Me and the Algorithms: Who Chooses Who I See in My Feed — Me or Them?

There’s a quiet moment — somewhere between the third and fourth scroll — where I forget what I came here for.

I pick up my phone because I’m bored. Or curious. Or just looking for something small to hold on to — a thought, a face, a feeling. I tell myself I’m “just checking,” as if I’m still in charge. But the feed has been waiting. And it already knows more about my attention than I do.

I think I’m navigating. But maybe I’m being navigated.

The Illusion of Choice

In theory, I decide who I follow. In theory, I shape the information I consume. But the more I look, the more it feels like I’m walking through a hallway that rearranges itself with every step. Each post I see, each pause I make, is recorded, interpreted, repurposed. My preferences are not just observed — they are trained. Optimized. Engineered for return.

I used to think of the feed as a reflection of what I like.
Now I wonder if it's just a reflection of what I hesitate on.

A glance becomes a signal.
A click becomes consent.
And the algorithm — quiet, invisible — listens better than anyone I know.

The Architecture of Influence

What’s disturbing isn’t that platforms show me what they think I want. What’s disturbing is how quickly that becomes indistinguishable from what I actually want.

When I scroll, I’m not choosing from a neutral buffet of the world. I’m being offered a curated subset of what the system has decided will keep me here just a little bit longer. And it’s good at it. Frighteningly good. So good, I forget to ask: why this person? why this idea? why now?

Every time I open the app, the world contracts — not because it’s getting smaller, but because it’s being tailored to fit me.

Or at least, to fit the version of me the algorithm believes in.

Multiples Selves, Multiple Feeds

Sometimes I log into someone else’s account. Just to feel the difference.

Different ads. Different moods. Different politics.
The same platform — but an entirely different reality.

It’s like looking at the world through tinted glass. Each lens calibrated to match a particular psychology. Your feed becomes your environment. And over time, environment becomes worldview. Quietly. Without your permission. Without even your awareness.

This isn't a dystopia. It's not even malicious.
It’s just efficient. And that’s what makes it dangerous.

Attention is Not Just Time — It’s Identity

Every platform wants the same thing: your time. But time is the wrong metric. It’s not time they extract — it’s identity.

They don’t just want to know what you saw.
They want to shape what you believe is worth seeing.

And if they can do that well enough, long enough, you won’t even feel manipulated. You’ll feel... aligned. In sync. As if the system just “gets you.” Which it does. In the same way a casino “gets” a gambler.

Not because it knows who you are — but because it knows what keeps you spinning.

Can We Still Choose?

There’s a part of me that resents all this. Another part that shrugs and says, “That’s just how it is now.” And then a third part — quieter, but more stubborn — that asks: what’s left of my own agency in all this?

Can I still reclaim my feed as a place — not just a stream? Can I notice what’s been chosen for me before I accept it as mine? Can I resist the addictive comfort of a world that always agrees with me?

Maybe that’s where choice begins:
Not in what I click on — but in what I question.

Final Thought

I don’t think I can ever fully escape the algorithm.
But maybe I can stop mistaking it for my voice.

Maybe awareness — slow, deliberate, inconvenient — is the last form of resistance I have. Not to destroy the system. But to see it.

Because if I don’t see it, I’ll end up believing the feed is just me.
And that’s when I stop being a person — and start becoming a pattern.