The Parasocial Paradox

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There’s an undeniable irony in how we live today. For centuries, we were told not to talk to strangers. Yet now, some of the most transformative innovations—Airbnb, Uber, TaskRabbit—are built entirely on trust in strangers.

These platforms expanded the boundaries of who we could rely on and, in many ways, strengthened the fabric of society by fostering cooperation and mutual trust.

Social media platforms have taken it a step further, making strangers not just part of our physical lives but a dominant force in our emotional and social landscapes.

But somewhere along the way, the pendulum swung too far. The effort we once reserved for the people in our lives has been redirected toward cultivating online personas, earning likes, and seeking validation from people we’ll never meet.

At the same time, massive amounts of our attention has shifted to consuming the carefully curated lives of strangers who have no idea that we exist.

Parasocial relationships—those one-sided connections we form with influencers, public figures, random internet strangers—have become the bedrock our online experience. Worse, they’ve displaced the reciprocal relationships that truly make us human.

Think about it: we pour time, energy, and money into these one-sided bonds, buying their merch, commenting on their posts, and defend their reputations with a fervor we rarely reserve for the people closest to us.

We’ll type, “So proud of you!” on an influencer’s milestone post without ever checking in on a friend who might be quietly struggling.

A $60 hoodie from a favorite creator feels easier to justify than a $60 dinner with a loved one—because the hoodie is effortless. It arrives at your doorstep, requiring no planning, no vulnerability, no time commitment.

Dinner, on the other hand, is a cascade of decisions and actions: coordinating schedules, picking a location, traveling, dressing appropriately, and spending two hours being fully present, attentive, and engaged.

It’s no surprise the hoodie wins out.

But the cost is higher than we realize. They’re not inherently bad—being inspired by someone you admire can be a beautiful thing. But when these connections replace our effort and emotional mindshare for people who actually show up for us, the imbalance becomes clear.

This same dynamic plays out in how we present ourselves online. Just as we invest in the carefully curated lives of strangers, we also shape our own online personas to fit the algorithms and expectations of others. Somewhere along the way, our desire for connection was replaced by a performance for attention.

The (Unfortunate) Rise of Performative Authenticity

In the early days of the internet (driven by our fear of strangers), the cautionary tale was to never show your true self online. Protect your identity. Use pseudonyms. Guard your vulnerabilities. But somewhere along the way, the script flipped.

We now curate our “authentic” selves online, often leaning into the most extreme, controversial, or provocative versions of ourselves to capture attention, while hiding our real, authentic vulnerabilities in the offline world.

Digitally native generations (and at this point, even later stage millennials) often feel more comfortable being their “authentic” selves online than in person. They share deeply personal and wildly sexual stories with strangers on TikTok, yet struggle to bring that same openness to the dinner table, the office, or everyday conversations.

Just to illustrate how nuts this actually is…

90% of Gen Z are scared to talk on the phone, meanwhile a shockingly high percentage are more comfortable twerking or talking about their sex lives in front of hundreds, thousands, or maybe even millions of strangers. Like what the fuck.

This isn’t just a critique of these generations (though they deserve some flak), as much as it’s an observation of the systems they’ve inherited.

Social platforms reward performative authenticity because it garners likes, followers, and shares. Attention and clout are now social—and, unfortunately, monetary—currency.

Real-world interactions lack those instant metrics of validation. Yet it’s in the unquantifiable moments—awkward silences, shared laughter, honest disagreements—that true relationships form.

Human relationships are messy and inconvenient, resistant to optimization.

They’re built in the unpredictable moments where we show up for each other in real life, not in heart emojis or programmatic AI LinkedIn comments.

A Call to Reprioritize

Andy Crouch argues that the magic of technology is ill-suited for the formation of persons. The same holds true for relationships. Technology may make it easier to connect, but it often diverts our attention away from the connections that matter most. If we want to reclaim our lives, we need to recalibrate where we show up—and for whom.

This isn’t a call to stop using social media or unfollowing the people who inspire us. It’s about taking stock of our relationships and asking: Who am I really showing up for?

If we were to reframe the old warning, “don’t talk to strangers,” it might sound more like this today: “Don’t prioritize strangers over the people who matter most.”

If you’re spending more energy obsessing over an influencer’s life or pulling dangerous stunts and shaking your ass on TikTok for validation from strangers than checking in on your best friend, it’s time to reconsider your priorities.

Our closest relationships deserve the kind of effort we so often reserve for our online personas. That means calling the friend you haven’t seen in months, having the hard conversation you’ve been avoiding. Those connections aren’t built for scale. They’re built for depth and humanity.

The people who truly care about you don’t care about your follower count or your “likes.” They care about you. And they’ll still be there long after the algorithm moves on.

The Digital Reset Journal

A few weeks ago, I soft launched the Digital Reset Journal to readers of this newsletter—big thanks to those who already snagged one!

Pumped to share that the updated website is now live, packed with tactical info on exactly what you can expect to gain from using it.

What started as a personal solution to reflect on my own digital wellness journey has grown into something much bigger.

It’s helped me cut my screen time in half and become more intentional with how I spend my time and what I consume.

And I’m already hearing great feedback on how it’s helping others do the same.

If your New Year’s resolution includes “less screen time” or “being more present,” I guarantee (literally, I have a 30-day screen time reduction guarantee)  you this will help.

Other Resources

Kanso Digital Wellness: A 1:1 accountability system for those looking to break their digital addictions, reduce dopamine burnout, and unlock more focus, clarity, and success.

Sign up here and use the code FIRST50 for 50% off your plan. (expires at the end of month)

Roast My Screen Time: Upload screenshots of your screen time data and get ruthlessly roasted by AI. Give it a spin here.

Digital Detox Tools: A free directory of 75+ digital wellness products, software, and services. Access it here.

That’s all for this week. Now stop scrolling and go do something great!

Thanks for reading,

Randy