Is the time of striving for large, faceless followings over?
Dead Internet Theory and a movement from large-scale social media platforms to private groups
I predict that soon, we will no longer attach any value to large subscriber numbers.
Lately, I’ve seen multiple people talk about small online communities. There seems to be a movement that focuses on tight-knit groups rather than large, faceless audiences on the internet.
I connect this to the rise of AI.
In this essay, I want to share my thoughts on how we relate to our online communities and how we can bring more awareness to our digital connections, in an environment that is getting increasingly more artificial.
Did you know that we are looking at a very near future of almost completely AI-generated content, instead of content created by humans? The ‘Dead Internet Theory’ isn’t such a conspiracy anymore. This theory states that in the future, all our online interactions will be with bots, and what we see online will just be bots talking to bots.
Even though that might be a bit too bleak, it is actually estimated that in a year’s time, 90% of the internet will be AI-generated—not too far off. Already 50% of content online is created by AI, which is an insane amount to think about.
Dystopian scenarios aside, I actually think that this has one big advantage.
It will bring us back to the value of real human connection.
Only 150 people
Maybe you have heard about the ‘150 people theory’ before. You know, the one that says we’re not wired to connect to many people at the same time?
This theory is actually called ‘Dunbar’s Theory’. From Wikipedia:
“Dunbar's number is a suggested cognitive limit to the number of people with whom one can maintain stable social relationships—relationships in which an individual knows who each person is and how each person relates to every other person. This number was first proposed in the 1990s by Robin Dunbar.”
Even though Dunbar’s Theory has been challenged a lot, according to this article, it withstands the test of time.
It’s maybe obvious, but if we have hundreds or even thousands of strangers in our online sphere, our brain will not be able to provide that same depth of connection to everyone.
These large numbers are not ‘friends’, just white noise, extras in our life, part of the furniture. Sometimes these people have a parasocial relationship with us, or we have one with them, but only with a few it can be mutual.
Often there is more ambiguity, though, and not much of a relationship at all. Even in a social sphere, the ‘convenience connections’ don’t really hold, outside of the context of the platforms.
When we delete a platform (like I did with Facebook and Instagram), the relationships we had on it often just stop.
No one initiates a transition of the connection to a different app.
In order to keep random online people in our life, we would have to put in effort.
Even if we had a bit of an exchange going, it doesn’t have to mean anything. Maybe we don’t like each other that much, now that we’re honest. Or we’re busy and don’t have the bandwidth for another emotional investment. Or we’re just lazy.
So we leave it.
And that big faceless chunk of people that didn’t even care (and that we didn’t care about either) drops away like a blip.
It is pretty sad and weird to think about. Are online connections even healthy? Do we even want to be online at all?
I definitely scratched my head about these types of questions many times since I was a teenager, before social media was even a thing. I know there are people that throw out the baby with the bathwater, and want nothing to do with social media, because of this. I know I’ve felt that way.
But I don’t think we have to abolish online connections altogether
What if we can find a compromise, an alternative?
Back when I was that nerdy teenager, I had my own little corners of the internet.
I loved getting home from school and going to the computer.
This video essay on how ‘the internet used to be a place’ made me all nostalgic for that time. When I was a bit older, I even got the old desktop for my bedroom, so I could post my fantasy book reviews and exchange writing tips on my online forums in privacy.
These were cosy, small communities all gathered around one specific interest. Maybe you’ve been part of similar groups. They often weren’t too big, so I knew all the people. I even met some of them in real life.
With the rise of social media in the 10’s and 20’s, these semi-private, small online communities were replaced by large-scale apps.
Instead of going to very unique websites catered to individual interests, there was a collective movement to go to wide-spread social media apps instead and let them curate our interests with algorithms.
Connecting to a small group of people was over. Now, we were connecting or even broadcasting to the whole wide internet, and the algorithm, and a whole bunch of bots.
It was all much more overwhelming, and our brain couldn’t keep up in a truly with all the connections that we formed.
What if we bring back these small online communities?
It doesn’t have to be this way.
We can invest more of our energy in online spaces where not the number but the depth of connection is valued.
Group texts, niche forums, social media apps that promote deeper connection… there are a lot of options (see the bottom of the article for practical tips).
The key is that they are more private, and have a smaller amount of people in them.
