How do you define yourself?
The search for identity in the 21st century - oh, and how AI may rob you of what you find...
It’s not that long ago, comparatively speaking, when how we defined ourselves — who we were, what made us unique — was solely based upon what we did, what we made, the relationships we had, and so forth. These were definitions of selves based on the compounds of what we actively ‘did’ when we made the physical and mental commitment to assert ourselves in one concrete way or another. You might say that there were material and external ‘consequences’ to our efforts.
Fast forward to 2025 and the world is a very different place. Whilst we still work, have relationships, ‘do things’ etc. more and more people seem to be endeavouring to create their unique identities ‘passively’ i.e. in the virtual world. We embrace TikTok and soundbite videos, have Instagram accounts where we flaunt pictures of ourselves / our pets / our holidays / our possessions; we boast on LinkedIn or troll on X; we create alternative personalities / accounts and inhabit these in order to either protect or liberate ourselves. Do we do so in part because we are dissatisfied with who we are in the ‘real world’ and/or because, no matter what we try, it’s really hard to feel we’ve achieved the status of a validated and unique individual?
The irony in some of these cases (perhaps on Instagram especially) is that in following the herd we run the risk of becoming less visible, less individual. There are so many muscle-bound men or camera-pouting young women on the platform that they all blend into one homogenous mass; so while some may think they’re asserting their individuality by posting look-alike photos, in many respects they are subverting that individuality. And surely this is a trend echoed across most social media platforms; individuals are getting lost in the noise.
And it’s worse than that because even if we have managed to create some kind of ‘uniqueness’ on-line, having that identity stolen and/or replicated by AI or the unscrupulous is just a few mouse clicks away — especially given the ever-increasing sophistication of on-line scammers and fraudsters. In some countries this illegal activity has given rise to ‘factory farming’.
I remember reading a few years ago that there were, on Twitter, dozens of accounts claiming to be that of the actress Natalie Portman. Only one was, of course, but how was anyone supposed to know which was the legitimate account? Tagging something with ‘TheOfficialXYZ’ proves nothing; anyone can type ‘TheOfficial’ — I’ve just done it twice…
Knowing what is ‘true’ or ‘real’ in the virtual world has become almost impossible — just consider politics! — with the sad outcome that it’s safer to trust nothing, something which makes defining ourselves on-line even harder.
When I was in London a few weeks ago I was struck by how many people continue to strive to define their individuality ‘actively’. One of the most public attempts to do so is in the way they dress — a trip on the underground can be eye-opening! All grist to the writer’s mill, of course; lots of material to be harvested and curated for poems, prose, plays. Yet, simultaneously, I couldn’t help but wonder whether how some people choose to present themselves is more ‘extreme’ than ever before because it has become increasingly difficult to stand out as a unique individual. Or might it also be that the desire to have your uniqueness recognised — and perhaps labelled (another misplaced ‘following the herd’ trend) — has never been greater?
I am cognisant this is all in danger of sounding judgemental. It’s not meant to be. I’d like to think it ‘observational’ — and observation prompted by ‘writerly fascination’ as well as by a little recent reading of philosophy on the side.
The overall view is also prompted by the writer in me, of course. Way back when in those days when individual identity and who we were was largely based on what we did, putting pen to paper was the only way ‘a writer’ became recognised as such. These days that ‘active’ channel has been severely devalued. Millions more people are writing, millions more books are — thanks to the democratising nature of the internet and social media — finding their way into the world. The talentless are using AI to write their books for them, pumping out volume after volume on Amazon via ChatGBT and the like. From this perspective, ‘being a writer’ — and being recognised as such — is the hardest it has ever been. Indeed, it seems that just writing isn’t enough; often we need celebrity or notoriety (either before or after writing), a YouTube channel or an edgy podcast, or an active TikTok or Instagram profile in order to ‘make it’. We hold our book up to the camera and pout just like everyone else — and even after all that effort, most often no-one pays any attention anyway.
None of which will stop us, of course — and Hoorah for that! Nor will some scumbag AI technology outfit invisibly scraping our words for use in their LLMs prevent us from writing; after all, they can’t compete with our irrational, illogical, randomly creative decision-making. We still possess the ability to decide 2+2=5 if we want to; for a computer, won’t two-plus-two always equal four?
I’m rambling, of course. And I reserve the right to ramble. Indeed, my illogical and unstructured rambling goes, in part, to prove this wasn’t written by AI. Whether it also goes some way towards establishing my ‘writer self’ to the outside world is something over which I have absolutely no control — which isn’t, of course, the same as not caring whether it does or not…
Time for a quick photo:
…and as you can see, I don’t pout. Or at least this half of me doesn’t…!
Ramble on old son. Rambling in the woods or on paper/screen is all good. I despair at social media and avoid it most of the time but I admit I keep my eye on posts made on our local neighbourhood site and, sifting through the complaints about dog shit and poor parking, I look for posts that make interesting found poems, so here for your amusement is just one of them, verbatim, the only adjustment being line breaks, punctuation, spelling corrections and the title I have given it, pinched from the final line. All the rest is just as I found it......
Smile for the Cameras
To all the rats
who come out at night,
especially the ones
who live in Stanley Street,
flashing their car lights,
drug dealing, smoking cannabis,
sniffing nitrous oxide,
throwing their takeaways,
gas canisters, rubbish everywhere,
music playing , off their heads,
behind the back of Warreners Walk ,
hiding so no one can see them,
ignorant disrespectful,
park outside your own houses,
you need to get a job ,
obviously your wives don’t know,
keeping us awake all night,
you have been caught on camera,
and reported to the police.
Smile for the cameras.
The more time I spend online sharing my poetry and photography, the more I realize how much of it is manufactured. There is so much out there that makes you wonder whether it's true, and more often than not, it isn't. Spending too much time online, or at least not having a balanced life between the "real" world and the "virtual" one, I think, will lead us further from the truth of who we are as humans.