Psychologist Jean Twenge’s 2006 research showed that narcissism levels among college students had risen roughly 30% over recent decades.
Social media then locked that trend in place, turning self-presentation into an ongoing performance. Everyone suddenly got their own PR manager — themselves.

Why does this theme resonate now? Because modern culture simultaneously pushes us to be “unique” while comparing us to billions of people at once. Uniqueness becomes currency; self-importance becomes a product. And in this economy, the ego works overtime like a miner during the gold rush.
Which brings us to the truth: wanting to be “better than others” isn’t a glitch in the system. It is the system.

When psychologist Daniel Kahneman explained the difference between the “experiencing self” and the “remembering self,” he accidentally gave us the most honest portrait of the human mind. The remembering self wants to feel rational; the experiencing self wants to feel right. Our ego lives in the second one. It constantly demands validation — proof that we’re good, smart, talented, competent, exceptional.

In 1988, social psychologist David Dunning (yes, from the Dunning–Kruger effect) showed that people with low competence tend to dramatically overestimate their abilities. The comedy? Even knowing this, we’re convinced it applies to everyone else — not us. Obviously we’re the humble geniuses.

Ego is a defense mechanism. It shields us from terrifying thoughts: that we’re ordinary, that we’re wrong, that we’re mortal, that we’re not that special. Ernest Becker, in his 1973 book The Denial of Death, argued that much of human culture is built on avoiding the reality of our own impermanence. Believing we’re “better” is one way to convince ourselves that what we do actually matters — that we matter.
But the modern ego is sneaky. It hides behind “spiritual growth,” “productivity systems,” “self-awareness,” and lifestyle aesthetics.
“I rise above petty emotions.”
“I’m working on myself.”
“I read Nietzsche.”
These are the new masks. We turn self-development into a status ladder, introspection into a brand.

We feel special even while doing the most mundane things. Quit sugar for a week? We’re basically wellness monks. Meditated three days in a row? Nirvana loading. Got 32 likes on a Reel? Micro-celebrity unlocked.

Ego is a built-in algorithm begging for proof that we’re valuable. But if you don’t keep an eye on it, it turns your life into an endless pitch deck arguing why you deserve the lead role.

In pop culture — humanity’s Olympic stadium of self-glorification.
Take Kanye West. A man who once declared, “I am the greatest artist of all time.” Textbook grandiosity. Yet in a culture where brand = identity, the strategy works. Kanye turned his ego into performance art, and the performance into a business model.

Or think of 90s Madonna — casually saying she wanted to rule the world. She kind of did. Her ego wasn’t a flaw; it was a cultural engine.

Movies have been dissecting ego for decades. Fight Club (1999) is basically a thesis on male ego meltdown, complete with a chaotic alter ego built to compensate for existential numbness. Amadeus (1984) is a masterclass in how someone else's genius can annihilate your own sense of worth. Even Wall Street (1987) with its “greed is good” sermon lays bare the ways ego drives the capitalist myth.

And of course — memes, our new cultural anthropology. The “main character energy” meme? That’s ego saying, “Today I’m starring in my own A24 film.”

“This is fine” dog? Ego insisting everything’s under control while everything burns.
“Delulu is the solulu”? Our collective pact: sometimes believing our own myth is easier than living in reality.
Pop culture documents ego culture.

Algorithms simulate significance. If an app shows that 143 people watched your story, your brain reads it as social success. If comments add “🔥,” your ego gets XP points like in a video game. But validation is unpredictable. The ego becomes addicted, and the more addicted it gets, the more fragile you become.

In relationships, ego shows up as emotional perfectionism — expecting admiration, ideal behavior, curated communication. Friendships suffer from the same glitch: we expect people to reflect our “inner protagonist” instead of who we actually are.
Work? Same story. Ambition often replaces actual contribution. We worry more about how we look than what we produce.

If we ignore this, we end up in a world where everyone’s running a solo project and no one knows how to be part of a group. Reality becomes a background extra in the theater of our self-importance.

At some point in this whole ego circus, you have to stop watching the spectacle and actually do something about it. Not in the “burn sage and manifest humility” way, but in the real, grounded, mildly uncomfortable way — the place where behavior shifts, not just intentions. If your ego insists on auditioning for the lead role in your life, the least you can do is give it some boundaries. So here it is: the part nobody likes but everyone needs — the practical cuts, the real-life tweaks, the things that actually crack the armor.

First. Stop competing with the imaginary audience in your head. They don’t exist. People are too preoccupied with their own insecurities to examine yours under a microscope.

Second. Catch your ego red-handed. When you feel “I know better,” “I deserve more,” “They should understand me,” take a beat. It might not be maturity speaking — it might be fear. Fear of being ordinary. Fear of being vulnerable.

Third. Bring feedback back to the real world. Social media is a terrible source of self-worth. People who actually know you are infinitely better mirrors. You can even go nuclear: delete Instagram for a week. Or, at the very least, admit you’re hooked.
Ego is a great tool, but a terrible driver.
Keep it in the passenger seat where it belongs.

And our final thought: The moment you stop proving who you are is the first moment you get a chance to actually find out.