In a world where Instagram filters, TikTok edits, and perfectly curated feeds dominate, audiences are craving something different: authenticity. That’s why apps like BeReal rose to prominence, offering a refreshing alternative to hyper-polished social media. The concept was simple: once a day, at a random time, users receive a notification to share an unfiltered photo of whatever they’re doing. The appeal was clear—no time to stage, no time to edit, just raw reality.

But as the hype grew, so did the irony. People began saving their best moments for the BeReal notification or re-taking “authentic” snapshots to look casually effortless. Soon, BeReal wasn’t about being real at all—it became yet another stage for authenticity performance.

This tension is at the heart of today’s digital culture. Social media users want to appear genuine, relatable, and imperfect, but the pressure to perform—whether for friends, strangers, or algorithms—remains ever-present. Authenticity has become a kind of branding, where being “real” is curated just as carefully as a polished influencer photoshoot.

In this blog, we’ll explore how the performance of authenticity has become the newest form of online identity-building. We’ll dive into the rise of BeReal, why audiences crave relatability, and how “performative realness” is reshaping influencer culture, marketing, and everyday digital interactions. Finally, we’ll consider what it really means to be authentic online—and whether it’s even possible anymore.
 

The Rise of BeReal: From Counterculture to Mainstream
 

When BeReal launched in 2020, it was framed as the antidote to Instagram perfectionism. Instead of influencers posting flawlessly staged vacations or workouts, BeReal promised everyday glimpses: someone brushing their teeth, waiting for the bus, or slouched in pajamas watching TV. This raw, unstaged feel quickly caught on, especially with Gen Z, who have grown increasingly skeptical of heavily curated social media.

The app’s format—one notification per day, one simultaneous photo using both front and back cameras—created a sense of shared spontaneity. Friends weren’t just posting highlights, they were posting the mundane. And in a digital culture obsessed with highlights, that felt radical.

Yet as with most platforms, BeReal’s authenticity soon became its own aesthetic. Users began bending the rules—delaying their post until they were doing something more interesting, or staging their “casual” life moments to look effortlessly cool. In this sense, BeReal became not a rejection of Instagram but a new genre of it: less glossy, more ironic, but still carefully curated.

Brands and influencers eventually jumped on board, further complicating the app’s mission. Suddenly, companies were using BeReal to advertise, and influencers were staging “relatable” shots that felt anything but organic. The app that began as a rebellion against performance turned into another stage for it.

This evolution illustrates a bigger truth: social media resists rawness. Even when platforms are designed for honesty, users inevitably turn them into stages for identity construction. The “realness” of BeReal was always destined to be both genuine and performative, because that’s how we use the internet.
 

The Paradox of Authenticity Performance
 

The rise of BeReal highlights a paradox: people crave authenticity online, yet true authenticity is nearly impossible in digital spaces. Every time we post, we make choices—what angle to use, what moment to share, whether to retake a photo. Even an unfiltered snapshot is still a performance because it’s shared with an audience in mind.

This is where authenticity performance comes into play. It’s not about being fake, but about presenting curated slices of “real life” designed to appear genuine. Influencers crying on camera, celebrities posting makeup-free selfies, or brands tweeting in quirky, relatable tones are all examples. They perform authenticity to connect with audiences, because polished perfection no longer sells as well as “messy” relatability.

Psychologically, this performance works because it taps into our need for trust and relatability. We don’t just want to admire influencers—we want to feel like we know them. That’s why creators now share behind-the-scenes glimpses, embarrassing moments, or mental health struggles. But these disclosures, while sometimes genuine, are often strategically curated to strengthen audience loyalty.

The paradox, then, is this: the more authenticity is performed, the less authentic it feels. When everyone is “being real,” rawness becomes just another content style, no different from a fashion aesthetic or editing trend. BeReal itself exemplifies this—what began as anti-performance became a new kind of performance, one that fits neatly into the broader economy of attention.

This doesn’t mean all online authenticity is fake. It means that digital culture blurs the line between real expression and performance so thoroughly that it’s nearly impossible to separate them.

Why “Being Real” Became a Brand Strategy
 

One of the biggest shifts in recent years is how authenticity has become a marketing tool. For both individuals and companies, appearing real is now a strategy, not just a personality trait.

Influencers, for example, have moved away from aspirational perfection toward relatability. A lifestyle influencer may share “Instagram vs. Reality” side-by-side shots, or vlog about burnout to seem approachable. These confessions build trust, which translates into higher engagement and, ultimately, more sales. In other words, authenticity has been commodified.

Brands have followed suit. Fast food chains post snarky, meme-filled content to mimic internet humor. Clothing companies advertise with unretouched models and behind-the-scenes footage. Even luxury labels are experimenting with “low-fi” campaigns that feel less polished but more authentic. The message is clear: consumers, especially younger ones, are tired of perfection and want brands that “feel human.”

But there’s a catch. As soon as authenticity becomes strategy, it risks backfiring. Audiences are highly attuned to performative authenticity—when influencers overshare for clout, or when brands try too hard to sound relatable. This is why we often cringe at companies tweeting like internet personalities; it feels forced, not genuine.

The key lesson here is that authenticity works only when it aligns with genuine values or lived experiences. A creator sharing mental health struggles feels real if it’s consistent with their identity, but opportunistic if used purely for engagement. Likewise, a brand that has always embraced inclusivity will resonate more than one that suddenly pivots to authenticity as a trend.

In short, “being real” may now be a brand strategy—but it’s one that requires careful balance to avoid becoming BeFake.
 

How Users Can Navigate Authenticity Online
 

For everyday users, the performance of authenticity raises an important question: how can we navigate online spaces without feeling trapped by curation and performance pressure? The answer lies in approaching digital authenticity with mindfulness rather than expectation.

First, it helps to recognize that some level of performance is inevitable. Sharing anything online involves editing reality, whether by choosing the most flattering photo or crafting a clever caption. Accepting this fact reduces the pressure to be “100% real” and reframes posting as a form of creative expression rather than a purity test.

Second, consider your audience and intention. Ask yourself: am I posting this for myself, for friends, or for validation? If the answer is the last one, it may be worth pausing. Shifting focus from external approval to personal meaning makes online sharing feel less performative and more authentic to you.

Third, curate your digital environment. Follow creators who inspire honesty rather than pressure, join smaller communities that encourage genuine exchange, and take breaks from platforms that make you feel constantly judged. Just as the early internet thrived on niche forums, today’s micro-communities (like Discord groups or private chats) can foster real connection without the spotlight of mass performance.

Finally, practice selective vulnerability. Sharing personal struggles or unfiltered moments can build connections, but it’s equally valid to keep parts of your life private. Authenticity doesn’t mean sharing everything—it means sharing what feels real and right to you.

By reframing authenticity not as a demand but as a personal choice, users can navigate social media with less pressure and more freedom.