Place Clickbait Title Here: The Effort to be Recognized
In the year 2025, attention was no longer just a commodity—it was a necessity. Recognition, validation, acknowledgment—these were no longer simple desires but vital aspects of survival. The world had shifted beyond the realm of mere social media influence; now, one's existence was intrinsically tied to how often and how widely they were noticed. This was the age of The Visibility Index (V.I.).
Governments, recognizing the power of influence, had implemented a system where an individual’s recognition score dictated everything—from access to healthcare to the ability to make purchases. The algorithm governing V.I. constantly tracked one’s online engagement, real-world interactions, and digital footprint. A person with a high Recognition Score could live in luxury, their needs effortlessly met. Those with low scores, however, faced a terrifying fate: societal erasure.
At first, people resisted, calling it absurd. But then, as jobs began requiring a minimum Recognition Score and essential services like transportation became restricted to those above a certain threshold, the realization dawned—visibility was no longer a choice. It was a lifeline.
The Struggle for Relevance
Nathan Vale had once been an average man. A teacher, a writer, someone who never sought the spotlight. But in 2025, anonymity was a slow death. At first, he ignored the growing emphasis on recognition. He avoided the daily livestreams, dismissed the mandatory engagement posts, and scoffed at those who vied for viral moments. But as his score dwindled, so did his access to basic needs. His bank refused transactions. The supermarket doors no longer opened for him. His employer sent a polite yet firm termination notice.
Nathan scrambled. He posted motivational quotes, overshared details of his life, even resorted to desperate challenges—eating raw onions for views, performing trending dances with aching knees. But no one cared. He wasn’t new, he wasn’t novel, he wasn’t engaging enough. The algorithm devoured content and discarded anything that didn’t spark immediate reactions.
That was when he met Mira.
Mira was an anomaly. She had no followers, no digital presence, and yet she lived comfortably. She walked through restricted areas with ease, ate at high-score restaurants, and traveled freely. Nathan, starving and desperate, cornered her in an abandoned bookstore—the only place still devoid of QR scanners and facial recognition.
“How?” he demanded, voice raw. “How do you exist outside the system?”
She smiled, a ghost of something ancient and knowing. “I don’t exist in it at all.”
The Philosophy of Non-Existence
Mira explained that the true prison was not The V.I. itself but the belief that recognition equated to existence. The system thrived because people feared irrelevance, mistaking it for annihilation. But true freedom, she argued, came from stepping outside of the need to be seen at all.
“But that’s impossible,” Nathan protested. “If you’re not seen, you don’t get food. You don’t get medicine. You can’t live.”
Mira leaned in. “That’s what they want you to believe. That you are only as real as your audience perceives you to be. But think—before all this, did you need global acknowledgment to be alive? To be content?”
Nathan hesitated. He thought of the days before The V.I., when he read books for the joy of them, when he wrote without worrying about engagement rates. He had existed then. He had been real. But now, reality itself seemed dictated by how well he performed for others.
Mira offered him a choice. Stay and keep fighting for recognition, chasing an endless, hollow validation—or disappear entirely. There were places, she said, where people had escaped the algorithm’s grasp, where existence was self-defined, not dictated by an unfeeling AI.
The Choice Between Shadows and Light
Nathan knew the risk. Leaving meant vanishing in the eyes of the world. It meant no more acknowledgment, no more digital footprint, no more history. To those still inside the system, he would be as good as dead.
But was that worse than the slow erosion of self he had already endured?
He thought of the millions still trapped, desperate for fleeting recognition, willing to humiliate themselves for a few more days of relevance. And then he thought of Mira, walking through the world unseen yet untouched.
In the end, the choice was not about life or death. It was about what it meant to truly exist.
And so, Nathan made his decision.