TJ & Georgia
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TJ & Georgia: Toxic relationship caused by social media influencers on Instagram? How influencers promote toxic relationships and unrealistic expectations.
Toxic relationships on Instagram: How social media influencers manipulate relationships – The ultimate detox guide
You scroll through Instagram, see an influencer's perfect relationship—and suddenly the drama breaks out: public accusations, tearful videos, toxic behaviour in the spotlight.
What it's all about:
· What really lies behind the social media phenomenon of toxic relationships,
· how platforms like Instagram and TikTok reinforce these dynamics, and
· Why a digital detox is sometimes the healthiest decision.
It's about the psychodynamic mechanisms at work and concrete strategies.
What are toxic relationships really – and why are they exploding on social media?
From a psychodynamic perspective, toxic relationships are entanglements that harm those involved, yet they cannot or do not want to break free from them. The central feature is not only the harmfulness, but also the psychological captivity – a "game" with defined roles of victim, persecutor and rescuer.
Social media exacerbates these dynamics. Instagram, TikTok and Facebook become stages on which toxic relationships not only take place, but are actively staged. The constant portrayal of the supposedly perfect relationship creates enormous pressure. When this façade crumbles, private disputes become public spectacles.
The special thing about toxic relationships is that they develop insidiously. At first, the relationship may look perfect on Instagram – filtered couple photos, romantic reels, heart-wrenching story moments. But behind the scenes, manipulative behaviours develop: emotional blackmail, gaslighting, control. The partner is made to doubt their own perception.
How do influencers use social media to conceal or reinforce toxic dynamics?
Influencers face a particular challenge: their relationship is both private and public, authentic and staged, a love affair and a business model. This dual role creates ideal conditions for toxic patterns.
Many influencers use their relationship as a source of content. Every anniversary becomes a reel, every holiday together becomes an Instagram story, every declaration of love becomes a viral post. The platform rewards this portrayal with likes, reach and ultimately revenue. But what happens when the real relationship no longer fits the staged perfection?
Some deliberately reinforce toxic dynamics for engagement. Drama generates clicks. Jealousy posts, cryptic messages about breaches of trust, public accusations – all of this increases interaction. The medium becomes a tool of manipulation. The ex-partner is exposed, followers are mobilised as allies, and the shared past becomes a weapon.
At the same time, others conceal the toxic reality behind perfectly curated accounts. The person affected continues to post a couple of photos while suffering psychologically. Their gut feeling tells them, "Something is wrong," but the public image must be maintained. This discrepancy between online persona and offline reality intensifies the suffering.
What are the psychological and emotional effects of publicly displaying toxic relationships?
The effects are serious – both for those directly involved and for the audience. When an influencer makes her toxic relationship public, she experiences the trauma not only privately, but in front of millions of viewers.
For the person affected, this means retraumatisation. Every comment, every message, every video about the case reactivates the pain. At the same time, there is a compulsion to justify oneself. She has to tell her story over and over again, reveal details, and defend herself against accusations. The social media platform goes from being a place of self-expression to a place of psychological suffering.
Studies show that witnessing public relationship dramas on social media can also have psychological consequences for those not involved. Young people who are constantly exposed to such content develop:
· Distorted ideas of what is "normal" in relationships
· Increased anxiety in their own relationships
· A tendency to also air their own conflicts in public
· Emotional exhaustion due to constant parasocial co-experiencing
The platforms themselves reinforce these adverse effects through their algorithms. Dramatic, emotional content is given preferential treatment. A tearful video about toxic behaviour reaches more people than a post about building healthy relationships.
Why do influencers publicly air their toxic relationships – the psychological motives
From a therapeutic perspective, several psychodynamic explanations exist for this phenomenon. The cases of Tim Jacken and Georgia, Unge and AnnitheDuck follow a pattern that is deeply rooted in human needs.
Search for validation: After a toxic relationship, those affected often need confirmation – the certainty that they are not crazy, that what they experienced was real. In the real world, those around them may doubt or relativise. On Instagram or TikTok, on the other hand, thousands of followers can signal immediate support. Every like becomes confirmation, every supportive comment becomes emotional support.
Power reversal: In the toxic relationship, the person was often powerless, controlled, and belittled. By going public, the power dynamic reverses. Suddenly, the affected person has control over the narrative, can expose the other person, and can decide what information is shared. This power reversal can have a therapeutic effect in the short term – but in the long term, it prevents real healing.
Economic incentives: Scandals generate massive social media reach. An emotional statement about a toxic relationship can reach millions of views on YouTube, double its Instagram following, and attract new podcast listeners. For some influencers, relationship drama becomes the most lucrative content strategy.
Relationships as commodities: Why social media relationships have toxic structures from the outset
Even before a breakup occurs, before the first public accusations are made, the social media relationship already contains structurally toxic elements. The reason: the relationship itself becomes a commodity in the attention economy. This is a fundamental insight that is often overlooked in public discussion.
The commodification of intimacy: For influencers, relationships are not just a private emotional experience, but also a means of production. Every kiss becomes a potential reel, every anniversary a monetisable story, every gesture of love content that generates reach. This dual function – on the one hand, an authentic emotional experience, on the other, a strategic economic asset – creates an entanglement that is toxic per se.
From a psychodynamic perspective, this means that the genuine need for closeness, intimacy and emotional connection constantly collides with the demands of the attention economy. The partner becomes a content resource. The relationship must be "performed" – not for itself, but for an audience of millions. This constant performativity prevents genuine intimacy.
The demonstrative compulsion: on Instagram, TikTok and YouTube, it is not enough to be happy – you have to demonstrate your happiness, stage it, make it provable. The couple selfie is not an expression of closeness, but rather a public declaration. The romantic gesture does not happen spontaneously, but is repeated for the camera until the lighting is proper and the angle is perfect.
