It’s easy to believe that the digital world we experience is the digital world that exists. We scroll through our own social media feeds, a relentless stream of outrage, performative conflict, and envy-inducing vignettes, and we conclude that this is simply the state of things. That the platform itself is an unmitigated toxin, and that everyone is drowning in the same bitter brew. But here’s the quiet, almost uncomfortable truth we often miss: you cannot assume that everyone’s social media feed is as toxic as your own. The reflection you see is not a window into a universal reality, but a meticulously curated mirror, held up to your own engagements, curiosities, and clicks.
Social media is not a public square where we all see the same stage. It is a hall of a million private rooms, each with walls papered by an algorithm trained on a single occupant’s behavior. That algorithm is a relentless but literal student. It has no moral compass; its only goal is to capture your attention. If you linger on political fury, it will serve you more anger, refining its offerings until it finds the precise temperature of outrage that keeps you engaged. If you pause on images that spark comparison and inadequacy, it will build you a gallery of curated highlights from seemingly perfect lives. Your feed becomes a feedback loop, amplifying your own patterns until you are convinced the entire platform is vibrating at the same distressing frequency.
Yet, in the next room over, someone else’s feed might be a serene gallery of watercolor tutorials, birdwatching photos, and discussions about baking sourdough. Another might be a vibrant hub of niche fan art, thoughtful literary analysis, and supportive community threads. Their algorithms learned a different set of lessons. They saw engagement with curiosity, with craftsmanship, with gentle humor, and they responded in kind. These users are not necessarily wiser or better people; they simply interacted with the tool differently, and the tool reflected that back to them. They are living in the same digital city, but walking entirely different streets.This realization is profoundly important, because it returns a sense of agency and responsibility. To declare that social media is universally toxic is to succumb to a passive helplessness. It lets us off the hook. The more empowering, and perhaps more challenging, perspective is to understand that we are, in a constant and low-stakes way, in a training session with a powerful but amoral entity. The content we consciously seek out, the profiles we mute, the arguments we refuse to fuel, the corners of joy we deliberately follow—all of this is instructional data. We are teaching the algorithm what world we want to live in online.
So, the next time you feel the familiar drain from scrolling, pause. Consider that the chaos you see is, in part, a reflection of your own digital shadow. This isn’t about blame, but about awareness. It suggests that a less toxic experience might not require abandoning the town square, but rather, deliberately and patiently, teaching the architects of your private room what you truly value. Your feed is yours alone. The question is not what’s wrong with the platform, but what have you, perhaps unconsciously, asked it to show you.