If envy had a fragrance, it would be the vaguely citrusy smell of someone else’s Amalfi Coast reel wafting through your bedroom at late night. You’re horizontal, thumb scrolling, maybe heartbroken. They have the sunsets, the abs, the ceramic-ecological mugs that somehow make coffee look morally superior. You have crumbs and a reminder to “hydrate.” The internet promised connection.
This isn’t a new human problem – just a new human-sized billboard. Bertrand Russell, with his crisp British gloom and sly cheerfulness, called envy “one of the most potent causes of unhappiness” and advised us to stop measuring our lives against other people’s Instagram highlights long before the reel had a “post” button. His medicine was very simple: attend to the work and pleasures of your own life, and the fog lifts. If only he’d had an Instagram to mute.
The glamorous half-truth machine
Influencer content is designed to shimmer. It is also designed – quite successfully – to sell. In psychology-speak, social platforms are lush habitats for upward social comparison: looking at someone apparently above you on whatever ladder you’ve chosen (beauty, status, abs) and taking emotional notes. A related meta-analysis found that exposure to others’ “better” posts can causally nudge envy and lower moods across platforms like Instagram, Facebook, and WeChat. The effect isn’t apocalyptic; it’s a paper cut you get again and again. Enough paper cuts, and you stop clapping.
Newer experimental work adds texture. Briefly viewing profiles of “people like me” who look just a bit shinier increases upward comparison and envy, even if the immediate hit to life satisfaction is small or statistically flimsy after adjustments. The takeaway isn’t “influencers ruin your life.” It’s that proximity to curated perfection tugs, quietly and persistently, at your contentment.
And that tug has consequences in the checkout aisle. Studies in 2023–2025 connect social comparison to materialism and even compulsive buying; envy acts like a little sales rep whispering, “You too could be this luminous, if only…” It’s not merely cringe – it’s a business model.
The algorithm’s favorite emotion
Platforms reward engagement. Envy is wonderfully engaging. (So is outrage, but that’s another cocktail.) When you scroll through glittering lives for long stretches, you dip into a related state the researchers now call doomscrolling. It’s not all envy – there’s plenty of dread in the newsfeed too – but the psychological mechanism is similar: comparison + threat + compulsion = not your happiest afternoon. Recent work links habitual doomscrolling to existential anxiety, a kind of “what’s the point” malaise that makes the whole human project feel smaller. Put mildly: this does not pair well with joy.
It’s unsurprising, then, that many people are stepping back from the feed entirely. News avoidance, especially of video and graphic content, has climbed sharply in the past few years, as people report the emotional costs outweighing the benefits. The moral here isn’t to live under a rock. It’s noticing how much of your inner weather is being set by other people’s curated storms and sunsets.
Why your brain falls for the filter
The human-animal is exquisitely social and painfully rank-conscious. We’ve always compared ourselves, but we just didn’t do it a thousand times before breakfast. Adolescents, whose brains are wired for peer approval while the brakes are still installing, are especially sensitive. Nearly half of U.S. teens now say social media mostly harms youth mental health, up steeply from 2022, even as many admit it’s also a source of connection and creativity. The relationship is complicated; the wake-up call is not.
For adults, the levers are similar but subtler. We respond to signals of status and belonging, then try to purchase those feelings. The research pipeline from “I envy” to “I buy” is well documented: upward comparison → envy/materialism → consumption intent. You can watch it happen in yourself like a weather system rolling in over your credit card.
Old remedy for a new problem
Russell’s advice reads like the world’s least viral caption: stop comparing, cultivate your own interests, and put your energy into work you actually value. In his telling, happiness grows where attention is planted; envy withers when your gaze returns to your own garden. It sounds quaint in the era of algorithmic agriculture, but the core still holds. The trick is translating it into swipe-era tactics.
Influence hygiene for humans
Swap those “digital detox” fantasies for small, durable habits – the psychological equivalent of flossing. The goal isn’t moral purity – it’s reducing the daily dose of comparison fuel.
Curate, don’t just consume. Following accounts that reliably spark gratitude, curiosity, or prosocial emotions predicts better outcomes than passively marinating in strangers’ abs. The positive-psychology crowd has been saying this for years, and they’re not wrong: flourish online by designing for values, not vibes.
