I’ve been sitting on this thought for a few days, watching how people interact with public figures online, and it’s honestly starting to depress me. It feels like we’ve entered this era where "fame" isn't just about being recognized at a grocery store; it’s about being a target for every single person who feels slighted by your existence, your success, or even just your presence in a specific space.
We talk a lot about the "price of fame," but we usually frame it in terms of privacy or lost time. We rarely talk about the genuine, visceral psychological toll that comes when the digital world stops being a platform for engagement and starts being a weapon for targeted harassment. I was reading some discussions recently about how people in the spotlight—not just athletes, but journalists, creators, and even mid-level influencers—are feeling a sense of actual dread when they have to perform their jobs. When does a profession stop being a career and start being a survival exercise?
I think about my cousin, who works in high-level corporate communications. She had a period a couple of years ago where she was part of a social media firestorm regarding a company policy change. She didn't even make the decision, but because her name was attached to the press releases, she started getting messages that were so vitriolic they made her physically ill. She stopped checking her phone at night. She stopped wanting to go to work. It wasn't just "trolls" being annoying; it was a coordinated attempt to strip away her sense of safety. That's the part people miss: the psychological erosion. It’s not a one-time shock; it’s a slow, grinding process of realizing that a segment of the population views you as something to be broken rather than a human being to be debated.
There’s this strange paradox in our current culture. We demand "authenticity" and "transparency" from people in the public eye. We want them to be raw, to share their opinions, and to be "real." But the second they do, or the second they become a lightning rod for a specific cultural tension, the internet turns on them with a ferocity that feels almost primal. It’s like we’ve created this monster where we demand vulnerability but punish anyone who becomes a symbol for something we’re fighting about.
I wonder if we are heading toward a future where the most talented, most capable people in certain fields will simply opt out. If you know that stepping into a specific arena—whether it’s sports, journalism, or politics—means you’ll have to deal with a constant barrage of personal threats and dehumanizing rhetoric, why would you do it? We might end up with a "bravery gap," where only the most thick-skinned (or perhaps the most radicalized) people are willing to hold the positions that shape our culture, because everyone else is too busy trying to protect their mental health.
It’s also worth looking at the "mob" mentality from a psychological perspective. There is a certain kind of anonymity that provides a dopamine hit to people who feel powerless in their real lives. Attacking a person who is "significant" provides a sense of agency. It’s a way for people to exert control over a world that feels chaotic to them. But when that "control" translates into real-world fear and genuine trauma for the person on the receiving end, we have to ask ourselves: what kind of society are we actually building? Are we building a community of discourse, or a digital colosseum where the goal is just to see who can draw the most blood?
I'm curious to hear what you all think about the long-term effects of this. Do you think the "de-platforming" and harassment culture is a temporary phase of growing pains for the internet, or is this just the new permanent reality of being a public figure? And more importantly, how do we protect the integrity of certain professions when the people performing them are being pushed to the brink of psychological collapse?
We talk a lot about the "price of fame," but we usually frame it in terms of privacy or lost time. We rarely talk about the genuine, visceral psychological toll that comes when the digital world stops being a platform for engagement and starts being a weapon for targeted harassment. I was reading some discussions recently about how people in the spotlight—not just athletes, but journalists, creators, and even mid-level influencers—are feeling a sense of actual dread when they have to perform their jobs. When does a profession stop being a career and start being a survival exercise?
I think about my cousin, who works in high-level corporate communications. She had a period a couple of years ago where she was part of a social media firestorm regarding a company policy change. She didn't even make the decision, but because her name was attached to the press releases, she started getting messages that were so vitriolic they made her physically ill. She stopped checking her phone at night. She stopped wanting to go to work. It wasn't just "trolls" being annoying; it was a coordinated attempt to strip away her sense of safety. That's the part people miss: the psychological erosion. It’s not a one-time shock; it’s a slow, grinding process of realizing that a segment of the population views you as something to be broken rather than a human being to be debated.
There’s this strange paradox in our current culture. We demand "authenticity" and "transparency" from people in the public eye. We want them to be raw, to share their opinions, and to be "real." But the second they do, or the second they become a lightning rod for a specific cultural tension, the internet turns on them with a ferocity that feels almost primal. It’s like we’ve created this monster where we demand vulnerability but punish anyone who becomes a symbol for something we’re fighting about.
I wonder if we are heading toward a future where the most talented, most capable people in certain fields will simply opt out. If you know that stepping into a specific arena—whether it’s sports, journalism, or politics—means you’ll have to deal with a constant barrage of personal threats and dehumanizing rhetoric, why would you do it? We might end up with a "bravery gap," where only the most thick-skinned (or perhaps the most radicalized) people are willing to hold the positions that shape our culture, because everyone else is too busy trying to protect their mental health.
It’s also worth looking at the "mob" mentality from a psychological perspective. There is a certain kind of anonymity that provides a dopamine hit to people who feel powerless in their real lives. Attacking a person who is "significant" provides a sense of agency. It’s a way for people to exert control over a world that feels chaotic to them. But when that "control" translates into real-world fear and genuine trauma for the person on the receiving end, we have to ask ourselves: what kind of society are we actually building? Are we building a community of discourse, or a digital colosseum where the goal is just to see who can draw the most blood?
I'm curious to hear what you all think about the long-term effects of this. Do you think the "de-platforming" and harassment culture is a temporary phase of growing pains for the internet, or is this just the new permanent reality of being a public figure? And more importantly, how do we protect the integrity of certain professions when the people performing them are being pushed to the brink of psychological collapse?