This demonstrative compulsion alienates partners from each other. Instead of experiencing each other, they experience themselves as objects of representation. The question is no longer "How are we doing?" but "How do we appear?" It is not one's own gut feeling that counts, but the likes under the latest couple's post. This shift from intrinsic to extrinsic validation is highly problematic psychologically.
Dependence on resonance: In healthy relationships, self-esteem is fuelled by mutual appreciation. In social media relationships, this two-way dynamic is replaced by a three-way one: partner A, partner B and the audience. The audience becomes the third party that constantly judges the value of the relationship.
If a joint YouTube video flops, it becomes a relationship crisis. If the number of followers increases after a declaration of love, the relationship feels "right". This dependence on external resonance makes the relationship vulnerable to manipulation and creates an unhealthy dynamic of constant self-optimisation for an audience.
Content pressure as a relationship stressor: Many influencer couples are under immense pressure to produce content. Platform algorithms reward regularity. If you want to stay relevant, you have to deliver new content constantly. This means that the relationship must continuously produce "material".
This content pressure creates perverse incentives. Conflicts are no longer resolved, but managed – they are more exciting content than harmonious togetherness. Reconciliations are staged because they provide emotional moments for videos. Milestones (engagement, moving in together, first holiday together) are no longer timed according to the needs of the partners, but according to content strategies and upload plans. The relationship is robbed of its own logic and subjected to the laws of the attention economy.
Economic entanglement: The dynamic becomes particularly insidious when the relationship becomes a shared source of income. Shared accounts on Instagram, joint YouTube channels, a couple of podcasts – all of this means that a break-up is not only emotionally painful, but also economically threatening.
This financial dependence keeps people in relationships that are not good for them. The question "Can I be without this person?" is overshadowed by "Can I be without this income ?". This is a form of economic entanglement structurally similar to that found in toxic marriages, where one partner is financially dependent on the other – except that, in this case, the source of income is not a spouse but the shared social media construct.
The impossibility of failure: In the attention economy, failure is only valuable if it can be staged dramatically. A quiet, dignified separation does not generate reach. This creates a perverse incentive: either the relationship must be maintained at all costs (even if it is toxic), or the separation must be dramatised to the maximum.
The normal, healthy option–ending a relationship because you realise it's not working out, without assigning blame, simply with respect and sadness – is practically non-existent for influencers. The medium doesn't allow it. Instagram, TikTok and YouTube need either "couple goals" or "toxic breakups" – the shades of grey in between don't generate attention.
The structural toxicity: All these mechanisms mean that even if both partners enter the relationship with the best of intentions, even if there are no personality disorders such as narcissism, even if both are emotionally healthy people, the structure of the social media relationship creates toxic dynamics.
The relationship cannot simply be what it is. It has to be performed, optimised, monetised, and evaluated. The partners cannot merely be partners – they are also business partners, content producers, and brands. Their own need for authenticity collides with the necessity of staging. The longing for privacy contradicts the economic necessity of publicity.
The psychodynamic trap: From a therapeutic point of view, this is particularly problematic: this structural toxicity is difficult to recognise because it is considered "normal". Young influencers grow into these structures without ever having experienced a relationship that was not also content. They have no basis for comparison with relationships in which one does not constantly think about whether this moment is "postable".
The entanglement is subtle. At first, you post for the joy of it. Then you notice that a couple of photos perform exceptionally well. So you post more of them. Your followers expect it. Advertisers want it. The algorithm rewards it. And suddenly you are caught in a relationship that no longer belongs to you, but to the audience, the platform, the economy.
This form of entanglement is toxic because it systematically undermines the fundamental needs of a healthy relationship: autonomy, intimacy, and authenticity, not through malice, but through the logic of the system itself.
Are there gender-specific differences between misogyny and male prejudice?
The gender-specific dynamics of public relationship dramas on social media are more complex and contradictory than they appear at first glance. Both women and men are victims of toxic patterns of judgment – but in different ways.
Misogyny: discrediting female victims
When an influencer reports toxic experiences, she is often exposed to specific misogynistic patterns. Her emotional portrayal is dismissed as "hysterical" or "dramatic" – a classic pattern of pathologising female emotionality. She has to defend herself against accusations that she is exaggerating, being "too sensitive", or just seeking attention.
What is particularly perfidious is that victim-blaming disproportionately affects women. Comments such as "Why didn't she leave earlier?", "She should have seen it coming", or "She wanted to benefit from his reach too," shifts the responsibility from the perpetrator to the victim. The victim is made jointly responsible for the violence she has suffered.
Added to this is sexualised devaluation, which affects almost exclusively women: their credibility is measured by their appearance, their clothing, and their past. While male influencers are judged on their content, women are judged on their bodies and their sexuality – especially when it comes to experiences of abuse.
Anti-Male prejudice: general suspicion in the culture of outrage
At the same time, a problematic counter-pattern is emerging on social media: the quick prejudgment of male influencers even before the facts have been clarified. In the outrage culture of Instagram, TikTok, and 𝕏, an accusation is often enough to publicly "cancel" a man. The narrative "believe all women" is sometimes interpreted in a way that delegitimises male perspectives from the outset.
Men are under general structural suspicion. Suppose a female account accuses a man of toxic behaviour. In that case, he is immediately treated as a perpetrator by parts of the community – without a hearing, without differentiation, without the opportunity to make his defence heard. The presumption of innocence, a fundamental principle of the rule of law, does not apply on social media platforms.
