anything_bitesized

Keywords: digital citizenship, online harassment, social media governance, platform accountability

Social media isn’t a town square. It’s a battleground masquerading as a forum. Platforms aren’t designed for civil discourse - they’re optimized for engagement, and nothing hooks users better than a good fight. Conflict isn’t a side effect. It’s the business model (Jenkins 2006). The more people argue, the longer they stay, the more ads they see. Everyone’s angry, but only the platform profits.

Digital spaces thrive on power struggles. It’s not just about who gets to speak - it’s about who gets heard. Social media governance claims to be neutral, but rules are dictated by corporate interests, state regulations, and decentralized moderation (Haslop, O’Rourke & Southern 2021). The result? A system where harassment is routine, outrage is currency, and moderation is inconsistent at best, weaponized at worst.

Certain groups bear the brunt of this imbalance. Plan International (2020) found that 59% of girls across 31 countries had experienced online harassment. Women, LGBTQ+ users, and racial minorities report higher levels of abuse, often with little platform intervention (Marwick & Caplan 2018). Meanwhile, bad actors manipulate reporting systems to silence dissent, reinforcing existing inequalities.

Online abuse isn’t an accident - it’s a predictable outcome of platform design. The manosphere, for instance, didn’t emerge in isolation; it was amplified by recommendation algorithms that push divisive content for engagement (Rich & Bujalka 2023). Figures like Andrew Tate didn’t rise to prominence despite their misogyny but because of it. Their rhetoric drives high engagement, making them algorithmic gold.

Moderation attempts, such as AI-driven content policing, fail to catch the nuance of harassment. Slurs might get flagged, but coordinated pile-ons, dog-whistling, and coded language slip through. Worse, enforcement is often selective. Studies show that marginalized users are disproportionately banned for calling out abuse, while harassers continue unchecked (Sundén & Paasonen 2019). The message is clear: the system isn’t broken; it’s working as intended.

Governments have tried to intervene. Australia’s Online Safety Act 2021 mandates content removal within 24 hours, but enforcement is patchy (eSafety Commissioner 2021). Platforms roll out PR-friendly initiatives - “Be Kind” campaigns, AI moderation promises - but fail to address systemic flaws. The reality? Real change rarely comes from the top down.

Instead, resistance is grassroots. Cyberfeminist movements use humor and counter-messaging to reclaim digital spaces (Dafaure 2022). Online communities document and expose abuse before it’s erased. Activists pressure advertisers, hitting platforms where it hurts - their revenue streams. Change isn’t a feature being rolled out in the next update; it’s something users have to fight for.

Social media conflict isn’t going anywhere. The real question is: who benefits? Right now, platforms profit from outrage while outsourcing the consequences to users. But awareness is growing, and so is resistance. Digital citizenship isn’t just about existing online—it’s about shaping online spaces before they shape us.

Because at the end of the day, logging off doesn’t stop the problem. It just hands the microphone to someone else.

Reference list

Dafaure, M. (2022). ‘Memes, trolls and the manosphere: Mapping the manifold expressions of antifeminism and misogyny online’, European Journal of English Studies, vol. 26, no. 2, pp. 236–254.

eSafety Commissioner. (2021). Online Safety Act 2021. Available at: https://www.esafety.gov.au.

Haslop, C., O’Rourke, F. & Southern, R. (2021). ‘#NoSnowflakes: The toleration of harassment and an emergent gender-related digital divide’, Convergence, vol. 27, no. 5, pp. 1418–1438.

Jenkins, H. (2006). Convergence Culture: Where Old and New Media Collide. New York University Press.

Marwick, A. E. & Caplan, R. (2018). ‘Drinking male tears: Language, the manosphere, and networked harassment’, Feminist Media Studies, vol. 18, no. 4, pp. 543–559.

Plan International. (2020). Free to Be Online? Girls’ and Young Women’s Experiences of Online Harassment. Available at: https://plan-international.org.

Rich, B. & Bujalka, E. (2023). ‘The draw of the ‘manosphere’: Understanding Andrew Tate’s appeal to lost men’, The Conversation, 13 February. Available at: https://theconversation.com.

Keywords: gaming communities, transhumanism, digital identity, augmented reality

It’s strange having an audience for your identity crisis. One moment you’re tweaking an avatar, the next you’re questioning if that pixelated version feels more real than you do. When followers know your face but not your name, and your body is an animation - what even counts as ‘you’?

