The difference between attention and value
I have never understood why this opinion is controversial.
I have no problem with people earning money online.
I have no problem with people building an audience.
I have no problem with content creators, writers, photographers, teachers, historians, chefs, artists or anyone else who shares something they know, create or care about.
What I struggle with is the idea that attention itself has become the product.
Somewhere along the way, we stopped asking:
What is actually being offered here?
Not every piece of content needs to be educational. Not everything needs to be serious. The world would be a very boring place if every hobby had to justify itself through productivity.
But I do think there is a difference between building an audience around something and building an audience around yourself.
When someone teaches me something, I leave with more than I arrived with.
Maybe I learn a recipe, a historical event, a new perspective, a practical skill or an interesting story.
There is an exchange taking place.
Someone is offering something.
Increasingly, however, it feels as though the internet rewards something else entirely.
Not creativity.
Not knowledge.
Not craftsmanship.
Not insight.
But visibility.
The ability to attract attention.
The ability to make people stop scrolling for three seconds.
The ability to convince an algorithm that your face deserves to be shown to more people than someone else’s.
And I find that deeply strange.
Because attention and value are not the same thing.
Some of the most interesting people I know have almost no online presence at all.
They are teachers, nurses, carpenters, grandparents, musicians, friends who know everything about a niche topic nobody else cares about.
People who make the world richer simply by existing in it.
Yet the internet increasingly behaves as though visibility is proof of importance.
As though being seen automatically means being valuable.
I don’t think that is true.
In fact, I think it is one of the biggest cultural confusions of our time.
The result is that more and more people begin creating content not because they have something they want to share, but because they want to become a person who is seen.
The goal shifts.
The audience becomes the destination instead of the byproduct.
And when that happens, something gets lost.
Because the most interesting people are rarely trying to become interesting.
They are interested.
Interested in books.
Interested in music.
Interested in history.
Interested in cooking.
Interested in gardening.
Interested in philosophy.
Interested in people.
They have a world beyond themselves.
I think that is why I often feel disconnected from certain parts of influencer culture.
Not because I dislike ambition.
Not because I dislike social media.
Not because I think people should be ashamed of wanting success.
But because I find it difficult to understand content where the entire purpose seems to be attracting attention to the person creating it.
A beautiful photograph is one thing.
A thoughtful essay is one thing.
A well-researched video is one thing.
But there is something about turning yourself into both the product and the advertisement that has always made me uncomfortable.
Perhaps because it encourages us to constantly perform ourselves instead of simply being ourselves.
And perhaps because algorithms have a way of flattening individuality.
People start dressing alike. Speaking alike. Decorating their homes alike. Using the same phrases. Following the same trends.
Chasing the same engagement.
Until eventually everyone is trying so hard to be seen that they begin to disappear into one another.
The irony is that genuine personal style rarely emerges from imitation.
It emerges from curiosity.
From reading strange books.
From listening to music nobody recommended.
From collecting objects that mean something.
From developing opinions that are not optimized for engagement.
From living a life that exists independently of whether anyone is watching.
I suppose that is why I will always admire people who have something to offer more than people who simply have an audience.
Because audiences come and go.
Algorithms change.
Attention fades.
But knowledge, skill, craftsmanship, creativity and character have a way of surviving long after the clicks have disappeared.