Particularly problematic is that men who defend themselves against false accusations or want to present their view of things are quickly interpreted as "toxic" or as evidence of a narcissistic personality. Any defence is interpreted as confirmation of guilt. This creates a Kafkaesque situation: silence is considered an admission of guilt, while speaking is seen as a manipulative perpetrator strategy.
Toxic polarisation
These contradictory patterns – misogyny on the one hand, male prejudice on the other – do not exist separately, but simultaneously on the same platforms. Instagram and TikTok are fragmented public spheres with different filter bubbles. In one bubble, women are defamed as "crazy exes," while in the other, men are prejudged as "typical narcissistic perpetrators."
This polarisation prevents a nuanced view. The culture of outrage on social media knows no shades of grey. You have to choose a side, take sides, and glorify one while demonising the other. The possibility that both sides could be partly right, that relationships are complex, that there are not always clear perpetrator-victim constellations – this nuance does not exist in the medium.
Structural vs. individual level
It is important to make a distinction: at the structural level, misogyny still exists in our society. Women are more likely to experience domestic violence, sexualised violence and economic dependence. These structural inequalities are also reflected on social media.
At the individual level, however, a specific man in a particular case can be unjustifiably prejudged, his reputation destroyed, his existence threatened – even if he is innocent or the situation is more complex than portrayed. Both realities can be true at the same time: structural discrimination against women AND unjustified prejudgment of individual men.
The role of algorithms
The platforms algorithmically reinforce this polarisation. Emotional, unambiguous, outrageous content is preferred. A nuanced video that illuminates both perspectives generates less engagement than an emotional statement that clearly takes sides—YouTube, Instagram and TikTok reward black-and-white thinking, not complexity.
What's more, the algorithms primarily show users content that confirms their existing beliefs. Once you start consuming videos that portray men as fundamentally toxic, you get more of the same. If you consume content that portrays women as manipulative "false accusers," you are kept in this bubble. This creates parallel realities without dialogue.
The psychological consequences for those affected
For women who have actually experienced toxic relationships, misogyny means additional trauma, doubt about their own perceptions ("Maybe I really am too sensitive"), fear of public exposure, and silence out of shame.
For men who are unjustifiably accused, prejudice means: destruction of their livelihood, mental breakdowns, social isolation, and sometimes suicidal thoughts. Even if it later turns out that the accusations were unfounded, the damage to their reputation remains. "Apologies" never reach the same audience as the original accusations.
What does this mean for dealing with public cases?
From a psychological and ethical point of view, we should observe several principles:
1. Credibility is not a question of gender: women should not be automatically dismissed as "hysterical", nor should men be automatically prejudged as perpetrators. Both deserve to be heard.
2. Recognise complexity: Toxic relationships usually do not have clear perpetrator-victim constellations. Often, both sides contribute to destructive patterns – to varying degrees and with varying degrees of responsibility.
3. Restraint in public assessment: As outsiders, we only have access to selective representations. We weren't there. Our outrage – in whatever direction – is based on fragmented, strategically presented information.
4. Recognise structural patterns without prejudging individuals: We can acknowledge that women are structurally more likely to be victims of violence without placing every single man under preventive suspicion. We can identify misogyny as a social problem without glorifying individual women across the board.
The way out of toxic polarisation
The only healthy strategy is reflection and restraint. If you, as a follower, are confronted with relationship drama on social media:
· Recognise your own position and possible bias
· Question: quick emotional reactions
· Avoid public condemnation without the complete picture
· Focus on structural patterns rather than individual blame
· Remember: both sides are people with their own histories, hurts and needs
The toxic polarisation on social media – between misogyny and male prejudice – is itself a symptom of the attention economy. It forces us into camps, even though reality is more nuanced. A conscious, reflective approach to these dynamics is part of a healthy social media detox.
How can social media platforms themselves promote toxic relationship dynamics?
The platforms are not neutral – their structure and functioning create conditions that favour toxic relationships. Instagram, Facebook, TikTok and YouTube have built-in mechanisms that reinforce unhealthy dynamics.
Constant availability and control: Permanent accessibility via social media enables new forms of control. Partners can see at any time when the other person was online, who they interacted with, and what they posted. The "Last online" display becomes a monitoring tool. Story views reveal who is interested in the other person's life. These features facilitate controlling and manipulative behaviour.
Comparison culture: Constantly comparing one's own relationship with the staged moments of perfection presented by others creates unrealistic expectations. When every influencer on Instagram appears to have the perfect relationship, every conflict in one's own relationship is exaggerated into a catastrophe. This creates pressure to maintain even toxic relationships to preserve one's public image.
Algorithmic reinforcement: Platform algorithms prioritise emotionally charged content. A reel about relationship drama gets more reach than one about everyday happiness. This incentivises influencers to dramatise or even stage conflicts. The medium itself thus becomes a catalyst for toxic dynamics.
What are the signs of a toxic social media relationship?
There are clear warning signs for toxic relationships, both offline and online. Recognising these signs is the first step towards change.
Public control and exposure: If a partner is publicly criticised, exposed or controlled on social media, this is a clear sign of toxic dynamics. This can be subtle – for example, through cryptic posts about "breaches of trust" – or direct, through naming names and making accusations.
Manipulation of public perception: Gaslighting also works digitally. The partner publicly claims something different from what was communicated privately, deletes evidence of their behaviour, or twists situations so that the person affected appears "oversensitive" or "crazy" to followers.
Restriction of digital autonomy: If you can no longer freely post what you want, if every photo has to be approved in advance, if you have to block certain accounts to avoid jealousy – these are all signs of control and toxic behaviour.
Constant online monitoring: Constant questions about likes, comments, story views. Accusations of taking too long to respond to messages. Jealousy of followers or online interactions. This digital form of control is just as toxic as physical surveillance.