In today’s gaming worlds, identity is fluid, digitized, and often untethered from physical reality. No longer confined to controllers and screens, gaming communities are now vibrant spaces of self-construction, performance, and resistance, where technology becomes an extension of the self.

As virtual avatars and AR interfaces evolve, transhumanism - the idea that humans can transcend biological limitations through tech has moved from science fiction to everyday digital experience. For many gamers, especially VTubers, augmented personas allow them to exist beyond their physical form, shaping new modes of expression, identity, and even survival.

VTubers like Ironmouse and CodeMiko highlight how AR-fueled avatars enable creators to navigate limitations - illness, social anxiety, or platform bias - and present versions of themselves that feel more authentic than their offline counterparts. Ironmouse, for instance, battles a chronic illness that confines her physically. Still, through her avatar, she becomes one of the top streamers on Twitch, proving that digital identity can offer liberation from bodily restrictions.

Yet this freedom is paradoxical. Platforms like Twitch impose rules of engagement that push creators toward algorithmically favorable behaviors. Here, identity is curated, not just for self-expression, but for visibility and monetization. As Jenkins (2006, p. 3) notes, convergence culture merges media consumption with production, but also with corporate control, where personal narratives are shaped by platform logic.

Gaming itself, as Suits (1978) argues, is a voluntary attempt to overcome unnecessary obstacles, a space where we willingly engage in challenges that construct meaning. But in today’s networked play, those “obstacles” are often social and structural—like gender norms, ableism, and platform policies. For transgender and non-binary gamers, avatars and modding allow them to bypass these constraints, crafting ideal selves that affirm their identities in ways offline spaces may not permit.

In Final Fantasy XIV, VRChat, and countless indie titles, players explore identity, using avatars to test and perform gender, personality, and style. This isn’t escapism - it’s self-realization. Jenkins (2006, p. 50) emphasizes that fan communities are sites of grassroots creativity, where users collaborate to make spaces more inclusive, personal, and empowering.

While gaming communities offer tools for autonomy, they also expose players to surveillance, harassment, and exploitation. Parasocial relationships—the one-sided intimacy between streamers and viewers—can become both empowering and dangerous, as seen in the case of VTuber Vox Akuma, who publicly addressed obsessive fan behavior. These moments underscore the precarity of digital identity—a space of freedom and exposure.

As transhumanist tech like AR, facial recognition, and AI deepen, the tension grows: Are we enhancing our identities, or surrendering them to algorithms?

Gaming offers a glimpse into a participatory future, where users co-create culture, challenge norms, and explore selfhood. But this future is not guaranteed. The same tools that enable freedom can also enforce conformity, depending on who holds the power.

Reference list

Green, H 2018, ‘What The Sims Teaches Us about Avatars and Identity’, Paste Magazine, viewed 23 March 2025, https://www.pastemagazine.com/games/the-sims/what-the-sims-teaches-us-about-avatars-and-identit.

Jenkins, H 2006, Convergence Culture: Where Old and New Media Collide, New York University Press, New York.

Keywords: AR, transhumanism, social media culture, filtered reality

When dystopian films warned about augmented reality overtaking real life, it felt like fiction. Now, Instagram filters quietly bring that fiction to our fingertips. A decade ago, Keiichi Matsuda’s Hyper-Reality imagined a world where digital overlays consumed every moment of reality (Winston 2016). At the time, it seemed extreme—until it didn’t.

Today, we don’t need headsets or complex tech to live in augmented reality. Our phones have become portals to a filtered existence, where our faces are constantly scanned, reshaped, and optimized to match algorithmic standards of beauty. AR no longer feels like enhancement—it feels like expectation.

Transhumanism—the idea of surpassing human limits through technology—once conjured images of robotic limbs and AI-powered minds. But now, it’s happening in subtler ways. Through Instagram and Snapchat filters, we digitally “upgrade” ourselves daily, smoothing skin, enlarging eyes, reshaping features (Miller & McIntyre 2022). The pursuit of perfection isn’t in the future—it’s embedded in our selfies.

