The perilous allure of a stronger gaze

Musings from an obscure chap.

Social media encourages us to provide content to satisfy the cyber voyeurism of others—fundamentally, social media monetises this desire. Most that provide, also engage in the feeding of their cyber voyeurism; many are purely ‘lurkers.’ Instagram stories’ view icon is an eye: Here’s a list of all the eyeballs looking in from afar.¹

I sometimes feel a bit ‘twitchy’ after posting on social media—like Anton Du Beck when he watches a dodgy dance performance on Strictly Come Dancing; I also experience this but less intensely when spending² time on social media, unless it’s intentional. Presumably, it’s aspects of human nature that haven’t evolved to this hyper-novel environment, in which what you share could be seen by millions.

I don’t think we’re equipped to cope with modern-day fame, perhaps not even with hundreds of eyeballs on us—let alone thousands or millions.

I’d imagine being famous was a rather precarious tightrope to walk before social media, 24/7 news, and the cancel mob ready with their sharpened pitchforks—waiting to pounce.

It may be particularly precarious if someone is “famous for being famous.” At least if you have risen to notoriety in a relatively meritocratic manner, being lifted up for your talent or for the value you provide for others, then perhaps the imposter syndrome is kept at bay a bit; and if you do fall from grace you (hopefully) have some solid skills to fall back on.³

Famous individuals often say they crave anonymity. I wonder what percentage of those who chase fame—or inadvertently stumble upon it—come to wish it hadn’t transpired? Loyle Carner raps about his experience on his track “Polyfilla”:

“When I was younger, yo, I wanted to be famous.

Now that I’m older, yo, I wish that I was nameless.”

Benebell Wen, an author and content creator, mused over a sudden spike in her YouTube subscribers:

“Instead of creating videos to share with a small, niche group of the same-old, same-old people sitting in a circle in a well-lit room, now it feels like standing on a stage with a blinding spotlight burning up the top of your head. And when I look out to see who exactly I’m talking to, I see nothing but void. . . The strength of the evil eye intensifies exponentially when you start to gain more exposure. The larger your viewership, the more hate-watchers you have. . . This bigger pond is resulting in encounters with some of the darker, more malicious and insidious aspects of humanity.”

Exposure increases the likelihood of encountering malevolence and may predispose some people to become (more) monstrous and/or neurotic.

I do agree with

Holly’s Substack

’s article Unified Theory of Networked Narcissism—social media often brings out the worst in us. It trains us to act in ways to attract attention; mimicking behaviours of those with certain personality disorders.

Another implication is those exceptional at attracting attention can thrive (in terms of metrics). We have a system that encourages us to mimic disordered individuals—the ones who attract attention and drama like a magnet—who often, at least in the short term, can climb the status ladder of social media metrics.

The metrics and associated status can be purchased; in most cases to get the exposure you “pay-to-play”; this makes the status markers unreliable, particularly with the proliferation of purchasing likes and followers.

What’s more important the quantity or quality of your impact?

Is ephemeral content with high engagement, whether organic, paid, or a mixture, better than an in-depth, thought-provoking piece of content that changes the assumptions or worldview of a few, but may have significantly less engagement?

Perhaps avoiding creating “digital litter”—a term lucidly discussed in

Caoilainn Lander

’s eponymously named article—ought to be a major or primary aim; being able to respond affirmatively to: “Am I proud of this piece of content?”—or even merely passing a lower bar, such as not feeling embarrassed.⁴

Alice Lemee

proposes three pillars to meet which are essential to create “creator gravity.”⁵

1. Purpose: There is a clear mission.

2. Health: The content is "nutritionally rich."

3. Energy: The work is undeniably theirs.

If you want to chase greatness and push yourself to your limits,

Piotr Pachota

suggests, in his article Growing on Substack, pt. 1: Substaxonomy, to ask: “Could <a really good writer you like> possibly written this essay him/herself?” If the answer is yes, maybe it’s actually good.

