world-changing or spectacularly scandalous. But then came social media—and suddenly, everyone had a stage, a platform, and an audience. Now, whether you’ve got ten followers or ten thousand, you’re a public figure in your own curated corner of the internet.

It starts innocently enough. You post a photo. A few people like it. Someone comments. You respond. It feels good—validating, even. Before long, you’re crafting captions, watching your follower count, and agonising over filters and hashtags like a tiny PR department. You’ve become your own brand manager. Congrats, you’re officially an online persona.

The lines between public and private life blur quickly. That brunch shot isn’t just breakfast—it’s content. Your thoughts, your opinions, your outfits, your pets, your travels—all are now up for viewing, reacting, sharing, and sometimes, debating. Even the things you don’t post are part of your brand. Silence is read as a statement. Every choice becomes performative.

With that performance comes pressure. Pressure to be likeable, aspirational, entertaining, or clever. Pressure to be consistent. To have a niche. To post regularly. And heaven forbid you lose engagement. Suddenly, your identity feels tied to algorithms, metrics, and strangers’ reactions. It’s exhausting being your own personal billboard.

And it’s not just influencers feeling this. Even people with private accounts experience the weirdness. Ever hesitated to post something because you weren’t sure how it would “come across”? That’s the public figure effect. The awareness that someone, somewhere, is watching—and judging. We’ve internalised the spotlight.

In South Africa, this phenomenon hits uniquely. Our feeds are a mash-up of lifestyle flexing, activism, cultural pride, and hustle. There’s a performance of resilience, of joy, of success—especially in the face of load shedding, inflation, and daily frustrations. Sharing becomes a kind of soft power. A way to prove we’re still standing, still vibing, still here.

Of course, it’s not all bad. Social media lets people express themselves, connect, and even build careers. It’s democratised influence, allowing voices from all walks of life to be seen and heard. But it’s also turned daily existence into something that feels a bit like a permanent press conference.

So how do we survive being micro-famous in our own timelines? Start by remembering that not everything has to be content. You’re allowed to keep moments for yourself. You’re allowed to log off. You’re allowed to be boring sometimes. You’re not a brand—you’re a person. And while the internet may applaud consistency, your humanity is the bit worth protecting.

You’re not obligated to be always-on. Fame, even the small kind, is a weird burden. But it’s one you can put down whenever you need to.