AR filters aren’t just playful tools. Their widespread use—700 million monthly AR filter users across Instagram and Facebook (Lecture slide 7)—reveals how embedded they are in digital identity formation. These filters are easy to use but limit creative expression, leading to what Fisher (2020) calls technological deskilling—a power imbalance where users passively consume rather than create.

As filters shift from playful to subtle, “ambient filtering” emerges. These filters claim to enhance “naturally,” yet they heavily edit features, making it difficult to distinguish between real and augmented (Lawrence & Cambre 2020). The result? Users internalize the edited self as reality, deepening dissatisfaction with unfiltered appearances.

Social Comparison Theory (Festinger 1954) explains how users measure themselves against their own filtered images, reinforcing the belief that their natural face is insufficient. This is evident in viral TikTok “filter fails,” where glitches reveal the unfiltered face mid-livestream. Humorous comments often mask discomfort with unfiltered reality (@Kingoflove91 2022).

The impact is not just psychological—it’s physical. The rise of Snapchat Dysmorphia sees individuals seeking cosmetic procedures to match their filtered images (Rajanala, Maymone & Vashi 2018). Unlike traditional body dysmorphia, this new form stems from the gap between real and augmented selves. Filters create a standard that many now pursue in real life, pushing cosmetic clinics to offer “filter face” surgeries (Burnell, Kurup & Underwood 2021).

This reflects neoliberal and postfeminist pressures: self-optimization isn’t optional—it’s a social responsibility (Elias, Gill & Scharff 2017). Filters don’t just reflect beauty standards—they enforce them, transforming digital enhancement into a daily obligation.

In China, this blurred line between digital and physical perfection reached new heights. Influencer Wang Jing, known for her baby-faced filter persona, inspired over 500 fans to undergo cosmetic surgery at her clinic to look like her filtered self (Zhang 2024). AR no longer stops at the screen—it becomes a blueprint for reality.

AR also raises concerns about surveillance. As we edit ourselves, we feed biometric data into AI systems. Facial recognition technology, once used for novelty, is now part of digital surveillance, tracking movements and expressions (Cyphers, Schwartz & Sheard 2021). In China, such systems control public behavior, punishing low-credit citizens by restricting travel and financial access (Barrett 2018).

With every filtered selfie, we train AI to recognize, replicate, and manipulate human faces. This fuels deepfakes and identity theft. A 2024 Deloitte report revealed that 25.9% of executives faced deepfake attacks, and over half anticipate this threat growing (Deloitte 2024, p. 3). AR, while seemingly harmless, becomes a tool for control when facial data is weaponized.

AR filters embody the duality of transhumanism—offering self-expression while reinforcing surveillance and control. As the filtered self becomes the standard, and biometric data becomes currency, the question remains: are we enhancing our identities, or surrendering them?

Reference list

@Kingoflove91 2022, And they hide 🤣, TikTok, viewed 23 March 2025, https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSMEjvEXW/.

Barrett, E 2018, ‘In China, Facial Recognition Tech Is Watching You’, Fortune, viewed 23 March 2025, https://fortune.com/2018/10/28/in-china-facial-recognition-tech-is-watching-you/.

Burnell, K, Kurup, AR & Underwood, MK 2021, ‘Snapchat lenses and body image concerns’, Body Image, vol. 38, pp. 12–19.

Cyphers, B, Schwartz, A & Sheard, N 2021, ‘Face Recognition Isn’t Just Face Identification and Verification’, Electronic Frontier Foundation, viewed 23 March 2025, https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/10/face-recognition-isnt-just-face-identification-and-verification.

Deloitte 2024, Generative AI and the fight for trust: Deloitte poll results, Deloitte Development LLC, viewed 23 March 2025, https://www2.deloitte.com/content/dam/Deloitte/us/Documents/Advisory/us-generative-ai-and-the-fight-for-trust.pdf.

Elias, A, Gill, R & Scharff, C 2017, Aesthetic labour: Beauty politics in neoliberalism, Palgrave Macmillan, Basingstoke.

Festinger, L 1954, ‘A theory of social comparison processes’, Human Relations, vol. 7, no. 2, pp. 117–140.

Fisher, A 2020, ‘Digital deskilling and AR filters’, Journal of New Media Art, vol. 9, no. 1, pp. 55–67.

