When Striving Became Offensive
In a culture allergic to effort, striving now feels like rebellion.
There’s a strange mood in the air right now. A kind of ambient hostility, directed not at systems, not at power, but at people. Often people who, by all visible measures, haven’t done anything wrong. They’ve simply shown up, tried, or succeeded publicly.
It feels like negativity has become reflexive. Automatic. And no one is exempt anymore. At first, it seemed reserved for celebrities and public figures — the usual cycle of rise, pedestal, teardown. But lately, it’s widened. Now, everyone gets hit. Artists. Creators. Young people. Ordinary people posting ordinary moments.
Ambition, expression, even joy, all seem to invite suspicion.
The Crime of Wanting More
Not long ago, Timothée Chalamet spoke openly about wanting to be great. Not good. Not decent. Great.
The backlash was immediate. As if the desire itself was arrogant. As if aiming high meant looking down on others. The conversation quickly shifted from ambition to pride, from honesty to ego. Almost like he should want to be smaller. More digestible. More modest — not just in action, but in aspiration.
As if excellence needed to apologise for existing.
Punished for Trying, or Just Existing
I saw the same thing happen with Ayra Starr. At 21 years old, in 2024, she was nominated for a Grammy. A Black woman. Nigerian. Only just out of her teens. That alone should have been enough.
Instead, when she didn’t win, the response from parts of the internet was ridicule. Insults. Mockery. As if being nominated wasn’t already extraordinary. As if the loss erased the achievement.
Then there was Asake.
During his Red Bull Symphonic performance, there was a moment he chose to dance Salsa with a female dancer. His own song. His own stage. His own artistic interpretation.
The backlash was baffling.
People insisted the song had “nothing to do with that,” as if art must follow a rigid rulebook written by the audience. As if expression needs permission. As if deviation is an offense.
What unsettled me wasn’t disagreement, but the entitlement. The belief that the audience gets to police how someone expresses their own work.
When Joy Becomes a Target
It’s not just public figures. I’ve seen a young woman post a simple photo of her and her friends hanging out, only to be flooded with comments accusing her of privilege, tone-deafness, and excess.
No context. No harm done. Just presence. And suddenly, she had to justify her life.
This is where it becomes clear that the issue isn’t behavior, it’s visibility. Existing out loud now comes with consequences.
The Need to be Seen Disagreeing
There’s another layer to this that’s hard to ignore, not just the criticism itself, but where it’s directed. It’s no longer enough to have an opinion. There’s now the strange urgency to deliver that opinion directly to the person. Not just talking about someone, but commenting under their post. On their page. In their mentions. Making sure they see it.
It’s rarely framed as dialogue. It’s framed as correction.
I need you to know that you’re wrong. I need you to see that I’m right.
There’s a dual intention at play. On the surface: “I’m just sharing my opinion.” But underneath, “I want it to land. I want it to sting. I want to be seen.”
Sometimes people do say outrageous things. Sometimes criticism is valid. But this compulsion to announce it publicly, personally, and directly feels less about accountability and more about power.
Criticism used to live at a distance, in essays, conversations, and analysis. Now it lives in comment sections, right under someone’s face, their work, their joy.
Once disagreement turns into a need to be witnessed by the person, it stops being about truth and starts being about dominance. About inserting yourself into someone else’s moment. About winning.
The Crowd With Nothing at Stake
These backlashes almost always erupt on platforms like Twitter (X) and TikTok, spaces built for speed, outrage, and performance. They’re often driven by faceless accounts. People with no proximity to the craft they’re criticizing. No experience in the field. No comparable achievement. Sometimes no real investment beyond reaction.
That doesn’t automatically invalidate critique, but it does shape its tone. Critique rooted in curiosity sounds different from critique rooted in resentment. This wave feels less like accountability and more like bitterness.
When Mediocrity Becomes the Moral High Ground
I’ve always traced this energy back to discomfort. Discomfort with effort, with ambition, with excellence. In a culture flattened by algorithms and hot takes, striving can feel threatening. Wanting more reads as arrogance. Trying publicly becomes something to mock.
Anti-intellectualism plays a role here. So does the idea that everyone must remain relatable at all costs. In this climate, it now feels offensive to say you want to be great. Offensive to take your work seriously. Offensive to even try.
So we punish visibility, mock ambition, and pretend effort is embarrassing. Not because success is wrong, but because it reminds people of what they didn’t pursue, didn’t risk, or didn’t finish.
What This Really is
This isn’t about holding people accountable. It’s about projection. About using critique to soothe personal frustration. About confusing cynicism for insight. About mistaking tearing down for discernment. If we continue to treat aspiration as arrogance, we’ll end up in a culture where no one wants to stand out, not because they lack the ability to do so, but because visibility has become punitive, and that’s a loss for everyone. Because progress doesn’t come from silence. It comes from people willing to try — imperfectly, publicly, and unapologetically.