Convenience Store Clout

The Blurred Lines Between Authenticity and Accessibility

As an artist in the music industry, authenticity is gold’s equal. It is regarded as a guiding light, the tunnel vision through which you are to create, relate, and operate. I truly admire those strategic and bold enough to find a place in the race and maintain that sense of commitment toward their personal vision. At the same time, music is a business where artists benefit so greatly from collaboration. Due to this balancing act, the line between authenticity and collaboration is a fine one.

In one potential scenario, an artist’s visions and goals are cradled protectively, but the artist understands there is always more to learn from others. They can be completely open to collaboration and shared creative inspiration, while continuing to be guided by their gut. Authenticity might be challenged and workshopped, but the core of it remains. In a second scenario, an artist might start out with a vision, but rely too heavily on collaboration with those they work with and those who follow them—that collective “always open” kind of feedback. In turn, who we work with and who reacts to our work becomes a means to an end. The singular act of creation, for the sake of creation itself, no longer suffices. In that case, creativity is poked and prodded, influenced and averaged. The authenticity might still be alive, but it is dulled by the relentless opinions of others.

As a musician, I was drowning in the second scenario just as I began to discover, luckily, the world of humane tech. During the previous 3 years, I had felt increasing doubt blanketing my creative decisions, despite my growing statistical success. Surely, some of the doubt was due to the very nature of navigating an artistic profession—that feeling is always there (ha!). But this doubt felt different, and coincided cleanly with my increasing online presence.

Social media platforms encourage users to share their lives intimately with followers, friends, family, and foes alike. We’re nudged to divulge a deeper, more personal understanding of our daily ups and downs, as a collaborative existence to be commented on. Stickers, timestamps, and geotags promote a telescope-type peering into personal lives. Followers (aka everyone) want to feel like they’re experiencing life right alongside the followed, and the followed (aka everyone) are highly incentivized to comply. It’s no secret that users on platforms like Instagram have a habit of beautifying everything from their breakfasts to their boyfriends. Nevertheless, a push for “authenticity” reigns supreme.

The problem is that authenticity is being mistaken for ACCESSIBILITY—that “OPEN 24/7” fluorescent light feel. Going a step further, I believe the very act of allowing constant accessibility to one’s life deeply compromises our ability to be truly authentic in the first place. It’s a digital rear window where we know everyone’s watching. Because this constant visibility is “by choice”, we are duped into believing it is good for us. The idea of a stranger peeking in on us unannounced is enough to make the most experienced cam girl’s skin crawl. But if we hit “post” or “live stream”, we’re supposedly in the position of power. Protected, even. Better yet, the peering is accompanied by metrics and floating hearts, bolstering our social status online in real time; that effervescent, artificial dopamine hit.

Constant accessibility, though helpful for making connections and keeping followers up to date, feeds and worsens overuse. Feeling like you always need to be sharing your every move negates any sort of potential for solitude, thus greatly inhibiting one’s ability to think deeply. We are never free from feeling the pressure to “perform” our lives (see Sweet Solitude). Accessibility fuels the fire of addiction, promoting a ludic loop in which there is always potential for connections. That potential is just potent enough to keep us coming back, with or without reward (see Just…One Byte?). Granting constant access also opens up the dastardly back door to armies of trolls and troublemakers. We become vulnerable round-the-clock to social rejection, surface-level judgements, or simply end up as the punching bag to someone else’s bad day (see Stir The Pot).

At the end of the day, I never felt like I was being authentic on social media. Perhaps I’m among a group who is particularly sensitive to these symptoms, but something tells me I’m not just a small statistic. Whichever way I presented myself to the world, my gut always could tell I wasn’t being true. In turn, the “likes”, comments, followers, and other forms of clout cash seemed just as contrived and phony as my attempt to be authentic in the first place. What shocks me to this day, too, was my willingness (rather, my hunger) to keep chasing those engagements, as if they were bolstering my authenticity.

No matter how many “customers” I had, I always felt like a failure. Although I would feel admired, appreciated, and applauded after social media binges of my own content compliments, 99% of the time I would fall into comparing myself to others. They usually had way more followers than me, lusher lips, cockier captions, and the balls to post a booty pic. That would only make me feel more inclined to post further about my wonderfully edited, meme-able life in hopes of inciting envy in someone else. A bittersweet aftertaste always ensued, lingering until the next loop.

It’s crucial to remember, too, that even though we may feel as though we alone are benefiting from our consistency on these apps in the form of increased followers and eyeballs, there’s so much more to the story. Platforms are, first and foremost, colossal businesses. Social media companies are reliant on addictive behaviors to keep users coming back—their stock depends on it. They need us to be always-open books.

And open books we are. I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy basking in the beauty of my followers’ applause after posting new pictures or updates about my music. Sure, I felt the “love” in a sense, but it always tasted artificial. What I was experiencing was a loss of authenticity in creation at the hands of constant accessibility. It was a convenience store kind of support, from both sides. I’d only advertise my sweetest sides, a fun-size version of myself you could take on-the-go, as quickly slurpable as a slushy. Hoping they’d buy into the hype, I’d beckon potential customers in with the brightest, attention-grabbing neon signs I could find in the form of funny filters and sassy captions. “OPEN 24/7”, no questions asked. With currency in the form of heart-eyes and fire emojis, my followers consumed my content with insatiable appetites—once devoured, they always craved more. And I always delivered. My gut told me if I failed to entertain and remain forever open, followers would abandon me for the next shiny sign.

Social media provides each one of us these neon banners, platforms to share our lives. What is damaging is the newfound appetite it encourages in us to take our followers along for every step of our journey. If left unchecked, we are prone to losing our ability to live authentically, without relying on recognition and input from an audience for every small decision. Blinded by feedback, creation will turn reactionary. As it is poked and prodded, influenced and averaged, only a cheapened, shallow, and “on the go” form of expression can survive.

I’m over articles strategizing the best way to grow and maintain admirers. It’s time we start focusing not on what we can gain from our followers and online social standings, but what we’re giving up of ourselves in exchange for this artificial, “always on” mentality. Conveniently connected, we’re full of sugar high “likes”, and compare and despair lows. Sooner or later the lights will start to flicker—clout cash only runs so deep.