To be watched is to be validated. To be liked is to be loved. To go viral is to be worthy. These have become the unspoken truths of the digital age. In the economy of attention, existence itself has been redefined through visibility. We are what others perceive us to be, and this perception is shaped, curated, and often distorted through the omnipresent lens of social media. From the persistent glow of Instagram stories to the curated vulnerability of TikTok confessionals, digital platforms have become not only spaces for self-expression but sites of existential negotiation.
The desire to be seen is not new. Philosophers, writers, and theologians have long grappled with the anxiety and ecstasy of visibility. Jean-Paul Sartre’s formulation of the gaze posits that to be looked at by another is to be objectified, transformed from subject to spectacle. Under the gaze, we lose control of the narrative of our being. We become what the Other sees. In traditional Sartrean terms, this confrontation is one of alienation. Yet in the current digital architecture, the gaze has been not only accepted but actively pursued. The alienation remains, but it is now monetised, incentivised, and compulsively performed.
What we see today is the transformation of the gaze from an occasional moment of external judgment to a constant state of surveillance and self-surveillance. We are always performing, even when we are alone. The front camera has become a mirror, but it is not a private one. It is a mirror that anticipates an audience. Our digital selves are not merely representations. They are extensions of identity, engineered for maximum engagement. The algorithms that sort, select, and prioritise content are not neutral tools. They shape desire. They reward certain aesthetics, certain moods, certain narratives. In doing so, they guide how we present ourselves, what we choose to share, and ultimately, how we come to understand our own worth.
Byung-Chul Han, in his critical analysis of digital culture, describes this transformation as the shift from a disciplinary society to an achievement society. Where power once operated through prohibition and control, it now functions through seduction and self-optimization. The modern subject is no longer a prisoner but an entrepreneur of the self. Social media, in this view, does not repress the individual. It exhausts them. The endless pursuit of visibility demands constant activity, constant updating, constant self-exposure. Every moment becomes content. Every thought must be rendered tweetable. Every experience must be documented, filtered, and framed.
This performative visibility has created a paradox. The more we reveal, the less we feel seen. The more we are connected, the lonelier we become. The gaze that was once feared is now courted, but it remains a source of alienation. It sees what we allow it to see, but not necessarily what we want to be seen for. The curated self, the one shaped by platform logic and social expectation, is not the whole self. And yet it becomes the dominant narrative. This dissonance creates a quiet violence. It teaches us to doubt the authenticity of our own interiority. If no one sees it, does it matter? If it cannot be posted, did it even happen?
The attention economy exploits this tension with surgical precision. Likes, comments, shares, and followers are not merely metrics. They are affective currencies. They offer the illusion of intimacy, of recognition, of community. But they also engender dependence. The dopamine hit of validation becomes addictive. The absence of engagement feels like rejection. The digital gaze promises belonging, but often delivers fragmentation. We become more visible and more invisible at once.
Platforms like Instagram and TikTok present themselves as arenas of self-expression. They celebrate the individual. They democratise fame. But beneath this façade lies a deeply conformist logic. Visibility is conditional. It is granted to those who align with the aesthetic, political, or emotional norms of the moment. It is revoked from those who deviate. The algorithm rewards spectacle, not substance. Vulnerability must be palatable. Anger must be aestheticised. Sadness must be softly lit. The digital self is allowed to feel, but only within the boundaries of what is profitable to the platform.
This has particular implications for marginalised individuals and communities. The gaze is not evenly distributed. It reflects and reinforces existing hierarchies of race, gender, class, and ability. Certain bodies are rendered more visible, more desirable, more followable. Others are erased, shadow-banned, or ignored. The politics of attention mirror the politics of the real world. And in some cases, they amplify them. To exist online as a marginalised person is to navigate a minefield of hypervisibility and erasure. You are either tokenised or excluded. There is little space for nuance, complexity, or contradiction.
The desire to be seen, then, is not trivial. It is existential. It is about mattering. It is about believing that one’s experiences, thoughts, and feelings deserve space. But when this desire is routed entirely through digital platforms, it becomes vulnerable to commodification. The self is no longer shared. It is marketed. It is no longer encountered. It is consumed. And in this process, intimacy is replaced by interaction. Recognition is replaced by metrics. Presence is replaced by performance.
Sartre’s gaze was once situated in the intimate space between two people. It was a moment of rupture, of confrontation. Today, the gaze is ambient. It is everywhere and nowhere. It is diffused across feeds, timelines, and stories. And because it is constant, it shapes not just what we do but who we become. The self is always under construction, but now that construction is public, interactive, and monetised. We do not just live. We live to be seen.
But there is still agency. The digital space is not a totalising force. It is a terrain of struggle. Users repurpose, resist, and reimagine the platforms they inhabit. Movements are born in comment sections. Communities flourish in tags and threads. New languages of care, solidarity, and humour emerge every day. Visibility can be weaponised, but it can also be reclaimed. The challenge is not to abandon the gaze, but to complicate it. To make space for forms of seeing that do not reduce, distort, or consume.
Attention is not inherently exploitative. It can be a form of love. It can be the gaze that says I see you not as content, but as a person. The problem is not that we want to be seen. It is that we are asked to perform visibility according to rules that do not serve us. The answer is not to look away, but to look differently. To ask what kind of gaze we are cultivating. To ask what kind of presence we are offering in return.
Loneliness, in this context, is not just the absence of company. It is the absence of meaningful recognition. It is the feeling of being watched without being understood. It is the ache of constant sharing met with silence. It is the exhaustion of being available to everyone and seen by no one. And it is growing. Despite unprecedented connectivity, rates of loneliness are soaring. The performance of connection has replaced its substance. To be seen should not be a transaction. It should not be a performance. It should not require curation, conformity, or compromise. To be seen should be a condition of being human. In the digital age, reclaiming this truth is one of the most urgent tasks of our time.