Fredrickson, BL & Roberts, T-A 1997, ‘Objectification theory: Toward understanding women’s lived experiences and mental health risks’, Psychology of Women Quarterly, vol. 21, no. 2, pp. 173–206.

Lawrence, S & Cambre, C 2020, ‘“Do I look like my selfie?”: Filters and the digital-forensic gaze’, Social Media + Society, vol. 6, no. 1, pp. 1–13.

Miller, L & McIntyre, M 2022, ‘From surgery to cyborgs: A thematic analysis of popular media commentary on Instagram filters’, New Media & Society, vol. 24, no. 1, pp. 123–140.

Rajanala, S, Maymone, MBC & Vashi, NA 2018, ‘Selfies—living in the era of filtered photographs’, JAMA Facial Plastic Surgery, vol. 20, no. 6, pp. 443–444.

Rettberg, JW 2014, Seeing ourselves through technology: How we use selfies, blogs and wearable devices to see and shape ourselves, Palgrave Macmillan, Basingstoke.

Winston, A 2016, ‘Keiichi Matsuda’s Hyper-Reality film blurs real and virtual worlds’, Dezeen, viewed 23 March 2025, https://www.dezeen.com/2016/05/23/keiichi-matsuda-hyper-reality-film-dystopian-future-digital-interfaces-augmented-reality/.

Keywords: body image, aesthetic labor, social media culture, digital self

Social media platforms are saturated with flawless selfies, edited bodies, and carefully curated aesthetics that adhere to narrow and repetitive beauty ideals. These ideals often follow what are known as aesthetic templates - standardized styles, poses, and modifications that define what is considered “beautiful” in digital spaces. These templates are not merely about self-expression but function as codes to gain social validation through likes, followers, and visibility.

Maintaining an online presence that aligns with these trends requires what scholars define as aesthetic labor - the continuous effort people invest in altering their appearance, both physically and digitally, to fit within accepted norms (Dean, 2005). This kind of labor is especially prevalent in microcelebrity, where individuals brand themselves for online consumption, blurring the boundaries between personal identity and commercial persona (Senft, 2012). However, even beyond influencers, these pressures extend to ordinary users who need to conform to the same polished standards to feel seen.

Recent cases highlight the urgency of this issue. In early 2024, TikTok implemented restrictions on the use of beauty filters for teenagers after public concern that these filters were contributing to appearance-based anxiety and lowering self-esteem. The platform acknowledged that repeated exposure to altered faces could lead to mental health issues, especially among adolescents navigating their formative years online (Booth 2024). This follows earlier findings from Instagram’s internal research, which revealed that one in three teenage girls felt worse about their bodies after using the app, primarily due to comparison with filtered and idealized images (Gayle 2021).

Beyond mental health, the impact of aesthetic standards has manifested in real-world consequences. Hunt (2019) reported a rise in “Snapchat dysmorphia,” a term used to describe individuals seeking cosmetic procedures to resemble their filtered selfies. Surgeons have noted an increase in young patients requesting enhancements to achieve digital-like features - such as smooth skin, larger lips, or contoured faces - demonstrating how online beauty templates can shape offline body modification practices.

Filters are more widespread than ever before, prompting some individuals to pursue cosmetic enhancements like fillers, Botox, and other aesthetic treatments.

Social media’s preference for sexualized content further compounds this issue. The concept of pornification - the encouragement of users to present themselves in a sexualized manner to gain attention - is driven by algorithmic logic that rewards visibility and engagement with such imagery (Tyler & Quek, 2016). This results in users modifying not only their appearance but their behavior to match what platforms deem profitable or popular.

The emotional consequences of this environment are stark. The 2022 BBC documentary Disordered Eating by Zara McDermott explores the connection between social media and the rising rates of eating disorders among young people. It presents personal narratives and expert commentary to highlight how constant exposure to slim, idealized bodies fosters disordered eating habits and body dissatisfaction (BBC 2022). These stories reflect the psychological toll of aesthetic labor, where worth is measured against an unattainable ideal curated for digital approval.

Zara explores the rise in eating disorders and asks if social media is the problem.

The cycle of comparison, modification, and validation driven by social media algorithms transforms personal identity into a performance and bodies into commodities. The pressure to adhere to digital beauty norms erodes self-esteem and encourages both mental and physical alterations, raising critical questions about agency, authenticity, and well-being in the age of algorithmic aesthetics.

