It all begins with a scroll. You’re lying in bed, with your phone in hand, you're half awake, half dead inside. Then a video pops up. It's a stranger ranting about anxiety, fake friends, or the pressure to be perfect. And you nod. You also feel it. Then you double-tap. And you share it with a “THIS” in the caption. For a moment, you feel understood. But the truth is, you didn’t learn anything new. You didn’t get closer to the truth. You just consumed something relatable.
That’s the era we live in. We no longer chase the truth; we chase recognition. We don’t ask, “Is this true?” We ask, “Do I relate to it?”
Like in 2019, a tweet went viral that said, “I’m not lazy, I’m just emotionally exhausted.” It was retweeted over half a million times. People related to it deeply, but no one questioned if the statement encouraged avoidance rather than just healing. It wasn’t about truth, it was about resonance. The post didn’t fix exhaustion, but it normalised it. That’s the thing about relatable content. And it feels good to agree, even when it’s not good for us.
The Death of Curiosity
There was a time when people argued over ideas, and not aesthetics. When curiosity was a badge of honour, not a threat. Now, questioning makes you “negative,” and scepticism makes you “toxic.” We’ve replaced thinking with agreeing.
Remember when people used to Google or research before forming an opinion? Now, we just check the comment sections. The article 'Going Viral: Sharing of Misinformation by Social Media Influencers' by Sage Journals shows how these influencers spread misinformation carelessly and chronically, and online people actually believe it, and they form opinions about major issues based on these viral posts rather than verified articles. It's because we’ve built a culture where emotional familiarity is treated as proof. Like if it “sounds right,” it must be true.
We scroll through endless posts about “healing,” “energy,” “main character vibes,” and “self-love.” And we nod along to anything that sounds emotionally familiar to us. We confuse relatability with reality. Because truth takes effort, but comfort takes a click.
Once upon a time, the truth was something you searched for. It was found in books, debates, or experiences. Now, it’s something the algorithm hands you over, wrapped in pastel fonts and trending sounds.
The Algorithm Knows You Better Than You Know Yourself
Honestly, your “For You Page” knows everything. Your heartbreak, your insecurities, your humour, and your attention span are better than your best friend's. It studies you like a lab rat in a glowing cage.
The algorithm doesn’t care about truth. It cares about engagement. So, it feeds you what you feel, not what you actually need. It traps you in a mirror maze where every piece of content looks like your own reflection. You’re not learning about the world anymore, you’re learning about yourself, on a loop.
This is how relatability becomes a drug. Every “same” or “literally me” hits the brain like validation. We keep scrolling for that next emotional hit, not for the meaning, but for connection.
When Content Becomes Therapy
We used to journal our pain. Now, we post it.
We used to talk to friends. Now, we talk to our followers. And instead of seeking advice, we seek applause for our wounds. There’s something addictive about sharing sadness online. It makes pain look poetic. Vulnerability becomes performance. Healing becomes a hashtag. People are no longer searching for wisdom. They’re searching for relatable misery. They want others to echo their pain so they feel less alone, even if no one is actually healing.
We’ve turned the internet into a group therapy session with no therapist. Everyone’s venting. No one’s resolving.
The Rise of Half-Truth Gurus
With relatability as the new truth, anyone can become a philosopher. Post a few quotes about “letting go,” add a sad song, and boom, you’re a motivational speaker. The problem? Most of this content is half-truths wrapped in emotional language. It sounds right, but it’s shallow. “You don’t need anyone to complete you” sounds empowering, until you realise it’s teaching people isolation disguised as independence.
We’ve created an army of influencers who preach without depth. They don’t study truth; they study what performs well. Relatability sells better than accuracy, so reality quietly dies in the corner while everyone claps for content that just “feels true.”
Truth Is Hard. Relatability Is Easy.
Truth demands you to be uncomfortable, to challenge your beliefs, to admit ignorance, and to change. That’s exhausting. Relatable content, on the other hand, comforts you. It whispers, “You’re fine the way you are.”
It gives you identity without introspection. You don’t have to think. You just have to feel. And feelings are easy to monetise. We’ve mistaken validation for understanding, emotion for evidence, and comfort for truth.
The Echo Chamber Effect
The more we consume relatable content, the smaller our world becomes. We start living in echo chambers, digital bubbles that repeat our opinions back to us. We stop reading news that challenges our views. We unfollow anyone who disagrees. We build personal realities made entirely of comfort and confirmation. The internet was supposed to connect us; instead, it isolates us inside personalised realities.
Each of us becomes the main character of our own curated universe, where truth is whatever we agree with.
The Lost Art of Disagreement
Once upon a time, disagreement meant discussion. Now, it means disrespect.
We can’t handle opinions that threaten our self-image. We’re so used to seeing content that mirrors us that anything different feels like an attack. But truth is born from tension, from opposing views clashing, evolving, questioning. When everyone just nods in unison, no one grows.
The Search for Something Real
Beneath all the noise, there’s still a quiet hunger for truth. You can feel it when you get tired of scrolling. When every “relatable” post starts sounding the same. When you realise you’ve been comforted but not changed. Truth doesn’t trend. It’s not aesthetic. It’s raw, slow, and often unpleasant.
But it’s the only thing that sets you free from manipulation, from ignorance and from illusion. Maybe it’s time we stop asking, “Can I relate to this?” And start asking, “Is this real?”
Because one day, when the relatable stops being enough, we’ll remember what it felt like to search for truth, and maybe, just maybe, we’ll start again.
Conclusion
The truth doesn’t glow on your screen; it grows in your mind. And if you keep scrolling for comfort, you’ll miss the discomfort that could’ve transformed you.
We don’t need more “relatable” content. We need more real content, the kind that shakes you, questions you, and makes you think.
Because the truth isn’t supposed to make you feel seen. It’s supposed to make you see.
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