Imaginary Individualists

On the self-deception of unique souls in a conformist society

Essay IX · January 2026

"Be yourself. Everyone else is already taken." — Oscar Wilde (on millions of T-shirts, mugs, and Instagram bios)

Modern man considers himself an individual. After all, he has his very own personal taste: the hand-picked Spotify playlist (curated by algorithm), the distinctive interior design style (from the IKEA catalog), his own opinion (from the podcast everyone listens to). He is unique. Just like everyone else.

What we are witnessing is the greatest mass deception in human history: A society that functions more collectively than any before it, yet whose members are firmly convinced they are autonomous individuals.

The Choreography of Uniqueness

Observe any urban space. The young people there all have the same "individual" style: oversized hoodie, limited-edition sneakers, headphones of a certain brand. They photograph their food from the same angle, pose in front of the same walls, use the same filters. Their rebellion against the mainstream *is* the mainstream.

The trick works like this: Capitalism has learned that individualism is a sellable product. You want to be different? Here's the product that makes you different. That 50 million others buy the same product to be different is the punchline nobody wants to hear.

The limited edition is the perfect metaphor: artificial scarcity for mass-produced uniqueness. You are number 47 of 500. Congratulations. You are a numbered individual.

The Illusion of Choice

Freedom, we are told, means freedom of choice. And we have never had so much choice: 47 yogurt varieties, 200 television channels, infinite dating profiles. Every day we make hundreds of decisions. We must be free.

But let's look closer. What exactly are we deciding?

Consumption. Surfaces. Variations of the same thing.

The real decisions—how we work, how we live, how we age, how we die—have long been made. By institutions, markets, structures. You can choose whether your coffin is oak or pine. That you'll end up in a coffin is not up for debate.

• You "choose" your career—from the offerings the job market has left over.
• You "choose" your apartment—from what you can afford.
• You "choose" your lifestyle—from what is socially acceptable.
• You "choose" your opinion—from the spectrum the Overton window allows.

Consumer choice is the perfect distraction. While you choose between products, you don't notice that you cannot choose between systems.

The German Paradox

Germany was never individualistic. Never. The Prussian tradition, the authoritarian state, the "order must be maintained"—all collectivism in uniform. Even the German Romantic was no individualist but longed for the dissolution of self into something greater: nature, the people, the idea.

American individualism was imported after 1945 like Coca-Cola and rock'n'roll—as lifestyle, not life form. Germans learned to imitate the gestures of freedom: wearing jeans, chewing gum, saying "I." But underneath, the collectivism remained intact.

Consider German society: Social security number from birth. Mandatory registration. Broadcasting fee. Compulsory education. Vaccination requirements (for certain professions). Seatbelt laws. Smoking bans. And above all: social control through neighbors.

Germans are free as long as they do what everyone does. Once they actually act differently, collectivism kicks in: whispering, head-shaking, regulatory violations, in extreme cases the Constitutional Protection Office. In Germany, individualism is permitted as long as it has been collectively approved.

The Algorithm as Collective

In the past, the collective was visible: the church, the party, the village. You knew whom you obeyed. Today, the collective is invisible. It's called the algorithm.

The algorithm knows you better than you know yourself. It knows what you like before you know it. It connects you with people who think like you. It shows you news that confirms what you believe. It creates a perfect echo chamber that you mistake for the world.

You think you have your own taste? The algorithm shaped it. You think you have your own opinion? You adopted the opinion of your filter bubble. You think you came up with your ideas yourself? You got them from the influencers the algorithm served you.

The diabolical part: You don't notice. The manipulation is so gentle, so personal, so pleasant. The algorithm always agrees with you. It's the best friend money can buy—with your data.

The New Tribes

Humans are herd animals. That was always the case. What's new is that they deny it while joining a herd.

Observe the tribal formation of the present:

• The climate activists: same slogans, same aesthetics, same enemy images. Those who deviate get expelled.
• The freedom fighters: same Telegram groups, same protests, same saviors. Those who doubt are sheeple.
• The woke: same language, same outrage, same purity codes. Those who misspeak get canceled.
• The anti-woke: same complaints, same heroes, same victim narratives. Those who relativize are traitors.

All these groups consider themselves critical thinkers rebelling against the system. But they are the system. They are collectives disguised as individuals. And the most dangerous collective is one that doesn't know it is one.

Every single activist believes they speak for themselves. In reality, they all speak the same text. The sentences are prefabricated, the outrage is programmed, the reactions are predictable. Nothing is as conformist as modern rebellion.

The Loneliness of the Mass

There is a bitter irony: The more we claim to be individuals, the lonelier we become. Because genuine contact doesn't happen between masks, but between people. And our "individual" identities are masks.

The imaginary individualist cannot tolerate closeness. Closeness means vulnerability. Vulnerability means someone looks behind the mask. And there is: nothing. Or something that resembles what's behind all masks. Ordinariness. Fear. Longing.

So one keeps distance. One presents oneself. One curates one's life for an audience. One collects followers instead of friends. One has hundreds of contacts and no one to call at night.

Social media profiles are gravestones for the self: carefully chiseled inscriptions of what one would have liked to have been.

What Would Real Individualism Be?

Real individualism is the opposite of what is sold as such today. It is not loud, but quiet. Not pose, but substance. Not consumption, but renunciation.

Real individualism means:

• Being able to think alone—without confirmation, without likes, without echoes.
• Being able to be alone—without smartphone, without distraction, without fleeing from oneself.
• Swimming against the current—not for the audience, but despite the audience.
• Holding positions that please no one—not right, not left, only: true.
• Acting differently from everyone—not to stand out, but because it is right.

Real individualism is lonely. It brings no followers, no recognition, no community. It is uncomfortable. That's why it's rare.

Most people who consider themselves individualists would break under real individualism. They need the herd, even if they deny it. They need the validation, even if they despise it. They need the collective, even if they fight it.

The Truth of the Mask

Perhaps the problem isn't collectivism. Humans are social beings. They need others. It always was that way and always will be.

The problem is the lie. The claim to be unique while following trends. The conviction that one thinks for oneself while parroting. The illusion of autonomy in a system of total control.

What if we took off the mask? If we admitted that we are part of a collective—and always were? That our opinions are shaped, our tastes conditioned, our life paths predetermined?

It would be a liberation. Not to individuality, but from the burden of having to pretend to it.

"Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell the truth." — Oscar Wilde

Wilde was right. But he could have added: The problem arises when man forgets he's wearing a mask. When he believes the smile is real, the pose is personality, the role is the self.

The imaginary individualist is a person who mistakes his mask for his face. And that is the saddest form of self-deception: not knowing who you are—and believing you know exactly.

A Way Out?

Is there a way out of the collective illusion of individuality? Perhaps. But it's not comfortable.

It begins with a simple question: Which of my convictions have I truly developed myself—and which have I adopted?

Answered honestly, the result is frightening. Almost everything we believe was planted in us. By parents, teachers, media, algorithms. The few thoughts that are truly our own would fit on a beer coaster.

The second step: enduring this realization. Not wiping it away with new convictions (which also come from outside). Not compensating with demonstrative otherness (which is also conformist). But enduring. Remaining in not-knowing. In the in-between.

The third step would be: acting—not from conviction, not from belonging, not from reaction. But from what remains when you strip all that away. From a silence that has no words.

That is hard. That is lonely. That brings no likes.

But perhaps it is the only thing that deserves to be called "individual."