Reference list

BBC 2022, ‘Zara McDermott: “I considered deleting social media after learning impact on disordered eating”’, BBC Three, viewed 23 March 2025, https://www.bbc.com/bbcthree/article/88b8852b-79ec-4821-a7c3-01dd8bf3e245.

Booth, R 2024, ‘TikTok to block teenagers from beauty filters over mental health concerns’, The Guardian, viewed 23 March 2025, https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2024/nov/26/tiktok-to-block-teenagers-from-beauty-filters-over-mental-health-concerns.

Gayle, D 2021, ‘Facebook aware of Instagram’s harmful effect on teenage girls, leak reveals’, The Guardian, viewed 23 March 2025, https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2021/sep/14/facebook-aware-instagram-harmful-effect-teenage-girls-leak-reveals.

Hunt, E 2019, ‘Faking it: How Selfie Dysmorphia Is Driving People to Seek Surgery’, The Guardian, viewed 23 March 2025, https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2019/jan/23/faking-it-how-selfie-dysmorphia-is-driving-people-to-seek-surgery.

Dean, D 2005, ‘Recruiting a self: Women performers and aesthetic labour’, Work, Employment & Society, vol. 19, no. 4, pp. 761–774. https://doi.org/10.1177/0950017005058061

Senft, TM 2012, ‘Microcelebrity and the branded self’, in Hartley, J, Burgess, J & Bruns, A (eds), A Companion to New Media Dynamics, Blackwell, UK.

Keywords: digital citizenship, slow fashion, fast fashion, greenwashing

While scrolling through Instagram reels one evening, I stumbled upon an influencer’s video about her ethical wardrobe tour. It showcased organic cotton tees, upcycled denim, and compostable packaging. But as I admired the aesthetic, a question came to mind: Is buying ethically still just buying?

Fashion is more than fabric—it’s identity, culture, and self-expression (Mandal & Kumar 2022). Yet at its core, it remains tied to consumption. Even slow fashion, despite its sustainable ethos, still operates in a system where buying fuels the industry. This raises a difficult question: Can fashion truly break free from capitalism—or is slow fashion simply reshaping how we consume, not whether we consume at all?

Digital platforms allow consumers to challenge exploitative brands, promote ethical alternatives, and demand transparency. Hashtag campaigns like #WhoMadeMyClothes and #PayUp demonstrate how online engagement can hold corporations accountable and amplify ethical consumption movements (Adi 2018).

Yet, greenwashing remains a widespread issue. Brands often market themselves as sustainable while continuing unsustainable practices, misleading well-meaning consumers (Kerner & Gillis 2023). Digital spaces empower individuals to expose these tactics, encouraging critical thinking and ethical responsibility.

Slow fashion promotes longevity, ethical labor, and sustainable materials (Brewer 2019; Domingos, Vale & Faria 2022). It advocates for quality over quantity and challenges fast fashion’s wasteful and exploitative model. However, ethical consumption is still consumption. As Carrington, Zwick and Neville (2016) explain, the “ethical consumption gap” suggests that people may buy more when they believe purchases align with their values.

Moreover, cost is a barrier. Ethically made garments can be up to 10 times more expensive than fast fashion (Chi et al. 2021). Influencer Cora Harrington detailed how high prices in sustainable fashion reflect the true cost of labor, materials, and production (Harrington 2020). This price point often limits access, raising issues of privilege and exclusivity.

Influencers have emerged as powerful voices in fashion activism, using their platforms to promote slow fashion and challenge fast fashion brands. Ethical influencers such as Kristen Leo and Venetia La Manna highlight secondhand alternatives and expose industry greenwashing (Adi 2018).

Venetia La Manna offers a quick but impactful take on fast fashion’s environmental cost, showcasing the scale of waste and overproduction through visual storytelling.

Kristen Leo critiques the culture of the fashion industry, examining how it perpetuates gender stereotypes, exploitation of labor, and a homogenized ideal of beauty.

However, even influencers advocating for sustainability may contribute to consumerism through affiliate links and brand sponsorships. This paradox underlines how capitalism adapts, absorbing ethical movements into its commercial framework (Carrington, Zwick & Neville 2016). In this context, the line between activism and advertising becomes increasingly blurred.

