Social media has turned millions of Americans into journalists of their own private worlds. We document our days, render instant judgments on whatever national mess is unfolding, and fire off our opinions with the breezy authority that used to belong to people who actually got paid for it. And we do most of this without editors, without real time to think, and usually without any meaningful accountability. The whole thing throws a strange, sometimes queasy light on what journalism and writing even are anymore. At bottom, you cannot help wondering: has it all become mostly a contest of egos? Who can express themselves most persuasively, or frame the chaos of the moment through their own lens, all while walking away feeling seen, validated, and maybe even a little superior. 1

Long before any of us were doomscrolling, Andrei Tarkovsky was already poking at these nerves in his film Stalker. There is this character known only as the Writer— cynical, exhausted, full of self-loathing — who ends up on a harrowing trip with two other men into the mysterious Zone an area that supposedly grants each individual their deepest desire. At one point he basically admits it outright: “A man writes because he is tormented, because he doubts. He needs to constantly prove to himself and the others that he’s worth something.” For him, writing is not some noble creative burst. It feels more like a chronic condition, almost shameful, something he keeps returning to even when it hurts.

That line lands differently now, does it not? It used to be mostly artists and serious writers who carried that private torment. Now we are all carrying it, every day, in public. Every personal essay, every viral thread, every hot take on politics or culture is, at least partly, trying to prove we matter; to the algorithm, to strangers, and most of all to ourselves. We have all become versions of that weary Writer, wandering around in our digital Zone, hoping the right combination of words and timing will finally quiet the doubt for a minute. 2

This hits especially hard in the midst of the country’s current discourse. With the 2026 midterm elections looming, regular people and independent creators are often shaping the story as much as big outlets. Trust in traditional media has fallen to a new low of 28 percent, according to recent Gallup polling. Citizen journalists sometimes fill in gaps that legacy rooms miss or will not touch. 3

Nietzsche once said, “Creating, that is the great salvation from suffering. But for the creator to appear, suffering itself is needed, and much transformation.” Social media promises creation without suffering. Just post, refresh, get rewarded. It short circuits the hard part and leaves us performing versions of depth instead of actually wrestling with it.

At the heart of all this is the ethics of algorithmic curation, that invisible, slightly ominous hand deciding what millions of us see. Platforms are built to maximize engagement: likes, comments, rage, time spent. And that logic naturally favors whatever is loudest, most emotional, most polarizing. Accuracy and nuance often loses out to sensationalism. 4

A major 2026 study published in Nature found that users exposed to X’s algorithmic feed rather than a chronological timeline experienced measurable shifts in political attitudes on issues including immigration, crime, and foreign policy. Some of those shifts lingered even after users reverted back to chronological feeds. The effect was subtle, ambient, almost atmospheric. The feed did not argue explicitly. It altered emotional emphasis. It changed what felt urgent, threatening, humiliating, or culturally dominant. That may be the most unsettling aspect of algorithmic systems: they do not simply shape what we think about, but the emotional texture through which we interpret reality itself. 5 One starts wondering who is really responsible when the machine quietly reshapes how we see our country and each other right before an election.

Kierkegaard once said that “wherever the crowd is, there is untruth.” He believed real truth lives with the individual, thinking and choosing alone. Social media has the opposite effect; it manufactures crowds instantly and rewards whatever or whoever gets the strongest reaction. We end up reacting more to the polished, filtered, and sometimes AI-altered version of events rather than the messy reality underneath.

Stalker does not offer easy comfort. It shows the Writer confronting his own smallness and fragility inside that strange, dangerous place. Our version of the Zone is this vast, addictive American internet, beautiful in its possibilities, treacherous in its hidden currents. As we argue about democracy, truth, elections, and what kind of country we are becoming, it seems worth asking whether all this frantic self-expression— steered by algorithms — is genuinely deepening our shared conversation. Or maybe it is mostly a louder, faster way for all of us to soothe our restless egos.

As we debate the health of our democracy, the integrity of our elections, and the quality of our public square, we must ask whether this explosion of self-expression is truly enriching our nation, or primarily serving as a faster, louder way to soothe our collective egos. 6

The tension between hope and disillusionment may be the most honest ground we can occupy as writers, as citizens, and as participants in the shared life of the nation.

Works Cited

[1] Pew Research Center. “Social Media and News Fact Sheet.” Pew Research Center, 17 Jan. 2025.

[2] Tarkovsky, Andrei, director. Stalker. Mosfilm, 1979.

[3] Gallup. “Trust in Media at New Low of 28% in U.S.” Gallup News, 2 Oct. 2025.

[4] Hastuti, H. “Algorithmic Influence and Media Legitimacy.” Frontiers in Communication, 2025.

[5] Gauthier, Germain, et al. “The Political Effects of X’s Feed Algorithm.” Nature, vol. 652, 2026, pp. 416–423.

[6] Bruns, Axel. Are Filter Bubbles Real? Polity Press, 2019.

Acknowledgement: The opinions expressed in this article are those of the individual author, not necessarily Our National Conversation as a whole.