Trust your gut feeling: if something in the relationship – online or offline – feels wrong, there is usually a reason.
What role do parasocial relationships play in the fascination with influencer relationship dramas?
A key to understanding why millions of people follow influencers' relationship dramas lies in the concept of parasocial relationships. These one-sided, un d emotional bonds with media personalities are a well-researched psychological phenomenon.
Through regular content consumption, followers develop the feeling that they know the influencer personally. The intimate insights via Instagram stories, the personal moments in videos, the "talking about" problems – all of this creates an illusion of closeness and friendship. When this person then experiences a toxic relationship, it becomes their own drama.
These parasocial bonds explain why people invest emotionally. They mourn breakups, feel betrayed when the influencer has "lied," and defend "their" influencer against criticism. The brain does not always distinguish between real friendships and parasocial relationships – the emotional response is similarly intense.
This becomes problematic when the line between healthy interest and unhealthy obsession becomes blurred. Some followers spend hours analysing every post, discussing it in comments, collecting "evidence". This can affect their own mental health and distract them from healthy, real-life relationships.
I am expanding this section with an in-depth analysis based on Barthes' "Myths of Everyday Life". This fits perfectly with the arena metaphor and deepens our understanding of the ritualistic dimension of these spectacles.
The digital arena: why social media spectatorship is no different from gladiatorial combat
When we look at the fascination with public relationship dramas on Instagram, TikTok and YouTube from a psychological perspective, we come across an uncomfortable truth: the spectatorism of followers is essentially no different from that of spectators at ancient gladiatorial combats or modern bullfights. Social media has only digitised the arena, not changed the basic anthropological patterns.
The structure of the spectacle
Both in the Roman arena and on social media platforms, we find the same basic structure: an elevated stage on which people fight, suffer, triumph or perish – while an audience watches, judges and influences the outcome through its behaviour. The Roman emperor's thumbs up or down finds its digital counterpart in likes, comments and shares.
For the audience, the combatants in both arenas are not complete human beings, but roles, figures, characters. The gladiator was not a human being with a family and fears, but "the Thracian" or "the retiarius". The influencer is not a complex personality with contradictions, but "the cheated girlfriend" or "the toxic ex". This reduction to roles allows the audience to enjoy the suffering of the combatants without having to muster empathy.
Wrestling, celebrity boxing and influencer drama: everyday myths according to Barthes
In his book Mythologies, French semiotician Roland Barthes analysed wrestling as a modern spectacle – and his findings are astonishingly relevant to our understanding of social media dramas today. Barthes recognised that wrestling is not a sport, but a moral spectacle. It is not about the question of "who wins?", but about the staging of justice.
Wrestling stages archetypal characters: the noble hero, the devious villain, the innocent victim. The moves are exaggerated so that everyone in the audience immediately understands their meaning. It is a kind of secular liturgy – a ritual in which moral truths are physically represented. The audience knows that much of it is staged, but that is irrelevant. It is not about authenticity, but about the legibility of good and evil.
Modern formats such as celebrity boxing, reality TV shows and jungle camps follow exactly the same logic. Here, too, complex people are reduced to simple characters: "the arrogant one", "the bitchy one", "the sensitive one". Here, too, the conflicts are exaggerated, dramatised, sometimes staged. Here, too, the audience consumes not reality, but moral meaning.
Influencer drama as a digital myth
Social media relationship dramas follow exactly this pattern. When an influencer posts a tearful statement about toxic behaviour, we are not experiencing unfiltered reality, but a highly coded spectacle. The tears are real, but their presentation follows the laws of the medium: exaggeratedly emotional, clearly legible, morally charged.
The participants become Barthesian archetypes:
· The innocent victim: the betrayed influencer who only wanted to love
· The narcissistic villain: the ex-partner who manipulated and lied
· The noble avenger: fans who fight for justice
· The devious traitor: mutual friends who stick by him
These roles are as clearly defined as in wrestling. The gestures are exaggerated: tearful videos with extreme close-ups, dramatic background music, apocalyptic language ("The worst thing that ever happened to me"). This exaggeration is no coincidence – it is necessary for the immediate readability of the moral drama.
Barthes emphasised: the wrestling audience is not looking for truth, but for justice. The same applies to social media dramas. Followers don't want the complex truth about a broken relationship – two people with flaws, misunderstandings, shared responsibility. They want clear moral judgements: who is guilty? Who deserves punishment? Who deserves compassion?
The liturgy of the digital spectacle
As in wrestling, there are fixed rituals, a recognisable dramaturgy:
5. The hint: cryptic posts ("Some people show their true colours") that build suspense
6. The revelation: the emotional video or statement in which "the truth" is announced
7. The evidence: screenshots, voice messages, witness statements – the "evidence" is presented
8. The mobilisation: followers are called upon to take sides
9. Retribution: the accused is cancelled, loses followers and advertising deals
10. The catharsis: the victim is celebrated, the perpetrator ostracized, moral order restored
This dramaturgy is as predictable as a wrestling match. And it is precisely this predictability that makes the spectacle so satisfying. The audience knows what is coming – and enjoys the ritual.
Celebrity boxing as a blueprint: the staged fight
The comparison with modern celebrity boxing events is particularly illuminating. Here, people who are not professional boxers fight each other in an arena – while millions watch. The fights are often technically poor, but that is irrelevant. It's about the moral narrative surrounding them.
One celebrity disses another, there's beef on social media, and now it's being settled in the ring. This is pure Barthesian mythology: a social conflict is translated into a physical spectacle. The audience isn't consuming sport, but the staging of retribution.
Influencer dramas are the non-physical variant. The "fight" does not take place in the boxing ring, but in Instagram stories and YouTube videos. But the structure is identical: two parties, one conflict, an audience that decides victory and defeat. The "blows" are not physical, but rhetorical – screenshots instead of punches, tearful videos instead of knockouts.
