Online Deception and Maladaptive Humor: The Shocking Truths Fogging Your Mind
Have You Ever Pretended to be Someone Online?
To be honest, I’ve.
I have pretended to be someone else on the internet before. Nothing wild—just curiosity. Once, in a group chat, I switched my profile name and picture, played with a different tone, watched how people reacted. It was too easy. With a few emojis and a change of voice, I became someone new. Nothing dramatic or extravagant—just Wi-Fi and imagination.
That moment of completely being someone else stuck with me. Online world, where trust in others is shattered daily, becoming someone else yourself is an advanced state of deceiving oneself.
When Filters Rewrite Reality—The Viral Japanese Guy:
Remember that viral story from Japan? A biker who went viral for her road-trip vlogs—a “beautiful Japanese girl” cruising across the country on a Yamaha. Millions followed her adventures. Then one livestream glitch dropped the filter. She wasn’t a woman at all but a middle-aged man using FaceApp to attract views. The internet gasped, then laughed, then moved on.
It was a perfect metaphor for the times: filters so smooth they blur not only faces but truth. Psychologist Sherry Turkle wrote that digital life lets us “edit the self.” We don’t always lie to deceive; we lie to survive—to be seen, to belong, to avoid judgment.
The Digital Costume Party
Online deception isn’t always malicious. Most of the time it’s micro-scale: people curating what they post, trimming flaws, adding sparkle. The fake online personality is now almost default—an exaggerated version of who we wish we were. In psychology, this sits close to what Carl Jung called the persona, the mask we show society. The internet just multiplied it by pixels.
Studies from the Journal of Social and Personal Relationships show that people use social platforms to test identities they can’t express offline. Think of it as emotional cosplay. We try out confidence, humor, or chaos, and wait to see which version earns applause. But applause isn’t the same as connection.
I call this “Inner Echoes“, when you actually become what you have been wanting yourself to be.
Laughing Through Memes
That’s where memes crash the party. The laughing memes, the dark humor clips, the “me trying to stay positive while mentally imploding” edits—they’re our secret language. Humor becomes therapy disguised as entertainment.
Related: From Crying Emojis to Dark Memes: Why Gen Z Laughs Through Stress
A 2020 study in Personality and Individual Differences found that dark humor helps people manage anxiety and trauma. It drops cortisol, raises dopamine, reframes pain. The 😭 emoji, the absurd TikTok sound, the “this is fine” dog—all modern pressure valves.
Have you ever been there?
I’ve been there: 3 a.m., scrolling, feeling like trash, then a meme hits so specifically stupid that I actually laugh. Not because the pain’s gone, but because someone else felt it too. That shared absurdity? It’s digital empathy.
Online Deception Example: When We Fake Peace
Here’s the quiet twist: sometimes the fakest thing about us online isn’t our face—it’s our calm. We post “self-care Sunday” while burnout gnaws inside. We tweet jokes instead of goodbyes. Psychologists call it surface acting—the emotional labor of pretending to feel okay.
This is the virtual mask that weighs the most. We think it protects us, but it isolates us. A 2021 APA Stress in America survey reported Gen Z as the most stressed generation, yet also the most digitally expressive. That mismatch screams through our timelines: we’re fluent in memes about anxiety but shy about admitting the real thing. Many of us would be admitting it right here.
Why We Crave the Filter
There’s brain science behind it. Dopamine spikes when people “like” our posts. Each notification is a micro-dose of validation. Over time, our brains link online approval with safety. That’s why deleting a post that flops can feel like erasing failure.
Social psychologist Jonathan Freedman wrote that self-presentation is a balancing act between authenticity and acceptance. Online, that balance slips faster. You start trimming truths, soft-editing your edges, because you know the algorithm—and people—reward polish over mess.
When the Screen Becomes a Mirror
But here’s the paradox: the more filters we use, the more we crave something real. After the Japanese biker reveal, comments flooded in—not all angry. Many people admitted they kept watching because they’d grown to like him, the traveler. The story stopped being about deceit and turned into curiosity: why did we believe so easily?
That’s the reflection the internet gives us. Every fake online personality we encounter forces us to ask how much of our presence is performance.
Memes as Confessions
Scroll long enough, and you realize memes are modern confessions. “Me pretending to have my life together” memes? That’s an honest admission wrapped in laughter. Humor softens exposure. It’s like leaving the diary open but in Comic Sans.
In therapy terms, this is cognitive reframing. We transform distress into shareable humor to reduce its sting. It’s why meme accounts about depression thrive—not because people want to stay sad, but because joking about sadness is safer than describing it.
Maladaptive Humor—Bleeding Through Silence
Still, the silence behind the jokes matters. When humor becomes the only coping style, psychologists call it maladaptive humor. It’s the laugh that hides, not heals. The Cognitive Processing journal (2017) even linked excessive dark humor to emotional suppression. That doesn’t mean dark jokes are bad—it means we should notice when laughter stops connecting us and starts isolating us.
The internet trains us to curate even our pain. Vulnerability becomes performance art. “Crying but make it aesthetic.” That’s bleeding through silence—hurting quietly, beautifully, algorithm-friendly.
Taking Off the Virtual Mask
The fix isn’t deleting social media; it’s reclaiming intention. Ask: why am I posting this? For validation, or for connection? When we notice the motive, we start loosening the mask.
Related: Try this Challenge to Quit Scrolling
Psychologists recommend digital self-awareness—checking in on how online behavior shapes mood. A 2022 Frontiers in Psychology paper found that mindfulness in digital spaces (pausing before posting, observing emotion) reduces anxiety tied to social media use.
In simpler words: touch grass, but also touch your heart.
The Resilient Human Underneath
Here’s the part that keeps me hopeful. Humans are absurdly resilient. We’ve clawed through ice ages, pandemics, heartbreaks, and algorithm changes. From stone tools to skyscrapers, from cave paintings to memes—we’ve always turned chaos into communication.
Related: Would You Hug Your Younger Self?
So no, a comment can’t define your worth. Believe me, a feed can’t measure your soul. The same brain that built rockets and symphonies lives inside you, and it deserves better than doomscroll despair.
When I feel lost in my own digital reflection, I remind myself: this device in my hand is a tool, not a judge. It’s glass, not gospel.
We can laugh through memes, we can bleed through silence, but we can also log off and breathe like the resilient species we are. The stranger we pretend to be online is still us—just trying to find a safe way to be seen.
And maybe that’s the most human thing of all.
Disclaimer:
This article discusses psychological and cultural perspectives on online identity. It is not a substitute for professional mental-health care. If you are struggling with persistent sadness, anxiety, or thoughts of self-harm, please reach out to qualified professionals.
If you are in the U.K., contact Samaritans at 116 123 (free, any time) or visit samaritans.org.
Outside the U.K., check local resources—you’re not alone.
