Welcome to the era of 'meism' where everything is suddenly about you

We’re living in an age where everything begins and ends with “me.” From sharing our skincare routines and therapy takeaways to oversharing our heartbreaks and holiday itineraries, we’ve collectively built a culture where self-focus isn’t just encouraged—it’s algorithmically rewarded. And while social media was once about connection, it’s now a full-time mirror, reflecting back not just how we look, but who we want to be.

This cultural shift has a name: Meism. Think of it as the digital generation’s favourite philosophy—a worldview where personal experience is the main character, and the world is just a supporting cast.

The making of meism

Social media didn’t just change how we communicate—it rewired how we see ourselves. Every scroll, story, and share reinforces the idea that life is a constant performance, and we’re the stars of our own carefully curated reality show. The dopamine hit from a like, the validation from a comment—it’s all part of a loop that keeps us posting, comparing, and performing.

But it’s not just vanity driving this cycle. It’s a cocktail of anxiety, overstimulation, and the chronic need for validation. Everyone’s hyper-aware, hypersensitive, and constantly plugged in. We know what strangers eat for breakfast and how influencers cope with breakups. And somewhere between aesthetic morning routines and “get ready with me” reels, we’ve forgotten how to exist without an audience. We now live in a world where personal boundaries blur and empathy takes a backseat. Everything becomes content, and every piece of content becomes a potential trigger!

The bean soup theory

Enter the internet’s favourite metaphor for this phenomenon—the Bean Soup Theory. It goes like this: someone posts a bean soup recipe, and a commenter says, “But what if I don’t like beans?” The response, of course, is simple: “Then this recipe isn’t for you.”

Yet, this moment captures something deeper about online behaviour: the compulsion to make everything about ourselves. It’s the digital equivalent of hijacking a conversation with “what about me?” Even when something doesn’t apply to us, we feel the need to insert ourselves into it. It’s as if we’ve forgotten that content can exist without being catered to our personal preferences, histories, or sensitivities.

We’ve reached a point where nuance no longer survives the comment section. Every opinion needs disclaimers, every celebration feels like a potential offence, and every creator has to brace for “but what about…” replies. Somewhere between awareness and overreaction, we’ve lost the ability to simply scroll past what isn’t meant for us.

Validation has become a birthright 

Part of what fuels meism is our dependency on external validation. Platforms are built to reward self-promotion—our attention is the currency, and our emotions are the product. The more personal, polarising, or performative your post, the higher your engagement.

We’ve been conditioned to present our best, brightest selves online, often confusing authenticity with vulnerability-for-engagement. The lines between expression and exhibition blur, leaving us in a constant state of self-presentation. And while it can feel empowering to “share your truth,” it also traps us in an endless feedback loop of needing to be seen, understood, and approved. This digital self-focus doesn’t just shape our feeds—it shapes our self-worth. We’re not just scrolling anymore; we’re measuring, comparing, and competing. The attention economy thrives on the illusion that everyone’s watching, and if they’re not, maybe we’re doing something wrong.

The echo chamber effect

The algorithm knows us better than we know ourselves, and it’s built to keep us comfortable. It feeds us what we already agree with, amplifying our beliefs until anything different feels like an attack. Over time, this digital echo chamber makes empathy harder and self-centeredness easier. We no longer pause to ask, “Is this for me?” before reacting. Instead, we rush to respond, defend, or debate. Even well-meaning conversations about joy, grief, or success become arenas for personal projection. A pregnancy announcement sparks a debate about infertility. A promotion post invites resentment from the unemployed. Yes, your feelings are valid, but it’s important to acknowledge that not everything is about us.

Meism isn’t just a byproduct of the digital era; it’s a mirror of it. It’s what happens when self-awareness gets tangled with self-absorption, and empathy competes with engagement.

So maybe the antidote to meism is learning to exist online without making ourselves the main character in every story. To scroll without reacting, read without relating, and remember that not everything needs your commentary. Because sometimes, the bean soup really wasn’t made for you, and that’s perfectly okay.

And if you’ve made it to the end of this piece wondering whether it was about you, maybe pause and think. If it didn’t resonate, that’s fine too—you don’t need to tell me.

Lead Image: Pexels 

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