Does Posting on Social Media make me a Narcissist?

A 6-minute read on creativity, criticism, and why the word “narcissist” gets thrown at women who dare to show up online.

I really do love Instagram. As a 1987-born millennial, it’s been my social media platform of choice since day one. I remember when the app was first released and I’d apply all those fabulous filters over random pictures of my lunch, uni study notes and other key photography subjects.

All these years later, Instagram is still the place where I go to express myself creatively - to play, connect, share and reflect. I love how a sound, a caption, a reel idea can spark a whole story. I love how it lets me stay close to friends and family who live far away. I love the way it captures everyday beauty, a moment with my dog, a cup of tea in the sun, a thought I want to explore more deeply.

It’s mostly a positive space for me. But every now and then, I’m reminded that not everyone sees it that way.

When a post gets more reach than usual, the tone of the comments sometimes shifts. People who don’t know me or follow me suddenly feel entitled to weigh in, often with disdain. And when I show up confidently or simply express something with joy or ease, I’ve noticed a particular word being thrown around more than I’d like.

Narcissist.

It’s such a loaded term, and while I’m not interested in arguing with strangers on the internet (although I did spend longer doing this this morning than I care to admit), I do think it’s worth unpacking.

More often than not, I’ve noticed this word being used mostly to shame women for being visible. If a woman enjoys her own presence, if she speaks with clarity or dances with joy or shares her face a little too often for someone’s comfort… suddenly she’s labelled. As if the only reason we’d ever share ourselves online is for attention, validation, or vanity.

Unfortunately, in my experience, the majority of negative comments I receive over in my little corner of the internet tend to come from men which makes me wonder why they feel so entitled to share their unsolicited opinions online. The anonymity of the internet permits them to express themselves in ways they wouldn’t in person. The weight of misogyny is often evident in these comments, with a tendency to belittle, question, or outright sexually harass women for expressing themselves authentically or for having a voice. What’s fascinating (and also incredibly frustrating) is that many of these individuals face no real consequences for their words.

That said, I can see how the platforms themselves might invite that kind of assumption. Whether it's Instagram or TikTok, both designed around personal profiles, curated feeds, and self-expression. It's easy to assume that everyone posting is seeking attention or affirmation. After all, it’s a space where we create content about ourselves. But does that mean it's all driven by ego?

The very nature of social media is self-focused. A profile is, by definition, a space dedicated to you; your thoughts, your stories, your creations. And when taken at face value, especially in our current quick-scroll culture, it can give the impression of a show or a performance. But that doesn’t automatically equate to narcissistic behaviour. Just because we share moments of our lives doesn’t mean we’re self-absorbed. More often, it means we’re human, creative, curious, seeking community and resonance in a world that’s becoming increasingly digital.

Let’s also not forget that true narcissism (as in Narcissistic Personality Disorder) is a serious psychological condition. It involves patterns of grandiosity, a lack of empathy, and a deep need for excessive admiration. That’s not what we’re seeing when someone lip-syncs to a trending sound, documents their morning walk, or shares a new product they’re loving. Most of the time, it’s just someone being themselves. Online.

What we’re seeing in those moments, and what I hope people see in me, is not narcissism, but joy and authenticity.

A sense of expression, of creative freedom, of fun, of being fully present and allowing yourself to take up space.

Somewhere along the way, we’ve confused confidence with arrogance. We’ve made joy suspicious. We’ve decided that if someone is “too comfortable” in their own skin, they must have a personality flaw. But that says more about the culture than the individual, doesn’t it?

The digital world becomes even more complex, particularly when we start talking about influencers.

I love sharing the things I love. In fact, back in my twenties, my account was called ‘piez loves’ and, as the name suggests, my page was dedicated to all the things that I loved. It was (and still is) centred around wellness tools, fashion, books, recipes and brands that align with my values, and yes, sometimes I partner with these brands. That doesn’t make me fake. It doesn’t make my page transactional. It means I’m a woman running a small business, using platforms that are freely available to share what matters to me and connect with others who might find value in it too.

Still, there’s a strange cultural tension around influencers, with female influencers being especially hard to digest.

So why do we hate influencers so much?

I think part of it comes down to visibility and the discomfort some people feel when someone else appears to be thriving, especially in a non-traditional way. I also think this is true, especially in our Australian culture with what we call ‘tall poppy syndrome’. Part of it might be the blurring of lines between personal and promotional content, which can feel confusing or even manipulative if not done with integrity. But I also think people seriously underestimate the amount of work that goes into creating content. Filming, editing, scripting, caption writing, strategy, planning… it's not just pressing “post” like Emily in Paris suggests, it’s hours of creative and emotional labour.

When you compare it to traditional marketing, the difference isn’t really in what they’re doing, it’s in who’s doing it. Influencers are often solo creators. They’re not backed by corporate budgets or agencies. They’re just people. Sharing things - often from their living rooms. And that makes them feel more accessible, which, ironically, might be why people feel more entitled to criticise them.

But whether you call it content creation, influencing, UGC, or marketing, if it’s done with heart, integrity and honesty, I think there’s a place for it.

For me, Instagram and TikTok are creative playgrounds. They're where I express myself, connect with others who live away from me, and yes, sometimes I promote the things I believe in. That doesn't make me narcissistic. It makes me a participant in the digital age, a woman with a voice, a perspective, and a willingness to share.

So no, I don’t think it’s narcissistic to show up online.

I think it’s powerful. I think it’s brave. I think it’s healing, both for the sharer and the ones quietly watching, maybe even feeling seen.

Let’s stop calling women narcissists for liking themselves out loud. Let’s stop making joy suspicious. Let’s let women express themselves in ways that feel authentic and creative.

If you’d like to hang out with me in the places where I share the real, the reflective, and the sometimes ridiculous, you’ll find me over on Instagram @kellypiez.