Author name: adminsan

We all have delusions. Some are crippling—like the belief that nothing will ever get better. Others are helpful—like the conviction that if we just keep going, something will click.

The trick is to choose the ones that serve us.

The artist believes, against all odds, that the next brushstroke will make the painting come alive. The entrepreneur believes that the hundredth rejection is just the last step before success. The person crawling out of grief convinces themselves that tomorrow might hurt a little less.

None of these are facts. They are stories we tell ourselves, and they shape our reality. A useful delusion can carry us through the parts of life where despair lurks, waiting for us to give up.

In sterquiinius invenitur—In filth, it will be found.

Jordan Peterson brought up this old alchemical phrase in a conversation with Theo Von, tying it to Carl Jung and the legend of King Arthur.

The knights of the Round Table set off in search of the Holy Grail—the ultimate value, the thing that redeems existence. But they didn’t know where to look. So, each knight faced the dark forest and entered at the point that seemed darkest to him. The place they least wanted to go.

That’s the rule. The answers you seek are buried in the places you avoid. The thing you need most is wrapped in discomfort, failure, and fear. That’s the way of transformation—not through the clean and easy, but through the mess.

Alchemy wasn’t just about turning lead into gold. It was a metaphor: that the muck, the rejected, the discarded, is where the treasure lies. And that applies to us.

Despair tells you to stop. A helpful delusion whispers, “Just a little further.”

If you must believe in something, let it be something that moves you forward.

You don’t pick your thoughts anymore.

You think you do. But open your phone, and the algorithm’s already decided what’s on your mind today.

That trending topic? That viral controversy? That product you suddenly want?

Not random. Not coincidence. Just data doing its job.

It’s subtle. It’s invisible. And that’s why it works so well.

Once, your worldview was shaped by the people around you—family, friends, mentors. Now, it’s shaped by an AI that feeds you more of whatever keeps you scrolling.

You’re not just a user. You’re a profile in a system. A constantly refined model, optimized for engagement.

It learns what makes you tick.
It learns what makes you mad.
It learns how to keep you here just a little longer.

The more you use it, the more you train it.
The more it trains you, the more predictable you become.

People used to say, “You become the average of the five people you spend the most time with.”

But what if you spend the most time with an algorithm?

What happens when it knows you better than your best friend?
What happens when it reinforces every bias, feeds every insecurity, fuels every addiction?

You’re not being shown what’s true.
You’re being shown what works.

And what works—for them—is whatever keeps you watching.

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So what now?

You could fight it. But let’s be real—you won’t. Neither will I.

It’s too good at what it does.
It’s too convenient. Too fun. Too seamless.

The best you can do? Be aware.

Because once you know you’re being shaped, you can start choosing who you become.

Once upon a time, status was built on what you did.

Now, it’s built on who’s watching.

Attention is the currency. Not money, not skill, not even expertise. Just… attention.

If you have it, you can sell anything—a product, an idea, yourself.

If you don’t, you’re invisible.

How We Got Here

Social media didn’t just connect people. It turned everything into a performance.

• Conversations became content.
• Friendships became follower counts.
• Opinions became engagement bait.

And the algorithm? It doesn’t care about truth. It cares about time spent on screen.

More outrage. More drama. More extremes. Because mild doesn’t trend.

The Business of Attention

Social platforms don’t sell ads. They sell your time.

• More engagement → More scrolling.
• More scrolling → More ads served.
• More ads served → More profit.

Every click, every share, every second you stay on a post—it’s money in their bank.
And creators? They’re just trying to keep up.

• Say something thoughtful? No traction.
• Say something divisive? Viral.

The market rewards those who play the game.

The Trap

Chasing attention feels like progress. Until it doesn’t.

• You post. You go viral. You win.
• You post again. Fewer likes. Anxiety.
• You post louder. More extreme. More controversial.
• You burn out. Or worse—you fade out.

It’s a game you can’t stop playing. But you also can’t win.

What Happens Next?

We built a world where attention equals power.
But power without depth is empty.

The question is—when the dopamine runs out, what’s left?

