The Problem With Turning Everything Into Content

 

There was a time when something happened to you and it simply became a memory. You could go somewhere beautiful, eat something extraordinary, meet an interesting person, have an argument with a friend or experience a quiet moment alone, and that was enough. You did not need to photograph it, record it, post it or explain it to thousands of strangers. Some experiences belonged entirely to you. Today, that idea feels increasingly strange. We live in a world where almost everything can become content, and somewhere along the way, we have started confusing documenting life with actually living it.

Social media has changed the way we experience ordinary moments. A meal is no longer just a meal; it can become a photograph. A holiday is not simply a holiday; it is an opportunity for an Instagram carousel. A wedding can become a carefully produced spectacle designed as much for people watching online as for those physically present. Even grief has increasingly found its way onto our timelines. Someone dies, and before the family has had time to process the loss, photographs, tributes and videos begin circulating. There is nothing inherently wrong with sharing these things. Human beings have always told stories. The problem begins when the need to share starts influencing the experience itself.

We increasingly seem to ask ourselves a strange question whenever something happens: “Can I make content out of this?” Instead of simply enjoying a sunset, we look for the perfect angle. Instead of listening to a concert, we hold up a phone for half of it. Instead of having a meaningful conversation, we sometimes wonder whether a particular statement would make a good post. Even outrage has become content. Someone says something controversial, and within minutes there are screenshots, reaction videos, commentary threads and people trying to extract as much attention as possible from the controversy.

The internet has created an economy in which attention has become currency. The more people watch, click, share and comment, the more valuable a piece of content becomes. This has created enormous opportunities for creators, businesses and ordinary people who previously had no platform. A talented young Kenyan can build an audience without waiting for a television station or newspaper to discover them. A small business can reach customers through TikTok or Instagram without spending millions on traditional advertising. There is genuine power in this new world.

But every opportunity comes with a temptation. When attention becomes valuable, we begin to manufacture moments designed to attract it. Authenticity becomes something we perform rather than something we possess. People start living with an invisible audience in their heads. They wonder how an experience will look before considering how it actually feels.

This is particularly noticeable with travel. There are people who visit places primarily to photograph themselves there. They may spend ten minutes taking pictures at a famous location and barely experience the place itself. The photograph becomes the souvenir, while the actual experience becomes secondary. We have created a strange paradox: technology allows us to preserve more memories than any previous generation, yet we may be less present when those memories are being created.

Perhaps the greatest casualty is privacy. Not everything needs an audience. There are conversations that should remain between two people. There are family moments that do not need to become public property. There are acts of kindness that do not become more meaningful because they were filmed. There are relationships that become healthier when they are not constantly being explained to strangers online.

We have also developed the habit of turning personal pain into public entertainment. Someone going through a breakup may post every stage of it. Someone experiencing a family dispute may take the argument online. Someone facing financial difficulties may document the struggle for an audience. Sometimes this creates genuine connection and helps people realise they are not alone. But sometimes the camera changes the nature of the experience. Pain becomes performance, and healing becomes a series of updates.

The irony is that many people are now exhausted by the very culture they helped create. We complain about being watched while constantly watching others. We complain about unrealistic lifestyles while contributing to the illusion. We say social media is toxic and then spend hours consuming it. We want authenticity but reward exaggeration, controversy and spectacle with our attention.

Perhaps we need to rediscover the value of experiences that produce no content at all. Go somewhere beautiful and leave the phone in your pocket for a while. Have dinner with friends without photographing the table. Take a walk without tracking it. Help someone without announcing it. Laugh until your stomach hurts without wondering whether anyone captured the moment. Fall in love without immediately turning the relationship into a public announcement.

There is something deeply liberating about knowing that an experience does not have to be witnessed by strangers to be meaningful. Some of the best moments in life will never receive a like, a comment or a share. Nobody will know about them except you and the people who were there.

Content is not the enemy. Social media is not the enemy either. The problem is allowing the pursuit of content to become the organising principle of our lives. We should be careful not to become spectators of our own existence, constantly recording the moment while forgetting to experience it.

Life does not always need a camera. Not every thought needs a caption. Not every disagreement needs an audience. Not every beautiful moment needs proof that it happened.

Some things are worth experiencing simply because they happened to us.

And perhaps, in an age obsessed with sharing everything, keeping a few moments entirely for ourselves is its own kind of freedom.