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.

Connected to Everyone, Known by No One

We built a world where you can order groceries, earn a paycheck, and talk to a squad of gamers in three time zones without ever looking another human in the eye. We called it progress. So why does everyone feel so isolated?

We are plugged into every person on the planet, yet sitting in a room by ourselves, staring at a screen, wondering why we feel so disconnected. Let’s be honest—we didn't land here by accident. Society didn't just drift into loneliness; we optimized our way into it. We traded the inconvenience of real human interaction for the seamless comfort of living behind a glass box.

The Machine

Every major shift in how we work, play, and communicate over the last decade has been designed to eliminate the need to interact with an actual physical human being:

• Remote Work: We traded the morning commute and office chatter for Zoom calls and Slack pings. On paper, it’s a win—no small talk by the coffee pot. In practice, we eliminated the accidental social touchpoints that keep us grounded.

• Digital Recreation: Multiplayer video games replaced local sports leagues and community clubs. You can spend five hours talking through a headset to a squad across the globe, yet finish the night without having made eye contact with a single person.

• Social Media Messaging: DMs, comments, and texting replaced real-time conversation. We get to edit, pause, and control our communication, but we lose the messy, spontaneous chemistry of live human connection.

We called it convenience. What we actually built was a structural encouragement to stay completely alone.

Present, But Not Accountable

Even when we do leave our homes, are we actually there?

Walk into any coffee shop, ride any train, or sit in any park. People are sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, completely wrapped in their own digital bubbles. Noise-canceling headphones are clamped on tight. Eyes are locked onto cell phones. We occupy the same physical coordinates, but we inhabit completely different virtual universes.

Being in public used to require a baseline of presence—a nod to a neighbor, a brief exchange with a barista, or simply observing the world around us. Today, physical space is just the background environment where we wait until we can check our notifications again.

Starving for Presence

Social media promised us connection, but what it gave us was audience-building. Having 500 people view your story isn't the same as having one person ask how your day went over a cup of coffee. We are starving for real presence while being gorged on digital updates.

The common-sense truth is simple: people are not built to be remote observers of life. Real connection requires friction. It requires showing up, listening without a screen in front of your face, and tolerating the awkwardness of being truly present in a room.

Some of the best memories I have as an adult is working the night shift with a coworker of mine. The conversations we had were priceless and entertaining. A lot of them have led to some of the posts that you've read here over the years. 

But what if were glued to smart phones/internet back then? Would we have even had 1/3 of the conversations that we did?

How to Reclaim Real Connection

If we want to stop feeling isolated, we have to intentionally reintroduce being present into our lives:

1. Leave the headphones off in public: The next time you're getting coffee or riding transit, stay open to the room around you. (side note: in today's volatile climate it could save your life!)

2. Trade two DMs for one phone or in-person call: Stop sending paragraph-long text chains to friends you haven't seen in months. Pick up the phone or pick a spot to meet.

3. Practice unstructured presence: Spend at least 30 minutes a day completely screen-free—no background podcast, no passive scrolling, just being where your feet are.

Until we start treating real-world presence as a necessity rather than an inconvenience, we will keep swiping, liking, and typing our way into feeling completely alone.

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."