Main character syndrome is real. Allow me a story to explain.

I’m back in Canada, taking my boy to visit his grandparents and trying to get him doing as many outdoor foresty-type things as possible. One outdoor activity Canadian kids typically enjoy is apple picking. So I found a farm that not only had apple picking but also some other attractions so I could take him out and give him a little taste of farming his own fruits (which in small doses is fun but in large doses is just a hard job).

When we got there, it was what I expected. Kids everywhere running around picking apples. Exhausted parents just happy their kids are busy for 15 minutes.

But when we got on the tractor ride to take us to the other attractions – specifically a large sprawling sunflower field – it got weird.

The wagon the tractor was pulling was full of people. But they weren’t kids. I looked around and realised my boy was the only child there. The other people were young adults, some were immaculately dressed, one was wearing a long red dress... to a farm.

When we got out at the sunflower field, I understood why. These people had come just to take photos in the sunflower field. Which admittedly was pretty nice, but this was all for the ’gram. All for social media.

The farm had even put out things for people to pose with in the field. A 1950s-style car, an old tractor, a big photo frame, and these people were all over it.

I watched this wondering, is this what young people do for fun now? Go to a farm experience originally made for kids, increasingly made for whatever this is, and take photos of themselves?

The answer is: yes.

Now back to main character syndrome. It’s pretty self explanatory. People who feel like they are the main character and the rest of us are extras. Part of this is craving constant validation and attention – attention is the new digital currency.

Social media amplifies this. It rewards selective storytelling, posting the great photos of your life and hiding the not so great moments. It means every moment in real life is a moment you potentially should be creating content.

And sure, that can be fun. It can boost your confidence to post things online and get a bunch of likes and supportive comments. But what happens when that online validation becomes the most important thing in your life? 

Then you’re living or dying depending on the whims of other people, whether other people like your content or not. Living a curated life for social media sounds brutal. And for influencers, where does their social media persona end and their normal life begin? For too many, creating online content can lead to anxiety, depression, and burnout.

It’s not hard to see why.

When everything is potentially postable, everything is a photo shoot. Photo shoots are not the most fun things in the world. I know this because I was a model for two decades. Posing, getting the light right, making sure your clothes look good, your hair, your makeup.

When I was modelling it took a team to do all this, and I just had to stand there. But for most influencers they’re doing all this themselves. Influencers are basically the new production houses.

The difference being their entire life is the product. So when do you switch off? You keep chasing likes and validation online, but that validation gets shorter and shorter as more and more content comes online and influencers need to post more and more to stay in the algorithm.

How tiring must it be when every second of your life is being weighed for its online posting potential?

As I walked in the sunflower field, watching my boy run in the sun, I saw the girl in the red dress posing and tossing her dress back while some poor guy knelt in the dirt taking photos with his phone. She was grinning in the photos but in between she looked frustrated, blowing her hair out of her face, patting dirt off her dress, then she went back to posing with the fake smile.

My boy and I walked past her, the sun warm on our skin, the sky a solid blue. I’d rather feel life than film it, even if it means I’m not the main character.