Performative Existing

Sometimes we do things because we want to, sometimes we do things because we must. You might tackle that tedious spreadsheet at work not because you love Excel, but because it’s your responsibility. Or you might blast that 80s power ballad for the twentieth time simply because it brings you joy. Simple enough, right?

The Rise of Performative Living #

But there’s a third category now: things people do mainly so strangers on the internet will see them doing it. This peculiar mode of existence—what I call “performative existing”—shows up everywhere. Picture someone who has zero interest in art spending three hours at MoMA, methodically documenting their presence with strategic selfies for Instagram rather than engaging with any actual artwork.

In a world before social platforms, if you disliked museums, you simply wouldn’t go. Today, millions engage in experiences they don’t genuinely enjoy because they’re performing for an invisible audience. They go, get the photos, post proof they were there, and move on.

Questioning Our Motivations #

I’ve been reflecting on this phenomenon lately—specifically how much of what we do stems from internal desire versus external validation. Like: would you still take that beach vacation if nobody ever saw the pictures?

It’s gotten harder to separate doing something from packaging it. Studies show the average person spends 147 minutes daily on social media¹, with much of that time consumed by viewing or creating content that showcases idealized versions of everyday life.

We all navigate this spectrum. Sometimes we make choices to please parents, impress friends, or shape others’ perceptions. That’s human nature. But I’ve found value in regularly asking myself a simple question: Am I doing this because I genuinely want to, or because I’m preoccupied with how it makes me appear to others?

Finding Authenticity in Writing #

Take this blog, for example. I write because the process itself brings satisfaction. I appreciate that some people enjoy reading my thoughts, but I’m not obsessed with maximizing readership. I write from internal motivation rather than external obligation. The act itself provides fulfillment independent of being recognized as “a writer.” I don’t even track visitor statistics.

While I’m aware of potential judgment, I strive to preserve my natural thought processes without excessive filtering. I aim for candor and openness rather than calculated self-presentation. I’m not playing 4D chess to manipulate impressions or burnish my image. Some of what I write will inevitably fall flat—and that’s perfectly fine. As Ted Williams once said, “Baseball is the only field of endeavor where a man can succeed three times out of ten and be considered a good performer.”

The Value of Intention #

I can also turn this into its own little performance, so that’s worth watching too. The real challenge is asking why we’re doing something, who benefits from it, and whether it matters beyond the social points attached to it.

Those museum selfies might generate a brief dopamine hit when likes roll in, but research shows that external validation provides diminishing returns on happiness. A week later, no one remembers the post—except perhaps the algorithms that monetized your attention and the platforms that converted your performance into advertising revenue.

In a world where the average person spends over two hours daily on social media¹, it probably matters to keep a few things for yourself. Go somewhere and don’t post it. Let it be yours for a while.