Likely Normal

Somewhere along the way, humanity collectively decided that self-worth should be measured in tiny digital hearts and follower counts that fluctuate more than a crypto investor’s bank balance. We now live in a world where a person can have a thriving career, a loving family, and a 401(k), yet still feel like a failure because their latest Facebook post only got seven likes (and four of them were from their mom’s burner accounts).

Social media metrics are the modern-day equivalent of a popularity contest, except instead of winning a plastic tiara, you get the fleeting validation of a stranger double-tapping your lunch photo before scrolling past to watch a raccoon open a jar of pickles. We’ve reached peak absurdity when someone will say, “I have 10K followers” with the same gravitas as “I graduated magna cum laude”—as if a blue checkmark is the new Ivy League degree.

The algorithms have us all trapped in a dopamine casino, where posting is like pulling the lever on a slot machine: Maybe this time I’ll go viral. Maybe this time my ex will see this and regret everything. But the house always wins, and the house is a Silicon Valley tech bro laughing as we rage-post about the Instagram shadowban that’s clearly the only reason our sunset pic didn’t perform.

And let’s talk about the followers-to-following ratio, the most meaningless social credit score ever invented. Follow too many people? Desperate. Follow too few? Snob. It’s like Goldilocks, except instead of porridge, it’s crippling anxiety over whether your internet persona seems chill but not too chill.

In the end, we’re all just out here pretending we don’t care… while secretly refreshing our notifications like it’s the stock ticker of our souls. So the next time you stress over a post flopping, remember: Einstein never had a viral tweet, and Shakespeare died without a single Story view. And yet, somehow, they did alright.