The search for moral clarity
Barthes recognised that in a complex, ambivalent world, people long for moral clarity. Wrestling provides it. Celebrity boxing provides it. And social media drama provides it.
The reality of relationships is grey: both sides have made mistakes, communication has failed, needs were incompatible, hurt was mutual. This complexity is difficult to bear. It offers no clear guidance, no simple judgements, no satisfactory solution.
The digital spectacle, on the other hand, reduces this complexity to black and white. The myth simplifies. It transforms the opaque reality into a clear story with heroes and villains, victims and perpetrators, justice and injustice. This reduction is cognitively satisfying – it allows us to judge without having to think.
The staging of authenticity
Paradoxically, it is precisely the claim of authenticity that is part of the staging. Influencers emphasise: "This is the real truth," "Now I'm speaking unfiltered," "No more fake, only real." These promises of authenticity are themselves part of the myth.
Barthes would say: the greatest deception of the myth is that it disguises itself as nature, as unfiltered reality. In wrestling, everyone admits that it is staged – yet it still works. In influencer dramas, the staging is denied, which makes it all the more powerful.
The exaggerated emotionality, the perfect lighting in the "spontaneous" tearful video, the dramaturgically perfectly timed "revelations" – all these are signs of staging. But the audience reads them as signs of authenticity. The myth works because it veils itself.
The role of platforms: modern arena operators
Instagram, TikTok and YouTube are the modern organisers of catch wrestling and celebrity boxing. They provide the arena, benefit from the viewing figures and optimise visibility through algorithms. Like the Roman rulers who financed gladiatorial combats or the TV stations that broadcast celebrity boxing, tech platforms are not neutral.
They incentivise staging. Emotional, dramatic, clearly readable content is algorithmically favoured. A differentiated, nuanced statement about complex relationship dynamics generates less engagement than a tearful "He cheated on me!" video. The platforms reward myth-making.
The complicity of the audience
Barthes' analysis also makes it uncomfortably clear that the audience is not a passive victim, but an active accomplice. Wrestling viewers know that it is staged – they want it that way. Followers of influencer dramas suspect that it is staged – but they consume it anyway because the moral spectacle is more satisfying than the complex reality.
Every like under a drama post, every comment that takes sides, every share is a signal to the algorithms: more of this! The audience co-produces the myth. Without the willingness of followers to accept the simplified story, the spectacle would not work.
What distinguishes digital myths from analogue spectacles?
One crucial difference: in wrestling or celebrity boxing, the spectacle is limited in time and space. After the match, it's over, and the participants leave the arena. With social media, there is no such limit. The drama remains online, is repeated endlessly, and is played out again and again by algorithms.
The permanence of the digital arena makes it more cruel. The defeated wrestler can go home after the fight and lead a normal life. The cancelled influencer carries the digital destruction with them permanently. Every Google search, every new follower finds the old drama videos. The mythological reduction – "the cheater", "the narcissist" – becomes a permanent digital identity.
The way out: seeing through myths
Barthes' goal was demystification – making visible the mechanisms through which myths function. When we understand that influencer dramas function according to the same laws as catch wrestling or celebrity boxing, when we recognise the staging behind the claimed authenticity, when we see through the moral simplification – then the spectacle loses its power over us.
This does not mean that everything is "fake." The emotions of those involved may be real. But their portrayal follows the laws of mythology, not unfiltered reality. The tears are real – but the moment they are filmed, the way they are staged, the dramaturgy of their publication: that is spectacle.
A conscious approach to social media dramas requires this dual perspective: empathy for the real suffering behind the staging – and at the same time critical distance from the mythological simplification. We can empathise without consuming the moral spectacle. We can acknowledge complexity instead of seeking clear-cut judgements.
The psychological function: catharsis through vicarious suffering
Aristotle already described the cathartic function of tragedy: witnessing the suffering of others purifies one's own soul of emotions. This catharsis works just as well with influencer dramas on Instagram as it does with gladiatorial combat. The audience experiences intense emotions – fear, pity, anger, triumph – from a safe distance.
Followers can vent their emotions without putting themselves at risk. They experience the excitement of toxic relationships without bearing the real consequences. This is psychologically satisfying: one feels alive through the drama of others, while one's own life remains safe and controlled. This voyeuristic satisfaction is ancient and deeply rooted in the human psyche.
The bloodlust: physical vs. emotional violence
The obvious difference – blood was spilled in the arena, while on social media there were 'only' tears – is more superficial than we would like to think. Violence manifests itself in different ways, but the dynamics remain the same. The Romans enjoyed physical destruction, we enjoy psychological destruction.
A viral video in which an influencer cries while reporting on cheating has the same emotional impact as the moment a gladiator falls to the ground. The audience experiences the moment of injury, collapse, destruction – and feels a toxic mixture of pity, excitement and satisfaction. The comment sections resemble the jeering of the arena crowd.
What is particularly perfidious is that while physical violence is socially condemned, emotional violence is considered entertainment. We have learned that gladiatorial combat was barbaric – but we fail to recognise that we ourselves are participating in digital executions. The videos remain online, are viewed over and over again, and the humiliation is permanent and repeatable. In a way, this is more cruel than a quick death in the arena.
The power of the audience: from accomplices to judges
In both systems, the audience is not passive, but actively involved. The Roman crowd decided on life and death by shouting. The social media audience decides on reach, reputation and economic existence through engagement. A viral hate comment can "cancel" an influencer – destroy them digitally.
