Is Originality Dead, or Did the Algorithm Just Make Us All the Same?

There was a time when you could tell where somebody was from just by listening to them talk.

Not because they announced their hometown. You could hear it.

People from different regions had different accents, different slang, different expressions, and different ways of saying the same thing. Somebody from New York didn't necessarily sound like somebody from Memphis. Somebody from Chicago didn't necessarily sound like somebody from Atlanta. The way people spoke was shaped by where they lived, who raised them, who they grew up around, and the culture that surrounded them.

Then came social media.

And apparently, the entire country decided we needed to sound like the same 14 people on TikTok.

Now somebody can live in Mississippi, spend six hours scrolling through Instagram, and wake up the next morning talking like an influencer from Los Angeles.

"Girl, I literally cannot."

You could literally. You just did.

And it's not just the way we talk.

• It's the way we dress.
• The way we pose.
• The way we decorate our houses.
• The restaurants we photograph.
• The vacations we take.
• The phrases we use.
• The coffee orders.

Even the way we announce that we're having a good time has become strangely standardized.

Social media has created something we've never really had before: billions of people being exposed to the exact same cultural references at almost exactly the same time.

And we're surprised that we're starting to look alike.

Think about the vacation pictures.

How many times have you seen the same photo of a woman reclined on a transparent surfboard in crystal-clear waters as a drone captures the photo from above?

She's usually wearing the same general type of swimsuit, striking the same general pose, in the same general kind of tropical location.

And somewhere in the caption is something about "living my best life."

I'm not saying she shouldn't do it.

If chilling on a clear surfboard in the middle of the ocean makes you happy, please relax on that thing until the battery in the drone dies.

The question isn't whether people should enjoy popular things.

The question is: How many identical pictures do we need before we start asking ourselves whether we're actually creating memories or simply reproducing someone else's?

Because there's a difference between inspiration and imitation. We see something we like, so we try it.

That's normal.

Society have always borrowed from one another. Fashion, music, language, art, food, hairstyles and traditions have always traveled from one community to another.

But social media has industrialized imitation. The algorithm doesn't necessarily reward originality. It rewards familiarity.

If a particular video works, people make another version. If that version works, thousands make their version.

Then everybody is doing the same dance, using the same sound, making the same facial expression and pointing at the same words appearing on the screen.

Eventually, something that was once creative becomes a template. And the template becomes a trend. And the trend becomes something everybody does. Then we move on to the next thing.

We're living in an era where people have more opportunities to express themselves than any generation in history, yet somehow we're increasingly expressing ourselves in remarkably similar ways.

That's the irony.

We have more individuality available to us while simultaneously becoming more culturally synchronized.

And maybe that's because we're no longer just consuming culture. We're constantly being shown what we're supposed to consume.

Before social media, you might have known what was popular among the people around you. Now you can see what's popular among millions of strangers before you've even brushed your teeth.

And when you see something enough times, it starts feeling normal.

Then desirable.

Then necessary.

That's how influence works.

You don't necessarily have to be told what to think. Sometimes you just have to be given the same thing repeatedly until you stop questioning why you want it. Why do you think some songs become "hits" although most people you know can't stand it? 

This doesn't mean originality is dead. I don't think it is. But I do think originality has gotten harder.

Not because people have become less creative, but because we're surrounded by so much other people's creativity that it's difficult to hear our own ideas.

Before social media, you had to come up with something on your own. Now you can simply open your phone and find 10,000 people who already came up with something. And there's nothing wrong with borrowing an idea. The problem starts when you stop asking yourself whether you actually like the idea.

Are you wearing that because you like it? Or because everybody you follow is wearing it?

Are you taking that vacation picture because it's beautiful? Or because you've seen it 47 times and decided that's what a vacation is supposed to look like?

Are you doing something because you want to? Or because you've been trained by an algorithm to want it?

That's the part worth thinking about.

Because maybe the real threat isn't that social media is making everybody the same. Maybe it's that we're becoming so accustomed to being influenced that we've forgotten how to make decisions without influence.

There used to be a lot more room for people to simply be themselves. Somebody could be strange without immediately discovering that 2.7 million other people were also being strange in exactly the same way.

And maybe that's what we're missing. Individuality.

The freedom to do something because you like it. To wear something nobody on your timeline is wearing. To take a vacation picture that doesn't look like everybody else's vacation picture. To say something in your own voice. To have an opinion that didn't arrive prepackaged by a podcast, influencer, celebrity or algorithm.

