Ignoring content creators can be a strategic choice Even though it makes us feel excluded at fancy dinners

Lately, more and more often, I find myself at dinners and lunches where people I don’t know are being mentioned. We’re not talking about friends of friends, coworkers, or family members, or even traditionally famous people in fields I usually follow, but rather content creators of various kinds and sizes whose deeds (mostly negative ones, let’s be honest) become topics of conversation, a spark when silence falls. Sometimes it works, and the conversation flows. But often, it doesn’t. And if you’re not up to date, you’re out. You find yourself asking: Who? Huh? What happened? Then you try to play it cool: Never heard of them, but what do they do? In short, not knowing the influencer world is seen as a gap, something that might exclude you from the conversation. But what if that ignorance were a choice? What happens in 2025 if you consciously stay out of these circles, even while living in adjacent bubbles? What does it mean to choose to know nothing about influencers and content creators? I started wondering whether this stubborn refusal of mine to follow those types of profiles was costing me something, socially speaking.

Choosing what to ignore on social media is power

Let’s start with a truth that should be obvious, but too often isn’t: in the attention economy, where views, interactions, and impressions turn into budgets, where even just choosing to follow someone signals interest — and that interest is factored into decisions about which ambassadors to select, who gets paid for influencer marketing campaigns, and so on, we need to realize that we are fueling an economic system. And we’re not doing it passively, not really. Attention is money, baby, even the negative kind, it makes no difference. That’s why we need to be aware of the power we hold, right there at our fingertips: the choice to follow or not follow, to comment or not comment, to become - consciously or not - a megaphone for that person everyone at dinner or over cocktails seems to bring up again and again. Even if it means having nothing to say for five minutes.

What should we prioritize? It’s up to us

Sometimes, being that mindful and intentional while scrolling is particularly hard. Social media algorithms give us what we want, but also what they want, what’s trending, what’s profitable to push. That’s how rising creators suddenly pop up in our recommended Reels, and we don’t know why or how to avoid them. In a digital (and real) life full of constant impulses, fragmented and reprocessed information, and nonstop electric jolts, it’s not always easy to regain control of our focus, to cultivate our true interests, to resist this flow, which isn’t even a flow anymore, but a raging river of debris and noise smashing through the boundaries of our attention. And if we’re tired and overstimulated, we won’t exactly stop to filter anything while scrolling. That’s where the attention economy gets us. So the appeal is simple and yet so hard: just take a step back. Look at yourself from the outside, lying in bed, mouth slightly open on the pillow before falling asleep, and realize you’ve become a passive mirror for anything and anyone. And judge yourself. Curate your online experience, make a sort of priority list. What’s worth engaging with to stay informed? What actually adds value or improves your life and what, instead, comes and goes in a couple of throwaway comments at a fancy dinner, and isn’t worth clogging up your poor popcorn brain with?

Attention is both a weapon and a choice

With this mindset (and in a perfect world), once we’ve gained awareness and mental clarity, once we’ve figured out how to redirect our attention, and by extension, our money, the path is clear, and it’s paved with unicorns, rainbows, and chocolate cake. Or better: with social content that - even if it doesn’t always challenge us, which can be tiring - at least doesn’t actively enrage us, doesn’t profit from our anger, our anxiety, or our despair. Content that doesn’t make us worse people, even if it means having to ask who the hell everyone’s talking about at dinner this time.