Tidy your inputs. Mute the few accounts that consistently trigger status anxiety. It isn’t censorship; it’s allergen management. If an influencer is a harmless pleasure, keep them. If they’re a pebble in your shoe, wish them well and keep walking.
Change the unit of comparison. If you want to compare, compare yourself to your past self. That voice in your head loves “her body” and “his salary.” Teach it to love “my progress.” Russell would clap approvingly from the balcony.
Anchor in the tactile. One reason “anti-doomscrolling hobbies” are having a moment is that hands-on activities interrogate envy by making you a participant instead of a spectator. Knitting, cooking, gardening, playing music – these are not quaint distractions; they’re neurological counterweights. They fill the same bucket envy drains.
Measure what matters. Keep a ridiculously simple log of “three things I did that mattered” most days. Parents helped. The dog walked. Invoice sent. This is not for the world – it’s for your hippocampus.
Practice scheduled looking. Borrow a page from the growing movement toward intentional news use: set specific windows for scrolling and stick to them. Boundaries won’t make you less informed; they make you less perforated.
Make inspiration earn its keep. After a reel gives you that sugar hit of “maybe I could,” immediately translate it into a 10-minute action. Admired a painter? Sketch a cup. Coveted a runner’s loop? Walk your block. Inspiration without action curdles into envy. Action turns it into a skill.
What the science actually says (and why you should exhale)
If we would like to declare social media a happiness death ray, hurry not. The evidence is nuanced. Some studies find small harms tied to upward comparison and appearance-focused use; others find effects that vanish after statistical guardrails. The pattern is boringly human: it depends on who you are, how you use it, and what it replaces in your day. The best overview remains: avoid passive, compare-heavy browsing; increase active, purpose-driven use, and keep an eye on your own mood like you’d keep an eye on a pot of milk threatening to boil over.
The American Psychological Association’s guidance emphasizes balanced, supervised use for adolescents and notes that relationship quality and context strongly shape outcomes. Translation: it’s not just the screen time – it’s the story around the screen.
The secret the feed can’t show you
Influencer culture is very good at displaying the symbols of a good life and uniquely bad at conveying the experience of one. A table can be styled. A friendship cannot. The pleasures – the texture of work well done, the warmth of ordinary ties, the quiet of being left alone by your own striving – refuse to be captured at 30 frames per second. They live in the grain, off-camera, stubborn as bread.
Gentle experiments to try this week
- The 30–3 swap. For every 30 minutes you spend scrolling, spend 3 minutes making something with your hands. A sentence. A stretch. An egg. See how your envy responds the way a plant responds to light.
- The “if envy then action” rule. The moment you feel the pinch – jaw tight, shoulders up – translate it into one tiny step in your lane. Envy is misplaced energy. Put it back where it belongs.
- The compassion filter. Before you tap “follow,” ask: does this account enlarge my compassion for myself or others? If not, it can live happily without you.
- The Sunday rearrange. Once a week, prune your follows, tidy notifications, and set next week’s “scroll slots.”
A brief FAQ for your saner self
Is it actually possible to enjoy influencers without hating my life?
Yes. Treat them like street performers: stop when delighted, tip when moved, move on when bored. Elevate creators who spark curiosity over envy. Your mood will tell you who’s who within three posts.
Is envy always bad?
Psychologists sometimes distinguish “benign” from “malicious” envy. The first nudges you to improve; the second wants the other person to trip. The line is thin. If your envy reliably leads to skill-building, great. If it leads to snark, shopping spirals, and insomnia, call it what it is and change the input.
What about teens?
The data are moving in one direction: concern is up, and context matters. Boundaries, mentoring, and richer offline lives are protective.
The happily unglamorous conclusion
Happiness requires a certain nudge to look away from the parade and devote yourself to your own muddled, meaningful life. Influencer culture will continue to present you with polished windows into other people’s stories. Look when it delights you. Close the window when it doesn’t. Your attention is an estate, and should be well-loved, well used, unmistakably yours. Don’t rent it to envy for small change – develop it for equity.