Because being yourself has never required being completely different from everybody else.

It simply requires knowing the difference between "I like this" and "I'm supposed to like this."

That's a pretty important distinction.

Especially when everybody has the same phone in their hand telling them what to like next.

Maybe originality isn't dead.

Maybe it's just buried underneath everybody else's influence.

And perhaps the most original thing you can do these days...

is stop scrolling long enough to figure out what you actually think.

You Hate Black Women

There was a time when saying, "I like chocolate ice cream," didn't require adding, "...and if you don't then you're a loser."

Somewhere along the way, we lost that.

Today, it seems like nobody is allowed to simply appreciate something anymore. Every compliment has to come packaged with an insult. Every preference has to become a competition. Every opinion has to produce a loser.

It's exhausting.

You can like iPhones without pretending Android users are carrying around calculators.

I can prefer Android without acting like every Apple customer was hypnotized by a glowing logo.

Both phones make calls. Both let you waste six hours scrolling through videos you'll forget by tomorrow. 

Sports fans do the same thing.

Someone says LeBron James is their favorite player.

Instead of saying, "I can see why," somebody immediately launches into a ten-minute TED Talk explaining why Michael Jordan would have beaten him while wearing dress shoes. (By the way, I'm Team Jordan.)

Here's a crazy thought: Maybe LeBron is great. Maybe Jordan is great. Maybe your favorite doesn't become taller because you shrunk someone else.

Music fans do it. Political parties do it. People who like cars, video games, restaurants, rappers, actors, etc.

The saddest example, though, is one I see far too often involving Black men.

A Black man falls in love with a White woman (or anyone who isn't Black). Good for him. Love who loves you, bro.

But then comes the unnecessary part.

Some of those Black men feel compelled to explain their choice by putting down Black women.

"They're too loud."

"They're too masculine."

"They've got attitudes."

"They're impossible."

Really?

If another race of woman makes you happy, great. But what exactly did Black women do to deserve becoming your press conference?

Imagine someone announcing they bought a Mercedes and then spending twenty minutes talking about how terrible BMWs are.

Nobody asked. Nobody cared. Just enjoy your Mercedes and keep it moving. Someone else will enjoy the BMW. Trust me.

If your happiness depends on insulting people you didn't choose, maybe you're not as happy as you're pretending to be.

Here's the part that bothers me most: boys are watching this! They're learning that it's okay to put down all Black women if the one you want doesn't want you (which is usually the case).

Real praise doesn't need victims.

• You don't have to convince me your spouse is amazing by insulting mine.
• You don't have to prove your favorite athlete by disrespecting another legend.
• And you don't have to justify your dating preferences by degrading an entire group of people.

Just like what you like and respect what you don't. It's really that simple.

My wife is black. My mom was black. My grandmothers were black. I love black women. I'm not saying they're better than every other woman. I'm saying they're my favorite. I welcome you to pump up your favorite in the comments if you feel compelled.

But "give me a sister, I can't resist her."

Social Media's Favorite Sport Is Hating People

A couple of days ago, I watched a video of a fight inside of a sports bar. Nothing unusual there. Human beings have been arguing over alcohol, sports, and wounded pride since someone invented fermented fruit and competition.

But the video claimed the fight happened at a Walk-On's restaurant in Madison, Mississippi.

The people that were fighting were white.

The comment section immediately turned into what comment sections always become: a tribal war.

Some people used the video to criticize Madison. Others used it to defend Madison. 

Some tried to connect the behavior of two individuals to an entire city. Before long, people weren't discussing a fight anymore. They were discussing race, politics, morality, intelligence, crime, culture, and every other topic that social media can drag into a mud pit.

The funny thing is this: the video wasn't recorded at a Walk Ons restaurant in Madison. Heck, there isn't even a Walk Ons in Madison which leads me to believe this was originally posted by someone not even from the area. The video isn't even from Mississippi. It appears to be a two- or three-year-old video from a Buffalo Wild Wings in Hoover, AL. A fight that happened during March Madness years ago.

This seems to happen more and more every day.

Videos are constantly being shared with misleading locations, misleading dates, misleading context, or completely fabricated backstories. A fight in one state suddenly becomes proof of a social problem in another. An old video resurfaces as "breaking news." A random crime becomes evidence that an entire race, city, or political party is somehow defective.