My life got so much more peaceful when I applied this philosophy of intentional, small online communities myself. First, as an audience member, and now, as a content creator. And I had to lose a whole lot of shame in the process.
How I interact as an audience member has shifted
Over the last few months, I have applied Digital Minimalism. I deleted Instagram and Spotify, as you can read here. The only social media platforms that I use now are Substack and YouTube, because they match with my values, for example of wanting to remember everything I did online at the end of the day. The quality long-form content on these platforms supports this.
And I don’t have a lot of subscriptions. I think the total number of people I’m subscribed to on my two social media platforms is below 50.
I used to have a mindset of ‘how can I find more content creators like this’ whenever I found someone I resonated with.
Now, I think ‘where can I find more content from THIS unique creator?’
I don’t want more, similar people to follow.
Even though the algorithms might be, I’m not interested in homogenization. I just want to deepen my (parasocial) relationship to the unique people that truly inspire me.
And every once in a while, I discover someone new. It is all very synchronistic and I take the time to curate my algorithms by checking ‘not interested’ if I get content recommended that I don’t want.
I also find new accounts by reading (non-fiction) books from the library and then looking up the authors.
When I do my online round, I go to the ‘subscription’ tab on YouTube to see if anyone I’m subscribed to made a new video (not a lot of activity, usually just 2 or 3 videos), and for Substack, I read the newsletters in my email and I scroll through the notes in the ‘following’ tab on the website.
Wait—you did know that these tabs exist, right? Both on YouTube and Substack, you can go to a timeline of only the people that you’re subscribed to, instead of the algorithm recommending stuff to you that it thinks you’re interested in.
Unless I start scrolling on those ‘recommended’ feeds (and I catch myself doing this a bit more than I’d like), checking my accounts doesn’t take longer than an hour, it truly inspires me and feeds my soul, and I can keep up with it every day.
Generally, I feel calm and connected, rather than scattered all over the place.
Is the time of striving for large followings over?
Not only my behavior as an audience member, but also my values as an online creator have shifted. So for me, the answer to this question about large followings is yes. I am not striving for a large following anymore.
But that wasn’t always the case.
I was always trying to get more, more, more in the past, widening my gaze as much as I could. When I recorded my videos, I imagined I spoke to potential new subscribers that I had to woo, less to the existing ones. I was worried I wasn’t interesting enough, cool enough, fast-paced enough.
It felt like I was trying to let my voice be heard in a big, noisy train station.
Focusing on new subscribers got me stressed about how to hold their attention. I wrote about my pattern of trying to get attention from people with a short attention span, which got mirrored on fast-paced social media, in this essay. So that wounding was the underlying motivator for me in this ‘business strategy’.
And the thing is, it worked. For a few years, I had a thriving - as in, continuously growing - YouTube channel with almost 3K subscribers for my online spiritual business. A couple of my videos went viral.
But after I found deeper peace and embodiment and released a whole bunch of stress, I deleted all of it, which you can read about here.
Since I took my long break at the start of this year and switched to Substack, I ‘lost’ most of the subscribers that I was so preoccupied with. The majority of them didn’t even watch my videos anyway. My average video had about 200-300 views. And even they didn’t switch with me to Substack.
It actually felt really good to drop those ‘inactive hundreds or thousands’. It was more like dead weight than a number that accurately measured my growth or success. Most of my clients were return clients anyway.
Dead weight: following too much people
All this made me reflect on the fact that, apparently, a lot of people don’t keep track of the people they are subscribed to.
Many of my own YouTube subscribers never watched my content.
And you can see this really well on Instagram. Some people follow thousands of accounts. Maybe they tap ‘follow’ easily and then forget about it. But just take a moment to reflect about that.
It’s like having thousands of books lying around your house that you’re reading at the same time.
Like, jeez.
I used to follow 100-200 people on Instagram, which doesn’t sound like a lot in comparison. But it still felt like having a little energy chord to every single account I followed, all across the world. It will overwhelm even the biggest auras. I don’t think the nervous system likes this one bit. I know mine didn’t.
Most of these accounts will not even show up on the timeline. And even if they do—who were they, again? It is just too much to manage. It was to me.
What I learned to bring the online overwhelm down to a minimum, was to keep it the numbers as tight as possible.
