Sometimes, the world manages to astonish you—not with beauty, but with sheer audacity.
Recently, a video circulated online that left me both horrified and deeply unsettled. It showed a young woman, older than me, standing just outside a hospital room. Her mother had just passed away inside. The scene should have been quiet, heavy, intimate. Yet, instead of retreating into private grief, she pulled out her phone. On Snapchat, she picked a filter, pressed record, and screamed her lungs out while holding the camera. She cried, shouted, and displayed raw emotion—yes—but for the world to watch.
Think about that for a moment. The rawness of losing your mother—the woman who carried you, nourished you, loved you unconditionally. And yet, in that moment, there’s the presence of mind, or maybe the sheer nerve, to record it, perform it, and publish it. It’s bewildering. Where does that energy come from? Who taught grief to pose for a camera?
This is not an isolated incident. Several months ago, another story circulated— an influencer, a woman helping people in her community noticed a heavily pregnant woman in distress on the street. Exhausted, vulnerable, and in desperate need of care, the woman was supported by her, helped to hospitals, and finally admitted. Tragically, her twins were stillborn. Witnessing this profound grief and loss firsthand, the helper—again— immediately opened her camera, recorded herself crying, and posted it online. In real time.
And it doesn’t end there. I know someone personally, a young man whose aunt passed away. He grieved, sincerely, as most of us do. But walking down the street, with tears streaming, he decided the world needed to see his mourning. Press record. Monologue. Tears. Posted on his status. Like the sidewalk was his stage. It’s confusing. It’s exhausting. And it raises the same question: why?
We have officially entered the era of performative grief. Funerals are vlogs. Mourning has become a content niche. The sacred, private, deeply personal experience of loss is being transformed into a spectacle for views, likes, and engagement.
Let me be clear: grief itself is natural. Crying is healthy. Sharing pain is human. But recording and broadcasting it while the wound is still fresh? Seeking attention, approval, or validation in that moment? That is not grief. That is performance. And normalizing it is dangerous—not for the deceased, but for the living.
Grief deserves respect. Loss deserves dignity. And the dead—especially our own loved ones—deserve privacy. Some things are sacred. Some things should never be a trend.
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