This power is intoxicating. As an individual follower, you are insignificant, but as part of the crowd, you become a decision-maker of fate. The comments under a dramatic post provide guidance: Whose side should I take? Who should I attack? The audience forms a digital mob that – like the arena crowd – calls for blood (or digital destruction).
The psychological function is identical: experiencing power through vicarious violence. In normal life, many people feel powerless. In the arena – whether analogue or digital – they can experience power. They can judge, destroy, elevate. This is psychologically highly satisfying and explains the addiction to such content.
Dehumanisation as a prerequisite
For the spectacle to work, the combatants must be dehumanised. Gladiators were slaves, not citizens – their suffering counted for less. Influencers are "public figures", "celebrities", not "normal people" – their suffering is public property.
This dehumanisation is reflected in the language used. People talk about influencers, not with them. They are objects of observation, analysis and evaluation. The distance – physically in the arena, medially on social media – allows the humanity of those affected to be ignored. People forget that behind every account there is a human being who reads the comments, who suffers psychologically, who may develop suicidal thoughts.
The platforms structurally reinforce this dehumanisation. The medium reduces people to profiles, videos, images – to media representations. The reality of the person behind them becomes abstract. People click, scroll, comment – without ever feeling the real consequences of their own actions. This distance is the same as the physical distance between the arena audience and the fighters.
Moral self-deception
The arena audience justified gladiatorial combat as "justice" (criminals are punished), "a demonstration of courage" or "a religious ritual". The social media audience justifies its voyeurism in a similar way: "educating people about toxic behaviour", "solidarity with victims", "raising awareness".
This moral self-deception is psychologically necessary. No one wants to admit that they enjoy the suffering of others. So they construct noble motives. But honest self-reflection would show that the primary motivation is not education, but entertainment. Not solidarity, but voyeurism. Not awareness, but drama consumption.
The economic dimension: bread and circuses
"Panem et circenses" – bread and circuses – was the Roman formula for appeasing the masses. The rulers knew that a people who are entertained do not rebel. Social media works in a similar way. The platforms deliver endless content, endless drama, endless distraction – while structural social problems remain unresolved.
Cases of toxic influencer relationships distract from one's own unresolved conflicts, political powerlessness and economic fears. Instead of dealing with one's own relationship, one spends hours watching other people's relationship crises. Instead of becoming politically active, one becomes a comment warrior in other people's dramas. The cathartic function becomes paralysis.
The evolutionary psychological perspective
From an evolutionary psychological point of view, the fascination with social conflicts and their public airing is understandable. In small tribal societies, it was vital to know who was allied with whom, who was betraying whom, and who was trustworthy. Observing social dynamics was information, not entertainment.
Social media capitalises on this ancient evolutionary disposition. The platforms trigger age-old psychological mechanisms: curiosity about social information, outrage at violations of norms, joy at the punishment of rule-breakers, identification with victims. What made evolutionary sense becomes an addiction in the digital context.
The difference: in tribal society, this information was relevant to one's own survival. Today, it is completely irrelevant. Whether Tim Jacken and Georgia break up has zero impact on our lives. Nevertheless, people invest emotional energy as if it were their own family. The evolutionarily ancient circuits cannot distinguish between relevant and irrelevant social information.
The addiction to the next fight
Just as gladiatorial combat was addictive, social media drama is also addictive. The release of dopamine when consuming emotional, dramatic content is measurable. The brain learns : checking Instagram = emotional kick. So you check again. And again. The algorithms have perfected this: they deliver new drama just when your attention is waning.
This addiction has real consequences. People spend hours following other people's relationship crises while their own relationships wither away. The parasocial bond with influencers becomes more intense than real friendships. The digital arena becomes more important than one's own life. This is the ultimate perversion: the medium that is supposed to connect isolates. Entertainment that is supposed to distract becomes a cage.
The ethical imperative
The parallel between the arena and social media is more than just historically interesting – it is ethically relevant. If we acknowledge that gladiatorial combat was morally reprehensible, we must also acknowledge that our own voyeurism in influencer dramas is morally problematic.
That doesn't mean that every instance of following public conflicts is equally reprehensible. But it does require honesty: why am I watching this? If the answer is, "Because it's entertaining to watch others suffer," then we are no better than the Roman arena audience. If the answer is, "Because I can learn from it for my own relationships, without schadenfreude," then it can be legitimate.
Conscious reflection on one's own motivation is key. Recognise the arena. Recognise that you are part of the audience. Recognise that your engagement – your likes, comments, shares – helps determine whether and how the spectacle continues. And then make a conscious decision: do you want to continue being part of the arena audience? Or do you want to opt out?
The way out: digital detox as a rejection of the arena
In this context, a social media detox is more than self-care – it is also ethical positioning. It is a refusal to participate in the digital gladiatorial combat. It is the decision to no longer invest one's attention and thus one's power in the arena.
In concrete terms, this means:
· Consciously avoiding dramatic content, even if it is 'viral'
· Questioning your own emotions when consuming: is it compassion or voyeurism?
· Refraining from comments that fuel the spectacle
· Refocusing on one's own relationships instead of other people's dramas
· Recognising the humanity behind every account
· Seeing through mythological simplification: reality is more complex than good versus evil
The digital arena only exists as long as there is an audience. Every empty seat is an act of refusal. Every follower who stops watching drains energy from the system. This is the most radical form of social media detox: not just for yourself, but for a more humane digital culture that embraces complexity instead of simplifying it into myths.
How can you protect yourself from the negative effects – social media detox as a solution?
If you notice that consuming relationship drama on social media is affecting your own health, a targeted detox can be helpful. By this, I don't necessarily mean completely deleting all your accounts, but rather adopting a conscious, healthy approach.