True sustainability involves rethinking consumption entirely, not just shifting to ethical purchases. As Geiger and Keller (2018) argue, valuing what we already own is the most sustainable practice. Other actions include:

Supporting reuse through thrifting, swapping, and upcycling.

Educating others without shaming, fostering a constructive community.

Demanding systemic change, such as fair labor laws and transparent supply chains.

Disrupting planned obsolescence—the deliberate creation of short product lifespans—requires reducing consumption, not merely buying “better” (Geiger & Keller 2018). This challenges capitalism’s core logic, which thrives on constant demand.

In conclusion, slow fashion offers a more ethical path, but not a complete solution. It still operates within capitalism, framing smarter consumption rather than less consumption as the goal. True change requires questioning why we shop, not just how.

The most sustainable outfit? Not the latest organic linen dress, but the clothes already in your closet.

Reference list

Adi, A 2018, ‘#Sustainability on Twitter: Loose Ties and Green-Washing CSR’, in G Grigore, A Stancu & D McQueen (eds), Corporate Responsibility and Digital Communities, Palgrave, pp. 99–122.

Brewer, MK 2019, ‘Slow Fashion in a Fast Fashion World: Promoting Sustainability and Responsibility’, Laws, vol. 8, no. 4, p. 24. https://doi.org/10.3390/laws8040024

Carrington, MJ, Zwick, D & Neville, B 2016, ‘The ideology of the ethical consumption gap’, Marketing Theory, vol. 16, no. 1, pp. 21–38. https://doi.org/10.1177/1470593115595674

Chi, T, Gerard, J, Yu, Y & Wang, Y 2021, ‘A study of U.S. consumers’ intention to purchase slow fashion apparel’, International Journal of Fashion Design, Technology and Education, vol. 14, no. 1, pp. 101–112. https://doi.org/10.1080/17543266.2021.1872714

Domingos, M, Vale, VT & Faria, S 2022, ‘Slow Fashion Consumer Behavior: A Literature Review’, Sustainability, vol. 14, no. 5, p. 2860. https://doi.org/10.3390/su14052860

Geiger, SM & Keller, J 2018, ‘Shopping for Clothes and Sensitivity to the Suffering of Others’, Environment and Behavior, vol. 50, no. 10, pp. 1119–1144. https://doi.org/10.1177/0013916517732109

Harrington, C 2020, X (formerly Twitter), 8 December, viewed 21 March 2025, https://x.com/CoraCHarrington/status/1339620266348044289

Kerner, SM & Gillis, AS 2023, ‘What is greenwashing?’, WhatIs.com, viewed 21 March 2025, https://www.techtarget.com/whatis/definition/greenwashing

Keywords: digital citizenship, performative activism, political engagement

Digital citizenship has evolved far beyond basic online etiquette to encompass complex forms of political engagement and activism through social media platforms. As Choi and Cristol (2021) argue, we need an intersectional lens to understand how digital citizenship operates across diverse identities and power structures. This perspective becomes particularly relevant when examining the rise of hashtag publics as sites of political mobilization.

Hashtag activism has emerged as a powerful tool for marginalized voices, exemplified by movements like #ShoutYourAbortion. Kim and Lee (2022) demonstrate how this hashtag created a visual counter-narrative to abortion stigma, allowing individuals to reclaim agency over their stories. However, this raises a provocative question: Do these digital spaces truly democratize activism, or do they merely create the illusion of meaningful political engagement?

The platformization of social activism presents a double-edged sword. While platforms enable rapid mobilization, they simultaneously shape and constrain how activism manifests. As Duffy, Poell, and Nieborg (2019) observe, platform architectures influence creative expression, labor practices, and civic participation. This leads us to question whether activists are using platforms or whether platforms are using activists - commodifying their labor while capitalizing on their engagement.

The Australian experience with #auspol illustrates both the potential and limitations of hashtag publics. While it has become an indispensable forum for political discourse in Australia, critics argue that it often devolves into polarized echo chambers rather than spaces for deliberative democracy (Bogle 2016). Sunstein (2018) warns that social media algorithms create "filter bubbles" that reinforce existing beliefs while isolating users from contrary viewpoints, undermining the ideal of a shared public sphere.