And millions of people hit "share" without spending thirty seconds verifying any of it.

Why?

Because the truth is boring. The truth usually sounds something like this: "A small number of people behaved badly."

That's not exciting. What gets engagement is: "These people are all like this."

Social media rewards outrage the same way casinos reward gambling. The platform gets traffic. The creator gets clicks. The audience gets emotional stimulation. Everyone wins except society.

Around central Mississippi, there has long been tension between people in Madison and people in Jackson. Some residents of Madison point to crime and dysfunction in Jackson as evidence that Jackson is failing.

Some residents of Jackson point to examples of bad behavior in Madison and use them as evidence that Madison's self-image is undeserved.

Both groups spend enormous amounts of time collecting evidence against the other side. It's become less about solving problems and more about winning arguments. The internet has turned many people into amateur prosecutors. Nobody investigates their own side. Everyone investigates the opposition. 

A black person commits a crime. Someone posts it.

A white person gets arrested. Someone posts it.

A liberal says something foolish. Someone posts it.

A conservative says something foolish. Someone posts it.

Then thousands of people conclude that one example represents millions of people.

It's like seeing one bad driver in a Nissan Altima and deciding everyone who owns an Altima can't drive.

Yet people do it every day when race and politics are involved. Bad news grabs our attention. Negative information sticks in our memory.

We remember the insult more than the compliment. We remember the scandal more than the success story. We remember the fight more than the thousand ordinary interactions that happened peacefully that same day.

Social media algorithms understand this better than most psychologists. They know anger keeps people scrolling. They know resentment keeps people engaged. They know fear keeps people clicking. And they know that nothing spreads faster than content that tells people their enemies are worse than they imagined.

This is why your feed is full of outrage and rarely full of context. Most people don't want information.

They want confirmation. They want evidence that the people they already dislike are exactly as bad as they suspected.

A misleading video becomes useful because it reinforces an existing belief.

Once that happens, fact-checking becomes inconvenient.

The result is a society where everyone is carrying around a digital bag full of stories about how terrible the other side is.

Republicans. Democrats. Black Americans. White Americans. Men. Women. All have something.

Everyone is collecting grievances like Pokémon cards.

Meanwhile, millions of decent people from every race, political party, and neighborhood are living ordinary lives, going to work, raising children, helping neighbors, paying bills, and never appearing in a viral video.

But ordinary decency doesn't trend. Who wants to see that?

We Don’t Argue Anymore—We Perform

Remember when a disagreement was just that—a disagreement? Two people, maybe more, hashing things out over coffee, a kitchen table, or a group text that hadn’t yet turned into a battleground. Back then, the goal was clarity. Understanding. Maybe even compromise. Now? Every disagreement feels like a dress rehearsal for a TED Talk nobody asked for.

We’re not debating to understand—we’re auditioning for validation.

Scroll through any comment section and you’ll see it: folks aren’t trying to make sense, they’re trying to make noise. Every podcast clip, every stitched reaction, every “hot take” is less about truth and more about applause. It’s not “What do you think?” anymore—it’s “Watch me win.” 

We used to argue to sharpen ideas. Now we argue to trend.

And let’s be honest: it’s not about being right—it’s about being seen as right. The loudest voice usually wins, not the wisest one. The algorithm doesn’t reward nuance. It rewards volume. Certainty. Swagger. Even if it’s the dumbest thing anyone has ever seen, heard, or read.

But here’s the thing: strong thinkers don’t need an audience to be right.

They don’t need likes, shares, or followers to make sense. What they need is logic, patience, and humility—the kind of qualities that don’t get you clicks but do earn you respect. The kind of mindset that says, “I’m here to learn, not just to be heard.”

Real maturity shows up when you care more about understanding than winning. At one time understanding was the goal, right?

When you listen without rehearsing your rebuttal. When you can say, “You might have a point,” instead of “You just don’t get it.” That’s grown-folk energy, Church. That’s the kind of conversation that builds bridges instead of burning them.

Because grown folks don’t perform—they process. They listen to gain perspective. 

They don’t argue for show—they discuss for growth. They know that being loud isn’t the same as being clear. That being viral isn’t the same as being valuable.

We just have to start listening again. Not for the applause. Not for the retweets. But for the kind of understanding that doesn’t trend—but lasts. Viral is temporary. Value is forever.