Reflect on your usage behaviour: do you spend hours every day following influencer drama? Do you feel better or worse afterwards? Honest reflection is the first step. Use your smartphone's built-in screen time features to see your actual usage behaviour.
Consciously curate your feed: A social media detox also means unfollowing or muting toxic accounts. If certain influencers are constantly staging drama and it's not good for you, it's legitimate to remove that content from your life. Instead, focus on accounts that inspire, educate or entertain you in a positive way.
Set clear boundaries: Define fixed times when you use social media – and times when you are consciously offline. Especially before bedtime, an Instagram detox can work wonders for your peace of mind. That nightly news about new influencer drama can wait until the next day – or doesn't have to be consumed at all.
Strengthen real relationships: Every minute you don't spend comparing your relationship to Instagram staged scenes is time for real, mutual connections. Invest in healthy relationships with people who are truly in your life.
How can you distinguish between authentic education and manipulative staging?
A key question for consumers of social media content: when is publicly discussing a toxic relationship helpful and informative – and when is it itself part of a manipulative strategy?
Authentic education has several characteristics: the person uses their experience to warn and inform others without feeling the need to constantly mention their ex by name and expose them. They focus on behaviour patterns, not personal revenge. They provide those affected with resources – links to support organisations, therapeutic approaches, self-help groups.
Manipulative staging, on the other hand, looks different: the presentation is primarily designed to attract maximum attention. New "revelations" are strategically timed when engagement rates drop. The content is highly emotional but lacks substance. It is more about the perpetrator as a person than about structural patterns. Followers are often mobilised to attack the ex.
A helpful criterion: genuine education imparts knowledge and awareness that goes beyond the specific case. If, after consuming the content, you feel that you are better able to recognise toxic behaviour – regardless of who is exhibiting it – then it was probably educational. If you just "took sides" and got caught up in the excitement, it was probably staging.
What can we learn about narcissism and personality disorders from influencer dramas?
Public cases of toxic relationships in the influencer sphere do indeed offer insights into psychological mechanisms, especially when narcissistic personality traits or narcissism as a disorder play a role.
Narcissism and social media: The platforms are ideal for people with narcissistic tendencies. The constant opportunity for self-expression, the measurement of value through likes and follower numbers, the admiration of an audience – all of this fulfils narcissistic needs. When a narcissist's relationship breaks down, the platform becomes a tool for image cultivation and manipulation.
Typical narcissistic behaviours in public social media dramas:
· Idealising one's own suffering while demonising the other person
· Inability to recognise one's own part in the conflict
· Instrumentalising followers as "flying monkeys" (to attack the ex)
· Switching between victimhood and grandiosity
Important distinction: Not all toxic behaviour indicates a narcissistic personality disorder. Even people without a disorder can behave narcissistically in conflict situations. A genuine diagnosis can only be made by professionals – not by followers in comment sections.
What we can learn: These public cases reveal patterns that also occur in private relationships. This can help those affected to contextualise their own experiences. At the same time, we should be careful with remote diagnoses and stigmatisation of mental illness.
What strategies do psychologists recommend for healthy use of social media in relationships?
As a psychotherapist, I recommend specific strategies for healthy use of social media in relationships – for both couples and individuals.
For couples:
· Define common rules: Discuss openly what you want to share about your relationship on social media and what should remain private. Both partners should have the right of veto.
· No conflict resolution online: Whatever happens, relationship conflicts do not belong on Instagram, TikTok or Facebook. The supposed validation from followers is satisfying in the short term, but destructive in the long term.
· Mutual respect online and offline: The same boundaries that apply offline should also be respected online. Controlling passwords and constantly checking your partner's online activity are not signs of love, but of mistrust and control.
For individuals:
· Critical questioning: Ask yourself the following questions about every post about your relationship: Why am I sharing this? For whom? What do I hope to gain from it?
· Conscious consumption: Use features such as "Customise interests" on YouTube or "Show less" on Instagram to reduce manipulative or unhealthy content.
· Strengthen your media literacy: Learn to distinguish between reality and staging. No reel, no story shows the whole truth about a relationship.
The most important strategy: If social media is harming your relationship or your well-being, a detox or a break is not a weakness, but self-care.
Here is the extended summary with integration of the arena section:
Key takeaways – summary
On toxic relationships and social media: • Toxic relationships are entanglements that cause harm, but from which those affected cannot escape – social media reinforces these dynamics through publicity, control functions and algorithmic rewards for drama
• Social media relationships are structurally toxic even before breakups occur: the relationship becomes a commodity in the attention economy, must be constantly performed, and the need for genuine intimacy collides with the compulsion to perform for an audience
• Commodification destroys authenticity: when every kiss is potential content and partners become content resources, this constant performance prevents real emotional closeness – the relationship no longer belongs to the partners, but to the platform
• The demonstrative pressure on Instagram and TikTok means that it is not enough to be happy; you have to demonstrably stage happiness – this shift from intrinsic to extrinsic validation (likes instead of your own gut feeling) is psychologically destructive.
• Economic entanglement keeps people stuck in toxic relationships: when shared accounts, joint YouTube channels or couple podcasts are the source of income, separation becomes a threat to one's existence – not only emotionally, but also financially.
• The impossibility of dignified breakups: In the attention economy, only extreme narratives are valuable – either "couple goals" or "toxic drama"; normal, respectful breakups do not generate reach and are therefore structurally prevented.
• Instagram, TikTok and other platforms are not neutral, but rather create ideal conditions for manipulative behaviour and toxic control through their structure (likes, story views, constant availability).
• Influencers play out relationship dramas publicly for complex reasons: seeking validation, power reversal after experiencing powerlessness, economic incentives (drama = reach) and often because of unprocessed trauma.
