Refried Neurons

I recently hired a social media manager to help with my holiday rentals, mostly because I hate social media — or, more accurately, I don’t get it. I mean, I know what it’s for. I just don’t understand why everyone’s so obsessed with it.

Since then, though, I’ve been learning. Not so much about the algorithm — ChatGPT explained that to me long ago, bless its ones and zeroes — but about people. About how we live now. Or maybe how we’ve always lived, just in higher definition.

The first shock came when my social media manager told me that, in order to build an audience for my cottages, I’d need to stop “selling” the cottages — and start selling myself. My persona. Which sounded like absolute bollocks at first. But the more I poked around the social media world, the more it started to make sense. I’m just not sure I’m emotionally stable enough to handle it.

But before we get into the terrifying world of personal branding, let’s talk about what people actually do on social media.

Now, don’t get me wrong — I scroll too. Usually for cute animal videos or memes about the end of civilisation. I even have one account I follow religiously — a weird, perfect blend of politics and shitposting. But beyond that? I just don’t care. I don’t care what you had for lunch, or what your commute looked like. I’m here to learn something, have a laugh, or maybe get inspired to go somewhere. Not to watch someone unroll a yoga mat before heading off for brunch.

There’s a woman I follow — mostly out of curiosity — who lives near my hometown. She’s got over 300,000 followers and she posts the same video of her bathroom, kitchen, and rose garden about 37 times a year. Same captions too. “First day of summer!” every bloody June. I mean… how are the roses doing? Any updates? Has the sink evolved?

She’s not teaching anything. She’s just showing her “perfect” life. Same with another one — also just her house, every single day. She even wrote a book about how she got to 100K followers. A book! About showing the same corner of a living room! Do people buy it? Apparently.

And yet — and yet — I still follow her. I want to see how far she can go by posting the same thing over and over. Apparently, the limit does not exist. Just post every. single. day.

Here’s the thing. I understand the algorithm — consistency, repetition, audience retention. What I don’t understand is people. Why are we watching this? My manager said it’s a millennial thing. That we’re obsessed with perfect homes because many of us didn’t grow up in them. Maybe. But I think it’s more than that.

I think a lot of people are unsatisfied. With their lives, their jobs, their partners, their houses, whatever. So they look at someone else’s. They try to live it, second-hand. But does it work? Can you actually feel better by staring at someone else’s curated version of their life?

Or does it just make you feel shit?

I’ve never met a perfect person. Some people are good at pretending. The house might be spotless, the abs chiselled, the kitchen counter always tidy. But are they happy? Is the marriage falling apart off-camera?

We’re an odd bunch. We doomscroll through bad news, live in fear, and then numb ourselves with fake perfection. Watch someone else’s gym routine and feel like trash because we haven’t touched a dumbbell in six months. Who has time for that unless you’re: a) rich,
b) a fitness instructor,
or c) living such a streamlined life that gym, sleep and Instagram is your entire schedule.

But why do we do this to ourselves? Are we all masochists?

It’s not like looking at people doing better than you helps you become better. Most of the time, it just makes you feel miserable. You compare, you despair. And even if you are one of those influencers — let’s say a travel one — is your life actually that great?

I went on holiday once with someone who wanted to become a travel influencer. We’re not friends anymore. We drove all across Sicily, waking up at the crack of dawn to get the perfect shots. By the time we got to the ruins in Syracuse — the one actual historical site we were meant to see — they’d shut for the day. Because we’d spent four hours photographing her from every bloody angle of every bloody hilltop.

So, is this behaviour new? Not really. Humans have always been nosy. That’s why we read novels, gossip, watch trash TV, and binge reality shows. The difference is that now it’s constant. Tailored. Portable. And potentially dangerous.

Old-school gossip made us feel better about ourselves. Your mate vomits at the pub, you have a laugh, she’s mortified for a day, then everyone moves on. No harm done. Social media, on the other hand, makes you feel bad all day long — and you can’t even explain why.

Maybe that’s why depression is rising in every western country. We’re being bombarded with misery and fake perfection simultaneously. We don’t connect anymore — not in real life. We sit at dinner tables, scrolling, instead of actually talking to the people we care about.

And then there’s the safety issue. Our neighbour is a lifestyle influencer. Lovely woman, big online following. Shows everything — the kids, the house, the block we all live in. I once saw my own back garden in her stories. Then, one day, her flat got broken into. They knew exactly what to take. Straight to the room with the valuables. Everyone assumed it was someone they knew.

But now? Now I wonder if it was just a fan. Or a follower. All it would’ve taken was five minutes on her profile to figure out which flat, what they owned, and when they were out.

So why do we still do it?

Why do teenagers want to be influencers more than astronauts or architects? Why do we spy on each other instead of asking how we’re really doing?

I don’t have an answer. I’m part of it too. I scroll, I judge, I post the occasional dog picture. But the more I look at it, the more I wonder — are we all just living in the 21st-century version of Big Brother?

And who’s actually watching who?