Scroll through social media on any given day and you’ll find a country that looks like it’s doing just fine. People are travelling, launching businesses, attending events, dressing well, eating out, glowing. Online, South Africa appears aspirational, confident and upwardly mobile. Offline, the reality is far less polished. Debt is rising, salaries are stretched, job security is fragile, and many households are one emergency away from collapse. Yet the performance continues.

“Online, success is cheaper to display than it is to build.”

We are living in an era where visibility has replaced stability, and nowhere is that more evident than online. Social media has become a stage, and participation feels compulsory. Even when we’re broke, we perform success — because not performing feels like falling behind.

At the heart of this behaviour is pressure. In a country where opportunity is uneven and progress is hard-won, being seen as “doing well” carries emotional weight. For many South Africans, success isn’t just personal — it’s symbolic. It represents escape, proof, and validation. The problem is that the digital version of success is often cheaper to display than the real thing, at least in the short term.

A photo at a luxury venue doesn’t show the credit card balance. A new outfit doesn’t reveal the payment plan. A celebratory post about a “new chapter” doesn’t explain the anxiety behind it. Social media allows us to curate moments, not contexts. And in a society that already struggles with comparison, that curation becomes a silent competition.

“Comparing your real life to your online self can be more damaging than comparing yourself to others.”

There is also a growing belief that visibility creates opportunity. People are encouraged to “look the part” before they’ve fully arrived — to dress like the job they want, live like the life they’re building, and post like the brand they hope to become. In theory, this mindset is empowering. In practice, it often traps people in cycles of performative spending, where looking successful becomes more urgent than becoming stable.

Being broke is no longer just a financial condition; it has become a social stigma. Online spaces reward confidence, polish and consistency. There is little room for messiness, uncertainty or struggle — unless it can be packaged into a motivational caption or a before-and-after narrative. So people hide. They smile through strain, post through pressure, and pretend through pain.

What makes this performance particularly exhausting is that it rarely ends. Once you establish a certain image, maintaining it becomes work. The pressure to keep up appearances doesn’t disappear when money runs out or life becomes difficult. In fact, it intensifies. Silence can be interpreted as failure. Absence can feel like falling off. So even when things are tough, people keep posting — not because they’re thriving, but because they’re afraid of disappearing.

This constant performance has emotional consequences. Comparing your real life to someone else’s highlight reel is damaging enough. Comparing your own behind-the-scenes to your carefully curated online self can be even worse. It creates a split — between who you are and who you present as. Over time, that gap can lead to anxiety, shame and a sense of fraudulence.

South Africa’s inequality amplifies this effect. In a country where wealth is highly visible but unevenly distributed, social media often becomes a space where aspiration and insecurity collide. For some, performing online feels like survival — a way to stay relevant, hopeful, or connected in a system that doesn’t offer many safety nets. But survival through performance is expensive, emotionally and financially.

“The pressure to look successful has outpaced the ability to actually be secure.”

The irony is that many people performing online are not trying to deceive others; they’re trying to protect themselves. To be seen as struggling can feel dangerous in a society that equates worth with achievement. To admit financial difficulty can feel like admitting failure. So we filter, crop, pose and post — not to boast, but to belong.

The question we need to ask isn’t why people are performing, but what kind of society makes constant performance feel necessary. What would it look like if honesty carried as much social currency as success? If rest was admired as much as hustle? If people could exist online without selling an image of progress?

Until then, the performance will continue. Not because everyone is winning, but because logging off — or showing up honestly — feels like too big a risk.

And so we keep scrolling, posting, liking, and pretending. Even when we’re broke. Even when we’re tired. Even when the cost is more than we can afford.