What is it that drives someone to lie on the internet? Are we really all that desperate for our internet points? That one moment of perceived glory?
We languish in the idea that we might find ourselves forgotten and realize that we aren't the main characters of our own story and instead find ourselves the NPC in someone else's world as they lead the lives we wish we'd had.
It's the curse and the plague that social media has wrought upon us. As the spawn of the wealthy plaster professionally taken photographs of their weekend trip to Dubai all over Instagram and write about how #blessed they are, you find yourself arguing again with your aunt on Facebook over her absurd conspiracies.
As you doom scroll further and further into oblivion, you swap back to Instagram to reminisce over that grainy photo you took on your one vacation last year, still feeding off the dopamine the 30 likes your mother, and her friends gave you. You're dying for another boost, something to get the ol' dopamine machine humming again. Seeing how many updoots the anonymous power-users are farming on Reddit, you devise yourself a plan… One Google search for "Busty Drawings of Catwoman" later, and you're away with your first fake post. It has a smashing title, too: "I drew this last night with my dying mother." The post is a sensation; the internet points flood in, there's already a DMCA in your DM's, but you don't care. You're too busy relishing in the tidal wave of neurotransmitters gritting your teeth in uncontrollable bliss, a deluge of delight that would cause even Kubla Khan to blush in Xanadu. "A stately pleasure-dome decree" indeed.
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