The panopticon, originally designed by Jeremy Bentham in 1791, is a circular prison centered around an observation tower. From this tower, a single guard has the potential ability to observe all the inmates in the prison- yet the inmates never know when they are being watched. This uncertainty creates a form of self-regulation: prisoners behaved as if they were being watched even when they weren’t. The resulting “panopticon theory” explains how the mere possibility of surveillance alters human behaviour. 

Two centuries later, this theory is no longer reserved for those convicted in one of Bentham’s prisons. Instead, we carry our own tiny watchtowers- sleek rectangles of glass and aluminium that we willingly point at ourselves, no watchful warden needed. We volunteer for the spotlight, sacrificing ourselves at the altar of social media, curating ourselves for an audience we can’t quite see but desperately feel. In the age of social media, the guard and the prisoner are the same person.

Rural pockets, uncorrupted by the presence of front-facing cameras, do exist, of course. But for most of us, the idea that any mundane moment might be documented is entirely ordinary. A picture of your outfit, a video of your meal, a mock-serious clip of your “boomer” parents, an argument on public transport- everything has a place online. For years, social media sold us on connection and subsequently self-expression. For nearly half my life, I’ve used it for these same reasons as well- and I have to admit, I did used to enjoy it. 

But even as a Gen Z-er who “grew up on the internet,” I feel the shift in temperature. Social media no longer feels like a space for expression or connection; it has morphed into a marketplace of selves. We don’t go online simply to share or connect- we go online to audition. And the scrolling masses, knowingly or not, have become the judges.

Sharing is basic to social media- we largely understand that this is not just a neutral exchange of content or information. Our posts expose us to a virtual panopticon- not simply because platforms collect data for ads (a form of surveillance we’ve largely learned to ignore), but because we are watched by the people we share with. When we post, we knowingly open ourselves up to an unusual degree of transparency. We display facets of ourselves that would otherwise take months, even years, of intimacy to discover. Naturally, this vulnerability pushes us to curate: we tailor our digital presence so those watching see the best version of us: leave a like on a niche, funny meme to show your impeccable sense of humour; repost a story to display your altruistic activist side; follow a cool, new, homegrown fashion brand as an ode to your sense of style.

The act of existing on social media is a performance- and it is this performative aspect of it that shapes the logic and experience of being on social media in the first place. And like any performer, we tailor our art for applause.

Sociologist Erving Goffman argued that all of life is performance- we act out a role in every interaction, adapting it based on the nature of the relationship or context at hand. Social media has pushed that metaphor to include realms of our experience that were once regarded as non-performative and unstageable: eating pizza in bed, reading on public transport, going for a run, taking your makeup off at the end of the night. The masks we once reserved for public life have fused to our faces. If all the world was once a stage, it is now a reality show, and we are all posing for the camera. 

Surprisingly, distilling one’s personality into a neatly framed post can sharpen perception. It forces us to identify the dominant feeling as you experience life, from one fleeting moment to another. Imagine sipping coffee with someone you love on a quiet morning. What makes this moment so sweet? Is it the warmth of companionship? The warn sunshine trickling in? The birds outside your window? Any of these could define it- each putting a different spin on both the moment and who you are within it. You’re left asking which angle captures not just the moment, but the version of yourself you want others to admire. 

Instances like this presumably used to be fully lived. Now, a sliver of our consciousness hovers above the scene, asking whether it might make a good post. When we package such fragments into a “photo dump,” we do more than assemble content; we hone our view on the world, and in the process, define ourselves as persons, identities, and subjects.

So how much are you shaping your Instagram feed- and how much is your instagram feed shaping you? 

Social media can, admittedly, push us to notice the poetry of the everyday. But it also heightens our awareness of ourselves. Soon, anxiety begins to seep in. Posts begin to feel like tiny referendums on identity. Every upload asks: is this who I am? Is this who I want to be?

This is the psychological mechanism of the virtual panopticon. We take charge of our own subjectivation, performing our identities post by post, always constrained by the watching crowd.

On X or Facebook, you may try to express something raw and real about yourself. But because you are also creating for consumption, you begin to write with an imagined audience in mind. The moments meant to reveal your genuine self become performances. Your psychology becomes a performance.

These experiments with the self would not exist without the demands of the virtual panopticon. The expectant audience draws us out, compelling us to highlight the quirks and qualities we believe make us more palatable.

But when every thought is externalised, what becomes of insight? When every feeling becomes a post, what becomes of reflection? When friends become fans, what becomes of intimacy? Social media, famed for its infinite potential to connect and express, has begun to estrange us from our own humanity.

While many- myself included- are choosing to opt out of having an online presence, I fear performance culture has tipped us further still. The virtual panopticon has begun to reshape our offline selves as well. Gen Alpha isn’t just creating personas for the internet- they’re learning personhood from the internet. From sweeping takes on morality and values, to speech patterns, desires, food habits, micro-expressions- it’s all algorithmically sourced. In the panopticon in our pockets, identities are no longer simply performed, they are manufactured. The question now isn’t simply who are you online?
It’s who are you becoming because of it?

The challenge social media poses is about psychological integrity. It encourages us to cultivate a prismatic self, each fragment optimised for an audience. And the persona we perform online is starting to feel like the default.

The question now isn’t simply Who are you online?
It’s: Who are you becoming because of it?