• Gender-specific dynamics are contradictory and toxically polarised: women experience misogyny (victim blaming, pathologisation as "hysterical"), men are prejudged in the culture of outrage (general suspicion, cancel culture without hearing) – both patterns exist simultaneously on the same platforms and are reinforced by algorithms that reward black-and-white thinking.
• Differentiation instead of polarisation: Structural discrimination against women AND unjustified prejudgement of individual men can be true at the same time – as outsiders, we should be cautious in our judgements, as we only see selective representations, not the full reality.
• Parasocial relationships explain the fascination: Followers develop emotional attachments to influencers, whose drama becomes their own drama – the brain does not always distinguish between real and parasocial friendships.
About voyeurism and the audience:
• Social media as a digital arena: The spectatorism in influencer dramas works psychologically in the same way as gladiatorial combat or bullfighting – only the form of violence has shifted from physical to emotional, while the basic structure (stage, combatants, judging audience) remains identical.
• Myths of everyday life according to Barthes: As in wrestling or celebrity boxing, complex people are reduced to archetypal roles ("the innocent victim," "the narcissistic villain") – the audience does not consume reality, but a moral spectacle with clear good-evil patterns.
• The staging of authenticity: The very claim to show unfiltered truth ("No more fake, only real") is part of the staging – exaggerated emotionality, perfect dramaturgy and strategically timed "revelations" follow the laws of spectacle, not unfiltered reality.
• Moral simplification: In a complex world, people long for clear judgements – social media dramas deliver these by reducing everything to black and white, while the real relationship was usually grey (both sides with faults, shared responsibility, misunderstandings).
• The audience as active accomplices: Followers are not passive victims, but co-produce the spectacle through likes, comments and shares – every engagement signals to the algorithms "more of this!" and determines the reach, reputation and economic existence of those involved.
• Dehumanisation as a prerequisite: For voyeurism to work, influencers are reduced from complete human beings to media figures – the distance of the medium allows the real suffering behind the accounts to be ignored and psychological destruction to be consumed as entertainment.
• Moral self-deception: The audience justifies voyeurism with noble motives ("enlightenment," "solidarity," "awareness") – honest self-reflection would show that the primary motivation is entertainment, not genuine compassion or learning.
• Permanence of digital destruction: Unlike temporary spectacles (wrestling, celebrity boxing), digital drama remains permanently online – the mythological reduction becomes an unchangeable digital identity, with every Google search reactivating the humiliation.
• Panem et circenses 2.0: Social media dramas function like "bread and circuses" – they distract from one's own conflicts, political powerlessness and structural problems, while people spend hours following other people's crises instead of dealing with their own lives.
• Evolutionary psychology as a trap: Platforms capitalise on ancient mechanisms (curiosity about social information, outrage over violations of norms) – what was evolutionarily essential for survival (knowledge about tribe members) becomes an addiction to completely irrelevant influencer dramas.
Practical consequences:
• Negative effects do not only affect those directly involved: constant consumption of relationship drama can lead to distorted relationship expectations, increased anxiety and emotional exhaustion in young people.
• Warning signs of toxic social media relationships: public control and exposure, manipulation of online perception, restriction of digital autonomy, constant monitoring of likes and messages.
• Narcissism and social media are structurally well suited to each other – the platforms fulfil narcissistic needs for admiration and attention, and in conflicts, followers become tools of manipulation.
• Social media detox as an ethical stance: a detox is not only self-care, but also a refusal to participate in the arena – every empty seat drains energy from the system, every drama post that is not consumed is an act of refusal.
• Social media detox as legitimate self-care: Reflect on your usage behaviour, consciously curate your feed, set time limits, focus on real rather than digital relationships, and refrain from drama content, even if it goes viral.
• Important distinction: Authentic education about toxic patterns is valuable and helpful – manipulative staging, on the other hand, only creates more drama for reach, without any real added value for those affected.
• Healthy strategies: Couples should define common social media rules and never air conflicts online; individuals should critically question why they share what they do and strengthen their media literacy.
• Learn to see through myths: Recognise the staging behind the claimed authenticity, the moral simplification of complex situations, the reduction of people to roles – maintain a dual perspective of empathy and critical distance.
• Professional help remains essential: social media can inform and connect, but toxic relationships require therapeutic support – online validation is no substitute for real trauma processing.
• Your gut feeling is your best compass: if something feels wrong in a relationship – online or offline – there is usually a reason; trust your intuition more than likes and comments.
• For peace of mind: Sometimes the healthiest decision is to unfollow certain accounts, delete apps or take a break from social media – digital health is part of your mental health.
• The ethical question: Ask yourself honestly: Why am I watching this? Is it genuine compassion or voyeurism? Am I learning something for my relationships or am I consuming other people's suffering as entertainment? This honesty is the first step towards leaving the arena.
In cases of acute stress due to toxic relationships:
· Telephone counselling: 0800 111 0 111 or 0800 111 0 222
· Violence against women helpline: 08000 116 016
· Weißer Ring (victim support): 116 006
For social media-specific problems:
· Nummer gegen Kummer (for young people): 116 111
· HateAid (for digital violence): https://hateaid.org
RELATED ARTICLES:
Toxic relationships – basics:
Toxic relationships: break free! Recognizing and Overcoming the Power of Unhealthy Patterns
Manipulative Behaviours:
Gaslighting and Manipulation: Recognising and Defending Yourself
Love Bombing: The Hidden Danger of Modern Dating
Narcissism:
Narcissism and Partnership: Dealing with Narcissists in Relationships
Social media & psychology:
YouTube Shorts, TikTok & Co.: How social media affects your brain
Social comparison and self-worth
Me-lennials and their psychology: narcissism, selfies and social media – self-obsessed?
Toxic dynamics: