Meso level
The social and technological architecture of narcissism
After the personal and relational domain of the micro level, this essay shifts its gaze toward the societal context in which the narcissistic self takes shape. Narcissism is not only a psychological phenomenon, but also a social and technological construct. Our era creates the very conditions in which narcissistic traits are not merely possible, but functional.
The structure of work, media and economy rewards visibility and penalizes depth. In this analysis, it becomes clear how the system itself has begun to operate according to narcissistic principles — and how, within that system, the human being loses their mirror.
The performance society: from being to becoming
Within the logic of the neoliberal economy, the human being is no longer a being, but a project. Identity is no longer experienced, but produced. Who you are matters less than what you become — or rather: what you appear to become. Work, study, even spirituality are subjected to the same invisible law of self-optimization: always better, more visible, more efficient and just more.
Byung-Chul Han described this transition as the shift from a disciplinary society to a performance society: the external command of the past (you must) has been replaced by an inner voice (I must do this to myself). Freedom has become an illusion — the individual is no longer subjected to others but to their own drive to perform. This form of self-exploitation is subtler, yet more total: one exploits oneself in the name of autonomy.
Richard Sennett called this the corrosion of character: a culture in which flexibility and adaptability have become more important than loyalty or depth. Modern man lives project-wise — existing only through continuous renewal. Whoever stands still disappears from view.
In this context, the narcissistic self is not deviant but ideal. Society rewards those who are visible, resilient and self-centered — qualities once considered superficial or egocentric, now celebrated as competencies. Self-admiration is no longer a sin but a prerequisite for success. Self-reflection turns into self-marketing.
Foucault’s concept of governmentality explains this shift: power no longer operates from the outside, but from within. Individuals internalize social expectations and become their own overseers. Autonomy becomes an instrument of control — a neoliberal ideal that keeps people permanently productive.
Thus, the existential focus shifts from being to becoming.
The question “Who am I?” is replaced by “How do I come across?”
Authenticity becomes strategy; vulnerability becomes content. The inner dignity of existence is traded for external validation — a transaction of visibility.
Luc Boltanski and Ève Chiapello described this process as the new spirit of capitalism: the promise of freedom, creativity and self-development is absorbed into the logic of profit and efficiency. Even resistance has been co-opted; the call for authenticity becomes a marketing strategy.
In such a climate, the narcissistic self is not pathological but adaptive — it conforms to the demands of the age. The individual learns to present the self as product: constantly in motion, but never complete. Yet behind this dynamic lies profound exhaustion and a subtle erosion of inner life. As Han writes, “Burnout is not a failure of strength, but of meaning.”
Human beings have drained themselves in the act of becoming — caught in a cycle of performance, recognition and depletion, where the soul slowly dissolves into the profile.
The digital mirror: permanent Self-presentation
The mirror of the past — the face of the other, the gaze of a loved one, the limited social circle in which you were seen — has been replaced by a digital wall of reflections that never falls silent. Social media have transformed the interpersonal into a panoptic space in which everyone continuously observes themselves through the eyes of the world. Here, the gaze is no longer personal but algorithmic. We are seen by an invisible multitude — and by systems that determine what remains visible.
Jean Baudrillard already wrote in the 1980s about this shift: the moment when representation becomes more important than reality itself. In digital culture, the human being is no longer present but projected. The self becomes a simulacrum — an image without origin. Authenticity is no longer experienced, but staged.
This digital architecture has three psychological consequences that profoundly alter the experience of selfhood.
1. Intensified Comparison
According to Leon Festinger’s social comparison theory, people evaluate themselves through others. Social media have exponentially amplified this mechanism. Each scroll is a mirrored corridor of carefully curated lives, and the ideal self is always one swipe away.
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Recent studies show that this constant comparison increases feelings of inadequacy, shame and performance pressure. Self-worth becomes dependent on algorithmic affirmation: a dopamine loop of notifications and emptiness.
2. Fragmentation of Identity
The online self is no longer whole but a mosaic of roles, images and positions. One can be professional, spiritual, activist and intimate all at once — without those parts ever truly touching. The continuity of the I, once rooted in body and time, becomes unmoored. What remains is what Baudrillard called hyperreality: a world in which the boundary between real and simulated dissolves. The human being lives in permanent representation — visible, yet no longer embodied.
3. Performativity
Identity becomes performance. The question is no longer “What do I feel?” but “What does this look like?” Even vulnerability or grief is often formatted into aesthetic form — authenticity as aesthetic. Personal truth is translated into shareable content, because only what is seen seems to exist.
The digital mirror thus feeds a form of existential feedback addiction. Every image calls for affirmation, yet no affirmation grounds it. The cycle of posting, comparing, hoping and forgetting repeats endlessly. As Baudrillard wrote: “We live in a world where the real is no longer real enough to be true.”
Neuropsychological research confirms that this continuous self-presentation heightens activity in the dopaminergic reward system — a fleeting euphoria that quickly turns into emptiness. The digital gaze is transient, not nourishing: an echo instead of a touch.
What once was a mirror of encounter has become a showcase. The human being — once seen for who they were — is now viewed for what they appear to be. And in that inversion, something essential disappears: the possibility of existing beyond the image.
The economy of attention
Beneath the surface of our digital culture lies an invisible engine: the economy of attention. Attention has become scarce — and where scarcity arises, trade follows. The human gaze has become the new gold: no longer a symbol of connection, but a raw material in an unseen exchange.
The term attention economy was first introduced by Herbert Simon, who already in the 1970s predicted that an abundance of information would inevitably lead to a poverty of attention. In the logic of capitalism, this deficit has since been turned into profit: every moment of focus, every sign of engagement, is now a potential revenue stream.
Shoshana Zuboff called this surveillance capitalism: a system in which human behavior is monitored, predicted and ultimately steered. Attention is no longer merely requested, but shaped. We do not simply look—we are guided and seduced into looking.
Within this context, visibility has become synonymous with existence. Whoever is not visible seems not to exist. It is no longer who you are, but who you reach, that determines your value.
Self-expression turns into self-exploitation.
As Matthew Crawford writes, the struggle for attention is not only economic, but moral. Attention forms the basis of presence — the way we relate to the world. When attention is hijacked, our capacity for true being withers.
The attention economy operates according to the same logic as the addiction it feeds. Every click, every like, every view is a micro-reward — a fleeting confirmation that momentarily soothes the void. Algorithms are designed to endlessly recycle the human need for recognition. The deeper the inner lack, the stronger the external fixation.
Byung-Chul Han speaks of a transparency society: a world in which everything must be visible, yet nothing truly touches us. What disappears is the depth of looking — the slow, attentive gaze that does not judge but simply is. Attention is no longer a form of love, but of consumption.
Economically, this system is brilliant. Spiritually, it is catastrophic. A culture that depends on clicks and views has a vested interest in people who hunger for recognition. Visibility has become the new morality: I share, therefore I am.
The paradox is that, in our attempt to be seen, we become invisible. When attention is reduced to measurable data, the reciprocity that once gave it meaning vanishes. What remains is an economy of echoes—a world full of sound, yet devoid of resonance.
As Crawford notes: “Attention is not just a resource; it is a form of care.”
In that sense, the attention economy is not merely an economic model, but an ethical problem — it undermines the very possibility of genuine presence, and with it, the root of human connectedness.
The Erosion of Community
Parallel to the economic and digital acceleration, the communal structures that once carried the self are dissolving. Where family, neighborhood, church, union, or village square once formed a symbolic fabric of belonging, those spaces of mutual recognition have gradually disintegrated into a network without depth — fleeting, instrumental and functional.
Zygmunt Bauman called this liquid modernity: an era in which relationships are no longer built on durability, but on flexibility. We connect, but we don't commit. The other is no longer a mirror of truth, but a means of affirmation. As soon as a relationship no longer feeds us, it is terminated — with one click: unfriend, block, ghost.
These are the modern rituals of disconnection.
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Robert Putnam described this as the decline of social capital — the erosion of shared structures through which people once experienced themselves as part of a greater whole. Human beings now live in social networks without social fabric: much contact, little closeness.
In that emptiness, love loses its original function as an encounter between two interiorities and becomes a currency of attention. Relationship turns into consumption: temporary, replaceable, oriented toward experience rather than presence and involvement. As Bauman wrote, “Love has become liquid because connections have become liquid.”
The German sociologist Hartmut Rosa offers a different perspective through his theory of resonance. He argues that a healthy society does not revolve around growth, but around responsiveness — the capacity to be moved and to respond. Where resonance disappears, alienation takes its place.
In our time, the tone of reciprocity is often drowned out by noise — the constant hum of stimuli, images and opinions that find no echo in the heart. The erosion of community is therefore not only social, but existential. People become detached from the rhythms that once gave form to meaning: togetherness, silence, time. What remains is an individual who is constantly connected, yet rarely truly in connection.
Clinically, this is reflected in the growing prevalence of emptiness, isolation, loneliness and existential insecurity — symptoms that do not arise from the individual alone, but from the absence of grounding. Society no longer offers resonance, only reflection.
In such a world, the narcissistic mask becomes understandable: it offers protection in the absence of genuine closeness. But behind that mask grows a longing for something that scarcely has a name anymore — the experience of being held by a greater whole.
The culture of superficial positivity
One of the least visible, yet most pervasive pillars of our time is the coercive culture of positivity. We live in a world where vulnerability and negativity are no longer seen as integral to life, but as obstacles to success. Pain is not something to be endured, but something to be fixed. Burnout becomes an opportunity for growth; sorrow, a mindset problem.
Byung-Chul Han calls this the dictatorship of the positive: a society that can no longer tolerate suffering because it has lost its capacity for negativity — for limits, silence and delay. We may be anything, as long as it is presentable, strong and inspiring. Even therapy is often used as an instrument of optimization: the goal is not healing, but renewed productivity.
Barbara Ehrenreich described this tendency as a moral obligation to optimism. In Smile or Die, she shows how positive psychology and the self-help industry have repackaged pain as personal failure: those who are unhappy simply haven’t worked hard enough on themselves. Pain is no longer a sign of injustice or loss, but of a flawed mindset.
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Sociologist Eva Illouz expands on this in Saving the Modern Soul: she demonstrates how psychological language has replaced moral language. Where we once spoke of good and evil, we now speak of trauma and growth. Self-improvement has become the new salvation. The result is that emotion is no longer something between people, but something of people — an individual project rather than a relational process.
This culture of positivity has a paradoxical effect: the more we demand happiness, the emptier we become. When every feeling of lack must be instantly repaired, the depth in which meaning arises disappears. The human being becomes an emotional performer, constantly regulating their mood instead of understanding their experience.
In clinical practice, this manifests as a subtle shame around sadness and vulnerability. People apologize for their tears, rationalize their despair, even try to “do therapy right.” Pain that cannot be seen hardens — and behind that armor grows a form of narcissistic isolation: not from arrogance, but from fear of failing the image of the strong self.
Byung-Chul Han compares our era to a palliative society: a culture that seeks to numb all discomfort rather than understand it. But whoever avoids pain also avoids truth. And truth, as our age reveals, is rarely comfortable.
Seen in this light, the culture of positivity is not merely superficial but de-souling. It strips existence of its tragic dimension — and with it, its depth. The human being may be everything, except real.
The social reward of narcissism
Within today’s social and economic structure, narcissistic traits are no longer regarded as problems, but as competencies. Characteristics that once belonged in the clinic — egocentrism, manipulation, superficial charm and lack of empathy — have become socially functional in many areas of public and professional life. Self-promotion is now called personal branding, manipulation is influence, lack of empathy is decisiveness and opportunism is flexibility.
This normalization of narcissism is the logical consequence of a culture based on competition, visibility and performance. In such a system, it's not the sincere person who succeeds, but the convincing one. Christopher Lasch already described this dynamic in 1979 in his book The Culture of Narcissism: a society in which individuals must continually sell themselves inevitably produces personalities that are skilled in seduction.
Decades later, Twenge and Campbell confirmed this empirically in The Narcissism Epidemic: social changes such as the emphasis on self-expression, individualism and media visibility have led to a measurable increase in narcissistic traits across the population.
The digital economy reinforces this tendency. On social media, the very traits described in clinical literature as pathological are rewarded: a constant need for attention, a tendency toward self-idealization and a convincing, but superficial display of authenticity. What once was considered self-glorification has become a requirement for visibility. The algorithmic logic of digital platforms rewards everything that polarizes, simplifies, or sounds overly self-assured.
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A similar pattern can be observed in organizational psychology. Leadership is often associated with charisma, assertiveness and risk-taking — precisely the traits linked to narcissistic dynamics. Empathy and self-reflection, on the other hand, are frequently perceived as soft or inefficient. Research on corporate psychopathy and toxic leadership shows that such profiles do not merely survive in competitive organizations; they thrive within them.
Byung-Chul Han argues that this process is not accidental but represents the logical outcome of a system that must constantly renew itself. Narcissism is the psychological form most compatible with a culture in which image and impression outweigh substance and integrity. The narcissistic personality is not merely disordered, but adaptive, perfectly aligned with the demands of its time.