These echo chambers contribute to what Zeitzoff (2020) calls "selective activism," where certain causes gain traction while others remain invisible - regardless of their objective importance or urgency. This phenomenon was powerfully illustrated in a recent critique of the "social justice trend cycle" on YouTube, which highlighted how media attention and algorithms determine which crises receive public engagement, creating disparities in awareness and action for equally serious global issues.

Perhaps most concerning is how platform affordances reshape political participation itself. Theocharis et al. (2022) demonstrate that social media platforms fundamentally alter how citizens engage with politics, often privileging performative activism over sustained engagement. The YouTube analysis reinforces this concern, noting how social media incentivizes superficial engagement for social approval rather than substantive action.

This performative quality of digital citizenship aligns with what Banet-Weiser (2018) terms "empowerment marketplaces," where political expression becomes another form of personal branding rather than meaningful civic engagement. In these spaces, as the video suggests, the quality of engagement is sacrificed for quantity, with potentially harmful consequences when activists amplify messages without adequate information or context.

As Olofinlua (2020) notes, online advocacy organizations have transformed political engagement, but we must ask whether these new forms of participation are substantively different from traditional modes or merely superficial adaptations. Digital citizenship in the age of hashtag activism thus presents us with a crucial challenge: How can we harness the mobilizing power of platforms while ensuring that this activism translates into meaningful social and political transformation beyond the echo chambers and performance of social media?

(*) Refer to a specific moment in social media activism history - the "Blackout Tuesday" phenomenon that occurred in June 2020 during the Black Lives Matter protests following George Floyd's murder. During this campaign, millions of Instagram users posted plain black squares with the hashtag #BlackoutTuesday as a gesture of solidarity.

Reference list

Banet-Weiser, S 2018, Empowered: Popular Feminism and Popular Misogyny, Duke University Press, United States.

Bogle, A 2016, ‘#auspol: The Twitter hashtag Australia can’t live without’, Mashable, viewed <https://mashable.com/article/twitter-australia-auspol>.

Choi, M & Cristol, D 2021, ‘Digital Citizenship with Intersectionality Lens: Towards Participatory Democracy Driven Digital Citizenship Education’, Theory Into Practice, vol. 60, no. 4, pp. 361–370, viewed <https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/00405841.2021.1987094>.

Duffy, BE, Poell, T & Nieborg, DB 2019, ‘Platform Practices in the Cultural Industries: Creativity, Labor, and Citizenship’, Social Media + Society, vol. 5, no. 4, p. 205630511987967.

Kim, Y & Lee, S 2022, ‘#ShoutYourAbortion on Instagram: Exploring the Visual Representation of Hashtag Movement and the Public’s Responses’, SAGE Open, vol. 12, no. 2, p. 215824402210933.

Olofinlua, T 2020, ‘Digital citizenship and political engagement: the challenge from online political campaigning and advocacy organizations’, Information, Communication & Society, pp. 1–3.

Keywords: reality television, recap culture, social media, meme culture, attention economy

Reality TV used to be a commitment, but now we’re in the era of recap culture - where you can get all the drama in a snack-sized portion. Why sit through an entire episode when you can just hit the highlights? Deller (2019) nailed it: reality TV isn’t just content, it’s conversation material. And now, it thrives in the social media ecosystem, where opinions are as valuable as the original broadcast.

The shift to recaps is real. We’re not sitting through entire seasons anymore. We’re skimming because who has time for an hour of filler when you can get all the good stuff in five minutes? Senft (2008) probably saw this coming back when webcam culture was the thing. Now, it’s all about condensed, shareable content. Why spend hours watching when you can squeeze everything into a few minutes?

This video dives into how our media-driven world, overwhelmed with entertainment and instant information, has led to a decline in genuine knowledge and deeper engagement - echoing the very patterns we see in recap culture.

Let’s not forget social media’s role in this. As Skinner, Williams‐Burnett & Fallon (2021) points out, reality shows are now everywhere, thanks to platforms where engagement is king and time is a luxury. Recaps come in to fill the gap. They give us the highlights, ditch the fluff, and add some snarky commentary, making us feel like we’re in the loop - without the need to commit. Who needs to binge-watch when you can just scroll through a few memes and get the gist?

And let’s talk memes. Shifman (2013) reminds us that reality TV moments don’t just stay on TV anymore - they become internet gold. Recaps curate those moments and package them into social media shorthand, so you can join the conversation without actually watching the whole show. It’s pop culture participation on easy mode.