So now, I am always weeding out the accounts I am subscribed to. I ask myself questions like: how does it feel in my body to open this account? Do they make me feel good about myself or challenge me in the right way, or do they only make my self-image worse?
If an account makes me feel ‘meh’, or I don’t remember why I subscribed even after checking out their account again, I unfollow and send an energetic thank-you. And then I move on.
If you value intentional living as well, it’s good to be mindful of this dynamic and consciously curate your online content.
I believe that personally choosing what we expose ourselves to is more important than we think.
Otherwise, the algorithms do that for us, and do we want that?
The content we consume goes straight into our subconscious and starts shaping our worldview. In our little algorithmic silos, we can go down a really weird track, if we’re not careful.
Clipping and tightening the bonds
Here, I have about 120 subscribers. I hid the subscriber number when I joined Substack, because I wanted to get out of the vanity metric mindset. But there was still some shame and survival energy around it, so I’m writing this piece as much for you as for myself, to decondition myself from that even further.
The majority of my Substack subs was imported from my pre-existing Mailchimp mailinglist, plus a few new people from the app itself. Every time I lose subscribers, about the same amount of new people subscribes.
Still, on Substack, it doesn’t feel as important to gather momentum with the numbers as it does on other platforms, due to the value of long-form content and quality over quantity here. And that’s why I chose this platform.
After I released my online survival patterns, I realized that I had been approaching online relationships all wrong.
It is about connection.
Not numbers.
In survival mode, we are not focused on connection, just on creating as much resources for survival as possible.
For the nerds, the ventral vagal branch of the nervous system - which governs connection - isn’t engaged, just the high tone dorsal for freeze and/or sympathetic for fight/flight.
So, to answer the question in the title of this essay, ‘is the time of striving for large, faceless followings over?’
It is only over if we get out of survival mode.
Only then can we focus on connection, instead of numbers.
(Unless you truly want to be famous from an aligned place—some people have a mission of serving millions.)
Personally, I am focusing on deepening my online relationships. Rather than imagining that I write for total strangers that I have to impress and ‘catch’ long enough for them to subscribe, I imagine I write for the people I already know and that have been following my work for a while. I also imagine that thoughtful people out there that are nervous system-informed and intentionally living, will be shown my articles and can see for themselves if they like my content, without me having to ‘pull them in’.
I want deeper connections, not wider.
It totally matches my introversion.
And it makes me create very differently. Because the people I already know are intelligent and varied and unique. So I have to address them - you - in a much more thoughtful and honest way. I have to come up with more meaningful content, say things that I haven’t said before and edit better. That keeps me on my toes and I love it.
Of course, there is space for people coming and going. Not everyone that liked my soothing new age content on other platforms, will like my more authentic commentary on intentional living now, and I’m not expecting everyone to commit.
But on my end, taking this connection seriously makes me feel more creative, human and humble.
I even feel like deleting half of those 120 subscribers, because that’s about the number that never opens the emails or engages. But I’m holding off on that, because I don’t want to be too drastic and cut people off that were intending to read at some point.
Just the mere fact that I prefer an even smaller - but more engaged - group over a lot of (inactive) subscribers, feels so good to me.
There is a peace in my body now, while I engage online, that wasn’t there before.
Between my subscriptions, my offline community and the people that are subscribed to my content that I interact with, I don’t think I’m going over Dunbar’s number at all.
And my nervous system definitely reflects that.
I feel like I can personally track and know everyone in my space, whether they are online or offline, audience or creator. I can remember which facts belonged to which person, instead of it all becoming a blur. I’m not keeping endless plates spinning. I can focus and retain the information I exchange and am exposed to.
I don’t have to become friends with everyone, or people-please the people that are in my online spaces. The connections can be quiet and neutral, as well.
Overall, my online connections feel more grounded now. Quality over quantity.
Which platforms to choose for privacy and connection?
So, I went back from that overwhelming feeling of ‘connecting to the whole wide world’ to ‘connecting to a specific, handpicked, small group of people’. And this goes for both social and parasocial connections.
Now, I want to share some practical tips on how to curate your online community more intentionally.
According to Dunbar’s number, our community and subscriptions together have to be at least smaller than 150 for true depth and meaningful connections. I’m not good at math, but since we have our offline community too - assuming we’re not completely isolated where we live - that number will be even smaller.
As for platforms and apps, there are different options.