There was a time when dating was organic. You met someone through friends, at work, in a coffee shop. There was effort, nervousness, excitement. A slow unfolding of emotions.

Then came Tinder.

And suddenly, dating became gamified.

Swipe left, swipe right. Instant dopamine hits. The thrill of a match. The illusion of abundance.

Now, romance is a marketplace.

From Connection to Consumption

Dating apps didn’t just change how people meet. They changed what people expect from dating.

• Endless choices → Fear of settling
  There’s always another swipe, another match, another “better” option. Why invest when you can replace?
• Casual by default → Commitment is cringe
  Apps normalized low-effort dating. A quick chat, a half-baked plan, a half-hearted attempt at connection. If it gets complicated? Ghost.
• Looks over everything → The death of chemistry
  Attraction is now reduced to seconds on a screen. If you don’t fit the algorithm’s version of “hot,” good luck.
• Validation over relationships → Dating as content
  Some people aren’t even dating anymore—they’re collecting matches for ego boosts, using dating apps for Instagram clout, or swiping just to feel wanted.

And because of this, dating today feels more like a job interview than a romance.

Dating Apps Are Built for Engagement, Not Love

These platforms aren’t designed to help you find “the one.” They’re designed to keep you on the app.

Why? Because that’s where the money is.

The longer you swipe:
✅ The more ads you see.
✅ The more you pay for “Boost” and “Super Likes.”
✅ The more the app thrives.

Dating apps don’t want you to win. They want the system to win.

The Social Media Effect

And of course, this all loops back to social media.

• Instagram & TikTok dating advice → More focus on aesthetics, less on actual connection.
• Hinge voice prompts & Tinder bios → Turning personality into a performance.
• Posting dates online → Validation over intimacy.

Now, everyone is terrified of rejection because rejection doesn’t just happen in private anymore—it happens in front of an audience.

And so, we’ve reached a weird place:

More ways to meet people than ever. More lonely people than ever.

Dating isn’t about finding someone you like. It’s about finding someone who meets the checklist, who looks good on your feed, who keeps you entertained until the next best thing arrives.

Which brings us to Part 3: Attention as Currency. Because ultimately, that’s what dating, friendship, and life online are all about now.

When Intimacy Became Content

There was a time when erotic content lived in the shadows. It was whispered about, hidden under mattresses, or accessed through grainy late-night TV. Then, the internet arrived.

First, free porn flooded the web. No subscriptions, no barriers—just an infinite stream of content at your fingertips. What was once taboo became mainstream, reshaping perceptions of sex, relationships, and desire.

Then came OnlyFans, the next evolution. No longer just passive consumption, but direct interaction. A subscription model for intimacy.

From Content to Commodity

OnlyFans didn’t invent paid adult content. What it did was blur the line between personal and professional, between creator and consumer. The fantasy wasn’t just about watching anymore—it was about engaging.

• Instead of anonymous performers, it was the girl-next-door—your former classmate, a social media influencer, or even someone you vaguely knew.
• Instead of a detached experience, you could send messages, request custom content, and feel like you were part of their life.
• Instead of an industry controlled by studios, creators became brands, monetizing not just their bodies but their personalities.

What used to be private—desire, intimacy, attraction—became public, performative, and for sale.

The Shift in Culture

This isn’t just about OnlyFans. It’s about how we see relationships and intimacy in the modern world.

• Porn is no longer a guilty pleasure; it’s part of the algorithm. Scrolling Instagram or TikTok, you don’t need to visit an adult site—sexualized content is served up to you. The lines between mainstream and explicit have blurred.
• Young people don’t just grow up watching porn; they grow up with it as an option for a career. OnlyFans is marketed as empowerment, as a side hustle, as “just another job”—but it’s also a reflection of what the market now values.
• Sex has shifted from something you experience to something you consume. The rise of transactional relationships, the normalization of “pay-to-play” interactions, and the decline of genuine intimacy are all byproducts.

When something is easy to access and always available, it loses its meaning.

What happens when sex stops being about connection and becomes just another form of content?