However, this adaptability carries a high psychological cost. Individuals lose their inner anchor and live in a constant tension between self-exaltation and self-doubt. The mask that once provided protection becomes a compulsory uniform and behind the façade grows an exhaustion that is not only personal but structural.
The normalization of narcissism does not mean that suffering has disappeared; it has merely become invisible. Those who refuse to conform to the logic of success are not regarded as healthy but as weak, while those who embrace it gradually lose the ability to feel deeply.
An existential ecology
The dynamics that underlie the rise of narcissism can be understood as a form of ecological imbalance. Just as an ecosystem deteriorates when diversity disappears, the inner world of human beings becomes impoverished when it is no longer nourished by silence, attention and meaningful connection. The balance between closeness and distance, activity and rest, sound and silence has been disrupted.
Hartmut Rosa describes resonance as the opposite of alienation: a living relationship between human beings and the world in which experience reverberates and receives a response. In our time, this resonance has largely been replaced by noise. People hear themselves constantly but rarely the other. In a culture of constant communication, there is abundant exchange but little attunement.
As a result, the psyche reacts like an organism deprived of nourishment. From this perspective, narcissism can be seen as an adaptive reflex: an attempt by the self to affirm itself in an environment that no longer provides genuine mirroring. The individual tries to feed on echoes because the world offers no true resonance in return.
Gregory Bateson already spoke of an ecology of mind: a system of reciprocal relationships in which human beings, their environment, and meaning are interwoven. When that ecological coherence is broken, the inner system also loses its balance. Modern humans live in a context where stimuli are abundant, yet nourishment is absent. Information replaces insight, attention replaces presence and connection replaces closeness.
This emptiness is not merely moral but systemic. It does not arise from malice or superficiality alone, but from the way our structures are designed: to maximize profit rather than well-being and to reward speed rather than depth. In such a system, alienation is not a side effect but a built-in function.
The consequences are increasingly visible in mental health. Conditions such as burnout, depression and anxiety disorders are not purely individual diagnoses but symptoms of a culture that has lost its ecological equilibrium. When the inner world is no longer nourished, people seek compensation in achievement, images, or power. This is not pathology but an attempt to survive.
An existential ecology therefore calls for the restoration of reciprocity: between human beings, between humanity and nature, and within the self. This restoration begins with attention — not the fragmented attention that clicks and scrolls, but the slow, engaged kind that remains present. Attention is the ecological counterforce of our time: the way in which human beings learn once again to be rather than to perform.
In this light, narcissism is not a moral failure but a symptom of hunger. It is the cry of a psyche that is no longer nourished by connection. As long as that nourishment is absent, people will continue to raise their voices in order to be heard. Yet where silence returns, resonance can arise—and with resonance, meaning.
Summary
At the meso level, the increase in narcissism can be understood as the outcome of the very structures in which we live. Not only individuals but entire systems have begun to operate according to a logic of visibility, performance and attention. Human beings have become products of their environment and that environment rewards traits once considered problematic: self-centeredness, manipulative capacity and superficial charm.
The neoliberal performance society has turned the self into a project. Under the guise of freedom, people have become their own enterprises, constantly occupied with improving, displaying and selling themselves. The digital infrastructure amplifies this movement: it transforms recognition into algorithm, identity into image and attention into commodity. What was once meant as a medium of connection has become a mechanism of self-comparison, self-glorification and self-loss.
Economically, this is efficient; psychologically, it's exhausting. The attention economy, the dissolution of community and the coercion of positivity have created a world in which silence is suspect and vulnerability unwanted. The mask has become rational: those who do not present themselves disappear. Behind that mask, however, grows the fatigue of the self — a weariness that doesn't stem from a lack of strength, but from a lack of grounding.
The contemporary human being lives in a social ecosystem that hollows out the inner world. Narcissism, in this context, is not merely a personal flaw but a form of adaptation to a culture that constantly stimulates yet rarely touches. The emptiness we experience is not the emptiness of meaninglessness, but of overstimulation without resonance.
In moral terms, something fundamental has shifted: human beings are no longer seen as ends in themselves but as means — exploitable for profit, data and visibility. Restoration therefore requires a revaluation of what has no function: presence, attention and humanity itself.
True transformation begins when we remember that the value of a human being lies not in utility, but in being. Only in that renewed recognition can the self once again take root in what cannot be measured: the experience of being truly present — with yourself and with the other.