Substack doesn’t really offer privacy (unless you use the chatrooms and DM’s, which I don’t use), but it does offer meaningful communities. I love the option to switch off the vanity metrics, and that there seems to be a shared value of slowing down and real attention. I find the comments here much more deep and connective than on other platforms. If you have a low subscriber number, it can definitely serve as a small, meaningful community.
If you want privacy though, you can think more in the direction of Telegram/Whatsapp/Signal groups, Patreon, Discord or, indeed, niche online forums that are closed to the public. Maybe you know more examples.
Meta even added features to Instagram that promote smaller, more private communities, but until I read this article from 2023, I hadn’t really heard of that.
I mentioned Patreon, which is of course a subscription platform, just like Substack. But there doesn’t necessarily have to be a paywall, unless we’re talking about a creator that offers valuable work (for now, you can donate if you want to support my work, it is very much appreciated:)
The ‘subscriber model’ seems to be on the rise when it comes to social media apps, where there are no ads, but instead, you can subscribe to your favorite creators for money. People are willing to pay for what truly inspires them and helps them solve problems.
We can of course find communities without a paywall. However, I do agree with the article above, that free spaces invite more trolls and negative people.
Of course, on a personal level, we might already be in a lot of Whatsapp or other text message groups to manage various aspects of our social life. When I implemented Digital Minimalism, I chose to leave most of these groups, because I wasn’t really active in them, and I only kept those that added something to my life, like family or events I actually went to.
I’m playing with the idea to start my own Telegram group, but so far, that hasn’t gotten any energy to it. If this happens, I will let you know.
Back to that Dead Internet Theory
At the start of this essay I shared that it is estimated that in a year’s time, 90% of the internet will be AI. Pretty close to Dead Internet Theory that predicts there will be bots only.
Here are the most important points I want to make in response to that estimation:
This would be a good moment to take charge of your online space and create a real, meaningful online community, so that a large audience of bots will not take over your space.
I predict that, in a (few) year’s time, big following numbers will have lost all meaning and will no longer be such a status symbol, as bot activity will keep increasing.
The value of offline AND online human connection is making a comeback, and conscious people will solely focus on uniqueness and quality online instead, no matter how ‘small’ an online creator is.
So might as well get ahead of that movement and go for online authentic connection now.
How can we be sure we are not interacting with bots? How can you know that I’m not a bot or used chatGPT to write this? Well, I would propose using your intuition, look at my unique and wonky sentences—and I probably made some spelling mistakes here and there as well. I also feel Substack seems to reward AI-generated content less than other platforms.
For me, it’s a bit harder to recognize AI-generated texts in English, as it isn’t my native language. I personally don’t (yet?) use AI, but seeing chatGPT hog the em dash has taught me how to start using it as well, so that’s something. Anyway, this essay isn’t about how to recognize AI or pleading that I am truly a human. Technically, we can only be sure whether account is AI or not, if we already know the person outside of the context of the social media platform—or if we knew them before AI bots really started to crowd these spaces. But intuitively, we can smell it.
If we keep putting our faith into the hands of large social media companies by not directing our attention consciously, but letting it swipe down into whatever bottomless pit the algorithms have curated for us, we will definitely start interacting more and more with AI and less and less with real humans. It is no longer even a question.
However, if we cultivate small online communities now, where we actually know the people, we can still keep engaging with the internet and social media in a meaningful way, even if the landscape changes significantly.
The more awareness we bring to our online habits in general, the better.
If we truly want to live intentionally, we need to take our power back and start curating our own life again.
And part of that is shifting the value we attach to large subscriber numbers. We need to lose the shame. Openly sharing about my relationship to my subscriber numbers in this essay has definitely helped me dissolve a bunch of social embarrassment, and I recommend a self-inquiry process around this, if it’s a thing for you too.
So, is the time of striving for large, faceless audiences over?
I think it might be, but only if we take matters into our own hands. And with the direction AI is going into, I believe more and more people will wake up to the value of real connection and authentic creators. This all supports the rise of small online communities.
Who cares about having a large audience, if that audience consists mostly of literally faceless bots?
Not people I’m interested in anyway.
Let me know if you have thought about this, and how you relate to ‘the numbers’ online. In which way do you connect and create community?
On my Substack, I share commentary about intentional living, nervous system work and the new age versus authentic spirituality. To support my writings, you can donate here: