when does being vulnerable online hurt you?

ask steffi 01: advice for the social media age

As the digital realm continues to encompass the corporeal, we’re encountering new problems that no one seems to know the answer to. Not the overarching brushstrokes of policy and technology, but the nitty-gritty interpersonal issues that it brings us: the dance of flirting on Hinge, keeping tabs on our loved ones via Find My Friends, knowing the right time to Venmo request. Loneliness, love, money, fear, anger, yearning — now through the kaleidoscope of the infinite scroll.

This corner of it’s steffi aims to address life within the social media age, and offer a little advice about how to deal with our most online quandaries. Once a month, I’ll answer a question you have, and perhaps invite some other internet culture friends to share their thoughts, too. If you’d like to submit a question, you can message me on Instagram.

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Dear Steffi,

How do I know when being vulnerable online isn’t in my best interest?

— Sam

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Dearest Sam,

Being vulnerable is something that we have been encouraged to do on social media since the dawn of its inception. From the earliest chat rooms to the newfound impulse of taking a selfie when you cry, social media has long rewarded moments of raw honesty with boosted visibility, which can help you find connection to people who perhaps feel what you feel. But as the platforms become more transparently commercialized, the dance of being truthful and honest versus oversharing online is one that I, and a lot of people I know, struggle with every day.

It’s a real dilemma. Dial-up internet was child’s play — we live in a jungle of a digital world now, and there are so many more things to consider. There’s the baseline safety aspect: do you want to reveal personal information about yourself, especially when potential security issues like doxxing and harassment abound? Then there’s the emotional part to contend with. What if no one sees it? What if everyone sees it, then you get weird fire reacts from creepy guys you went to high school with? And most frighteningly, what if it’s cringe?

There’s this knot of emotions tied up in our decision to post the less shiny parts of our lives, and the peripheral awareness of it can be icky. A huge factor is in the way we know the internet has progressed over the years. Our emotions can be quantified and valuated in comments, emojis and engagement rates, which can cause self-doubt and burnout. We’ve seen this play out in extreme ways with those who have found large followings on the apps (e.g. Emma Chamberlain, BestDressed). YouTuber Elle Mills wrote about the price of sharing her innermost anxieties for millions of people to see — ultimately contributing to her leaving her content creation career:

“I was seen authentically, but it also meant that I had made a product out of some of the most devastating moments of my life,” she said. “In its aftermath, I felt pressured to continuously comment on problems in my private life that I didn’t know how to fix.”

That being said, vulnerability creates community, and that shouldn’t be ignored. The internet would be a poorer place if everyone agreed to pretend to be okay all the time. It’s why people have great loves for apps like Reddit, Tumblr, and Twitter (not X). Apps like BeReal and Lapse are proof of audiences seeking sincerity in their digital lives.

Because we as users know there are people on the other side of our content, consuming it, finding connection and empathy and authenticity in it. The bravery of vulnerability continues to create enduring change in our society, and that reflects on a tool like social media. Vulnerability builds strong online communities like r/AmItheAsshole, fandoms like the BTS Army, and Facebook groups for moms to vent to each other about their struggles. It’s why movements like Black Lives Matter and #MeToo took flight online; the willingness of people to get very real and honest about their lives ultimately created something that made a mark in history and pushed the needle for justice.

Increased commodification of social media is the problem, not vulnerability. It’s billionaires peddling out boring, shoddy retail sections while pumping your feeds full of ads for drop-shipping brands and budget dildos. The equation you have to balance is when posting becomes more taxing than meaningful to you.

On the days when the algorithm chooses to show everyone another State Farm ad over your candor, it can be emotionally draining and unfulfilling, because there’s no conversation happening. Not every post will go viral. Not everyone will be nice. Most people are passive viewers, scrolling mindlessly through feeds swamped with sponcon. So if you’re thinking about likes and views and judgment and things outside your control even before you draft the post, it’s time to find what you’re seeking (community, debate, attention) elsewhere.

Most importantly, as a user, have confidence in knowing when you start to feel kind of grossed out by the whole dance of posting. Many of us have spent a decent amount of our lives online, and are familiar with the feeling of social media getting on top of us. Get cozy with that gut feeling and learn to trust it. And if you’re ever beginning to overthink it, imagine Mark Zuckerberg’s face smiling at you. Do not let him get his grubby little fingers into your brain like that. Punt his head, and that doubt, far, far away from you.

I am not a mental health professional and the contents here are solely for informational purposes. Please see a provider to seek diagnoses, treatments, and expert care. Therapy = good.