Why the “Group 7” trend proves the internet just wants to feel special

At some point in 2025 (fairly recently,) the internet collectively decided that being “chosen” was the highest form of validation. We’re not talking about the Harry Potter kind of “chosen one,” but the algorithmic kind, the lucky few who, for reasons no one can quite explain, suddenly find themselves crowned by the internet and specifically, chosen for Group 7. 

It started, as these things always do, with a single TikTok by musician Sophia James, who casually posted seven consecutive videos labelled 'Group 1' through 'Group 7' as part of an “algorithm experiment” to see which format would hit. The seventh one did, spectacularly. It blew past the rest in views, likes, and shares, and soon, anyone whose algorithm served them that version declared themselves part of Group 7.

Once the video caught fire on social media, something interesting happened: being in group 7 became a badge of honour, declaring that they had been selected to be a part of some mysterious, elite internet cohort called group 7. There were multiple comments found online saying things like “I’m in group 7, don’t talk to me, I’m chosen”—creators, celebrities and even brands online jumped on the bandwagon. No one could really explain what it really meant, and that was kind of the point of it all. It was vague enough to mean everything: humour, weirdly a main character moment for some, or whatever currency the internet was trading in that week. 

The appeal is obvious. To be “chosen” by the internet, even jokingly, feels like being noticed by a god you don’t quite believe in but secretly pray to. It’s not even about fame or a certain kind of influence anymore; it’s all about recognition. It’s about being seen and sorted by a force larger than yourself, one that seems to understand something about you that even you didn’t. The irony, of course, is that it’s random. Algorithmic. A joke that turned into a psychological case study. 

But it works because it mirrors the way we all live online now, in performance loops of self-identification and belonging. You watch a video, you relate to it, you repost, and suddenly you have built an identity around a shared digital fiction. Group 7 isn’t real, but it feels real because the internet makes everything feel like it could be. It’s a myth disguised as a meme, and everyone wants to believe they were chosen to be part of it.

The lineage of being “chosen”

If you have been as chronically online as I have, this “Group 7” trend might feel eerily familiar. The internet has been quietly building toward this kind of collective identity moment for years on end now. Starting with “Which side of TikTok are you on?” to cottage-core girls, the pattern is the same. These weren’t really about actual interests; however, they were more on the lines of being algorithmically sorted into a certain tribe. Each subculture became a shorthand for how you wanted to be perceived online, a curated chaos that the algorithm happened to validate. 

And then there was Lucky Girl Syndrome, a trend that hinged entirely on the idea of being chosen, not by the internet this time, but by the universe. Users claimed that simply believing you were lucky would make good things happen, a kind of algorithmic manifestation in human form. It blurred spirituality and virality, echoing the same psychology that underpins Group 7: if I’m chosen, I’m special, even if it’s random.

But why does that feeling stick? Why does a meaningless meme about being “chosen” ignite something so specific in us, that pride, validation, and relief that we constantly seek in our daily lives? 

According to Dr Alisha Lalljee, a psychologist and psychotherapist, it’s heavily because trends like these activate a deep-rooted psychological need, one that sits right at the intersection of belonging, identity and recognition. “When the internet collectively ‘chooses’ someone or something, it’s a mix of belonging, identity projection, and collective participation,” she explains. “People feel as if they are part of a shared moment, forming a temporary collective identity, ‘we are Group 7 people.’”

In the essence of it all, this virality of Group 7 wasn’t really just about Sohia James’ music or a random algorithmic hit; it was also about people finding meaning in the chaos of our social media feeds. It gave users a digital tribe, however fleeting, and a sense of being included in something that is larger than themselves. This is what Dr Lalljee calls a “temporary collective identity,” a momentary but powerful sense of community that emerges around cultural blips online.

The psychology of the “chosen”

This concept of being “chosen” by a digital platform taps into a primal social instinct, the human need to feel special and seen within a crowd. The internet amplifies this by mixing in randomness and reward. By this, we mean, when an algorithm selects you, it feels like a fate disguised as data. “The chosen one becomes a mirror for how a person wants to be seen—as different, discovered, special, or part of the in-crowd,” Dr Lalljee says.

Growing up in a digital era, we constantly end up defining ourselves through trends, aesthetics and even labels that often pop up on our feeds. Online, that sense of belonging is condensed, accelerated, and gamified. Weirdly enough, being in ‘group 7’, similarly, it feels like a win, a proof that you were there, that you mattered, that you were noticed by the machine everyone else is trying to impress. 

What happens when you are the one being chosen

That dopamine rush, however, is fleeting. The internet’s attention span is famously short, and what follows the viral high is often a steep emotional drop. “Sudden attention can feel like a spotlight that burns instead of warms,” she explains. “It can speed up identity formation before the person is ready, creating pressure to maintain the version of themselves that people fell in love with.”

In other words, once you’ve been chosen, you’re expected to stay chosen. And that expectation, from both the audience and the individual, can quickly spiral into anxiety, self-doubt, and a dependency on external validation.

The audience effect: claiming proximity

The phenomenon also says as much about the audience as it does about the people being chosen. Online users don’t just want to witness virality; they want to own a piece of it. “Being early or close to someone who goes viral gives people a borrowed identity upgrade,” says Dr Lalljee. “It’s the psychology of proximity status—‘I knew them before the world did,’ ‘I was in Group 7,’ ‘I’m one of the originals.’” Funny, right?

It’s a kind of digital social currency—a way of asserting individuality through association. In a culture that rewards novelty and discovery, being there first feels like prestige. The same pattern appears in fandoms, influencer culture, and even meme communities, where hopping on the trend first somehow holds symbolic power.

The inevitable crash

The audience, too, experiences a quieter withdrawal, the strange emptiness that follows after an online collective moment dissolves. Once the algorithm moves on, so does the sense of belonging it temporarily created.

Because ultimately, being “chosen” by the internet isn’t really about who you are or what your interests are, it’s about what the internet needs at that particular moment. And when it moves on, it leaves behind the same old human longing that started it all: the desire to be seen, to belong, and to matter, even if only for a scroll’s worth of time.

Lead Image: Netflix

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