Does the “like-click” system—(rightly) disparaged by

Ann K Sterzinger

in her article, Pander or Perish: The Bloody Reign of the Lowest Common Denominator—really confer value, beyond being a helpful metric for advertisers?

Perhaps it indicates the content resonates or moves the needle, but it doesn’t inherently mean that; Ann points to an analysis by Momus/Nick Currie who showed “how his fame and inertia would result in anything he wrote online, regardless of quality, outperforming his fans’ posts, regardless of quality, simply because he already had the advantage of inertia over them.”

Benebell Wen is unsure whether the cost-benefit analysis of being in a “bigger pond” is worth it. She worries it may wear away at her optimism. To paraphrase her, she posits that only a “rare bird” can withstand misfortune and stay optimistic when exposed to a stronger gaze; Wen admits she is not one of these “rare birds.”

To put this in perspective, she felt this shift from “small pond” to “big pond” between 20k–40k YouTube subscribers. I would also wager that few—if any—have heard of her. She barely scratches the surface of ‘fame,’ yet she’s already experiencing the shadow side of increased exposure/attention.

It’s common to hear content creators who are inundated with overwhelmingly positive responses but dwell on the disproportionately few vitriolic comments which haunt them.

Chris Williamson

identifies himself as a “criticism hyper-responder.” “I weight the value of someone who doesn’t like my work significantly higher than a lot of people who do like my work,” he stated in his recent episode with

Adam Grant

; and on his 3.25 subscriber Q&A remarked: “Any increase in platform size doesn’t feel like an increase in support; it largely just feels like an increase in hate.”

If, unlike Joe Rogan, you are not a “rare bird” who seems to genuinely be able to resist the urge to check his comments—knowing curiosity will get the better of you—do you really want to increase your exposure, and invite a stronger gaze from the evil eye that accompanies the general gaze and voyeurism?

Suppose you won’t have a strong form of protection—a sort of practical nazar—such as never checking comments, or being extremely disagreeable to the point that vitriol slides off you like water off a duck’s back as

Konstantin Kisin

implies is the case with him. In that case, it may not be prudent to proceed.⁶

To many, (myself included) the more they seriously ponder it—and read others’ thoughts and experiences—the more attractive privacy with limited exposure to the influence of the evil eye seems; combined, perhaps, with some recognition for meaningful pursuits, such as their form of artistry.⁷

Maybe some things should remain private and sacred; I became more convinced of this worldview after reading

caitlyn

’s article, the quiet rebellion of a little life.

---

“Being famous is wicked. But it’s better to be normal.”—Rupert Grint

1. It’s not to say this is inherently a problem or bad taste. Also, I’m not suggesting social media is exclusively cyber voyeurism.

2. Spending seems apt as it feels like a cost or transaction for your cyber voyeurism—perhaps a slither of life force or emotional stability.

3. Although, perhaps in some sense the art of “being famous for being famous” is a skill. (I certainly don’t have or want that skill.)

4. Embarrassment doesn’t necessarily equate to unsatisfactory content—it could indicate you’re being/feeling vulnerable. Perhaps a laudable goal is to avoid creating content that makes you feel you’ve ‘stooped’ down to a level that perturbs you, such as sensationalism, covering inane topics, or acting in bad faith.

5. I’ve found Alice’s article series around “creator gravity” convincing and helpful. Her most recent one of the series uses the framing to dissect why Bobbi Althoff was unable to sustain her meteoric rise to ‘fame.’ (The rest of the series is linked at the bottom of the article.)

6. However, I would expect that Chris Williamson may not refer to himself as a “rare bird.” I highly doubt he regrets his voluntary exposure.

7. Artistry is broad. I remember listening to a talk by Alan Watts which flipped my perspective on what ‘art’ is. I left that experience (rightly) viewing barbers, carpenters, and many other professions that may not spring to mind when hearing ‘art’ or ‘artists’ with elevated respect and reverence.