At the end of the day, recap culture reflects the larger digital shift in how we consume media. Andrejevic & Smith (2005) talked about the democratization of content creation, and now we’re all co-creators of the narrative—whether we’ve watched the show or not. Chen and McCabe (2022) even argue that this “easy” engagement is pulling in people who would otherwise stay out of the media discourse. All it takes is a few bullet points and some sarcastic commentary, and you’re part of the conversation.

Reference list

Andrejevic, M & Smith, MJ 2005, ‘Collaborative Review Essay: “Reality TV: The Work of Being Watched,” by Mark Andrejevic and “Survivor Lessons: Essays on Communication and Reality Television,” edited by Matthew J. Smith and Andrew F. Wood’, Popular Communication, vol. 3, no. 2, pp. 137–143.

Chen, A & McCabe, KT 2022, ‘Roses and thorns: Political talk in reality TV subreddits’, New Media & Society, vol. 26, no. 6, p. 146144482210991.

Deller, RA 2019, ‘Reality Television in an Age of Social Media’, Reality Television: The Television Phenomenon That Changed the World (Society Now).

Senft, TM 2008, Camgirls : celebrity & community in the age of social networks, Lang, Cop, New York, p. 25.

Shifman, L 2013, Memes in Digital Culture, MIT Press.

Keywords: public sphere, platform vernacular, Instagram, hashtag

The idea of a single, unified public sphere feels almost outdated in the digital age. Instead of one big conversation, we have countless micro-publics scattered across platforms, each with its own slang, rules, and rhythms - its own platform vernacular (Gibbs et al. 2015). These aren't just quirks of communication; they're shaping, filtering, and sometimes straight-up warping how we interact online.

Every platform has its own linguistic DNA. Twitter (or X, if you insist) forces brevity, encouraging sharp takes and shorthand. TikTok, on the other hand, thrives on visual storytelling and performative speech (Manic 2024). Instagram? A mix of aesthetic curation and hashtag-fueled visibility. These platform vernaculars create new ways to connect, but they also gatekeep. If you don’t speak the language, you’re on the outside looking in - what Gillespie (2018) calls vernacular gatekeeping.

And let’s talk about how these codes get tangled up with the platforms themselves. McVeigh-Schultz & Baym (2015) argue that while these vernaculars give users new ways to participate in public discourse, they also create new barriers. You might think you’re just learning the ropes, but you're also playing by the platform’s rules—rules shaped by algorithms that care more about engagement than meaningful discussion (van Dijck & Poell 2013).

Take Instagram’s use of #funeral, for example. It’s not just a tag - it’s a mash-up of mourning, self-expression, and visibility tactics. People use it to share their grief, but also to ensure their posts surface in wider networks. The hashtag becomes a meeting point for personal loss, cultural rituals, and social media logic (Gibbs et al. 2015). What should be a deeply personal moment gets reframed through the lens of a platform designed for reach and validation.

As digital spaces continue to evolve, these shifting codes determine who gets heard, who gets ignored, and how meaning is constructed online. Understanding platform vernaculars isn’t just about keeping up - it’s about recognizing the hidden forces shaping the way we communicate.

Reference list

Bruns, A, Gunn Enli, Skogerbo, E, Anders Olof Larsson & Christensen, C 2015, The Routledge Companion to Social Media and Politics, Routledge.

Gibbs, M, Meese, J, Arnold, M, Nansen, B & Carter, M 2015, ‘#Funeral and Instagram: death, social media, and platform vernacular’, Information, Communication & Society, vol. 18, no. 3, pp. 255–268.

Gillespie, T 2018, Custodians of the Internet: Platforms, Content Moderation, and the Hidden Decisions That Shape Social Media, Yale University Press.

Manic, M 2024, ‘Short-Form Video Content and Consumer Engagement in Digital Landscapes’, Bulletin of the Transilvania University of Brasov Series V Economic Sciences, vol. 17, no. 66, Transilvania University Press, pp. 45–52.

McVeigh-Schultz, J & Baym, NK 2015, ‘Thinking of You: Vernacular Affordance in the Context of the Microsocial Relationship App, Couple’, Social Media + Society, vol. 1, no. 2, p. 205630511560464.