We're hyper-visible.
We post, we share, we respond. We track steps, moods, focus time, and followers. There are stories to update, statuses to maintain, and an algorithm to feed. Life is a feed — and we’re all on display.
Always On, Always Watched
But as exposure becomes expectation, a quiet rebellion is taking shape.
Some are logging off. Some are deleting entire digital histories. Some are ghosting not out of rudeness — but as a form of self-preservation.
This is the art of vanishing: the decision to stop performing.
To step back. To go unseen — not because you’re lost, but because you’ve chosen stillness.
Exit Isn’t Failure — It’s Freedom
Disappearing used to signal a problem: social withdrawal, failure, a breakdown. Now, it’s starting to look like strategy. A refusal to participate in the attention economy. A conscious move toward boundaries, solitude, or simply peace.
The person who deactivates their Instagram for the summer.
The writer who unplugs from Substack and writes by hand for a while.
The friend who leaves a WhatsApp group and doesn’t explain.
They’re not broken. They’re breathing.
In a culture that equates visibility with value, to disappear is a form of self-trust. A declaration that your worth doesn’t require constant proof.
The Digital Hermit Archetype
There’s a new admiration for those who live offline or speak less. The person who doesn’t comment on everything. The one who takes the call but never posts the photo.
They become mythic: mysterious, grounded, unreachable in the best way.
Disconnection isn’t just withdrawal. It’s a form of narrative control. You stop being content, and you become context. You reclaim your time — and your silence.
Not everyone has the privilege to vanish completely. But even micro-vanishings — turning off notifications, taking long walks without documenting them — carry power.