“I kept looking at things and imagining how I would describe them in a tweet, and then imagining what people would say in response.” – Johann Hari, Stolen Focus
This line in Johann Hari’s book, Stolen Focus, had me looking over my shoulder — I felt exposed. Until this moment, I hadn’t heard anyone relate, let alone describe, my secret behavior.
My Imaginary Audience
Sometimes, after cleaning my house or doing some minor redecorating, I’ll walk around imagining I am seeing it from the outside, experiencing my world for the first time. I know I can’t truly simulate that, but it’s one of my quirks. One that never bothered me and one I’ve done for as long as I can remember. What would they think? Would they like it? Whoever they are.
Add social media to the mix, and I find myself doing something similar with Instagram with things I might post. I’ll be living a moment in real life, and drift off imagining what my caption would be. What photo will I choose, and what will others think? Hari is showing me I am not alone in this. While it’s not Twitter (X) for me, it’s Instagram and my clean living room, and it’s all the same.
I’m Not Alone, Now What?
This made me want to explore what I was experiencing. Does it have a name? If Hari is writing about it, surely it must. Turns out, it does. There’s a name for this before social media’s influence, and now it’s evolving because of it. Sociologist Charles Horton Cooley coined the term “looking-glass self” in the early 20th century — the reflection of how we imagine others see us. In the 1960’s, child psychologist and professor David Elkind coined the term “imaginary audience” — the belief that others are observing us.
Today, social media users are often known to speak to their “ideal reader”, a similar tactic used by writers. They are imagining their ideal audience as someone who can relate and share their perspective. This is the same phenomenon, and it has existed and been studied throughout modern history. My imaginary Instagram post is just an adaptation of my early experience of my pretend, admiring audience in my living room.
Both And
These imaginary experiences can be both distracting and harmlessly inventive. Hari experienced his imaginary Twitter post during a tech detox and was frustrated at his lack of focus. He described that feeling as missing the ways we imagine the world is making us feel seen and heard, and how that gives us meaning. There’s also evolving research suggesting that the right kind of mind wandering could make us happier and more creative.
I find this comforting, and it has me reflecting on my own presence and focus. Perhaps my quirks are a mix of creativity, fractured attention, and seeking meaning. Is this something to fix or embrace? Maybe it’s just an ongoing balancing act.
AI tools supported research, additional source identification, and editing for this post.