Years ago, it felt like the internet was making us smarter. We had the world in our back pocket, and we could answer all the questions that stood before us with a quick search. That hasn’t changed — the world is still evolving and, with that, there are millions of more questions to address. The problem is we’ve become caught up with the same old questions, and we’re coping with them in ineffective ways.

When people think of an intellectual, they probably picture someone like Michel Foucault or, more recently, someone like Ta-Nehisi Coates. But if one were to enter the online world, the idea of intellectuality has been reimagined.

Rather than cultivating genuine intellectual depth, we are drifting into an age of pseudo-intellectuality. This shift is fueled by several factors: a decline in original thinking, the overwhelming accessibility of information and a culture driven by instant gratification.

Unsurprisingly, in an era overwhelmed by information, we often find ourselves parroting what others say online instead of making the effort to learn and think for ourselves. Much of today’s so-called intellectual discourse on the internet resembles a game of telephone where ideas get distorted, misquoted and recycled without critical engagement.

Take, for example, a popular quote often attributed to Albert Camus: “Should I kill myself or have a cup of coffee?” It circulated widely as if it were a profound existential statement. Ironically, Camus never actually said this. The line is a misrepresentation of a broader sentiment from “The Myth of Sisyphus,” where he explores how embracing the simple joys of life can give life its meaning, even in the face of absurdity.

Now imagine how this misattributed quote has circulated endlessly through screenshots and posts. In the process, Albert Camus’s reputation has been subtly reshaped. While this particular case is relatively harmless and even meme-worthy, it represents the lowest level of a much deeper issue. What we’re seeing online isn’t just a matter of a misquoted philosopher; it simply reflects a broader pattern of intellectual performance that lacks depth while accepting surface-level explanations.

At its core, this reshaping of intellectuality has made image more important than substance. Aesthetic appeal now takes precedence over actual knowledge or learning. It’s become more meaningful to align yourself with a curated identity — whether it’s “academia-core” or any other online niche — than to engage deeply with ideas.

Reading books, for instance, isn’t just about expanding your understanding; it becomes a signal, a way to perform belonging. Ironically, in trying to appear intellectual, we end up stripping intellectuality of any real joy or meaning.

Shallow engagement has shaped how we approach complex issues like politics and culture, where nuance is lost in the rush to sound profound within tight constraints. Ideas are reduced to quick, performative takes, and people are rewarded more for appearing thoughtful than for genuine insight.

Though we’re constantly exposed to content that seems intelligent, it often leaves us feeling disconnected. This creates an illusion of participation while offering little intellectual fulfillment.

Another important factor is that the internet is not designed to show us what’s true, but what’s popular. Algorithms don’t prioritize accuracy; they prioritize engagement. What we see is determined by what’s most likely to grab our attention, and more often than not, that means what’s viral. But virality doesn’t equal truth. In fact, the things that spread the fastest are often the most simplified and sensationalized.

When we confuse visibility with value, we risk mistaking surface-level content for real knowledge. This encourages a culture where it’s more rewarding to appear intelligent than to actually think critically. Over time, we admit that we simply don’t know things. And when intellectual performance becomes the norm, it discourages vulnerability, and what good does disconnection bring us?

It’s important we engage in true transformative conversation, and with that, we can collectively make an effort to be more empathetic to each other and to differing opinions. It’s better to take care of each other and contribute to asking questions rather than reiterating whatever the internet spews at us. We need to foster curiosity, not conformity. In a world obsessed with appearances, choosing thoughtfulness is a quiet kind of rebellion — maybe the most meaningful one we have left.