English Version | The Calimero Effect

Really strange things caused by the Internet boom: the rampant increase of people suffering from something very similar to the Calimero Syndrome, but in a 3.0 version, fully adapted to the present day. Sadfishing is a way of getting attention and/or seeking sympathy that consists in sharing, in an exaggerated and constant manner, alleged personal problems. Which, in plain language, means that sadfishing is the “emotional equivalent of clickbait.” Some call it a trend, we call it a problem. 

The photos were almost always the same — a crowded room, grimy walls, chairs that seemed to have miraculously escaped the 1967 floods, shriveled, colorless magazines from the time when there were newsstands in every square, a Philips television set on TVI. They were backed up by captions that said almost always the same thing — the nuance was in the type of news shared, which could have various degrees, from “serious” to “tragic.” In 2017, about two years before the term sadfishing came out of Rebecca Reid’s pen (a topic we will address in due course), M. was already practicing it with frightening regularity. One only had to open Instagram and there it was, she and her “ungrateful and unjust” life, her old lady complaints, her fate as a little shepherdess who was never recognized by Nossa Senhora de Fátima. “Once again in the hospital”, read a moldy picture. “Three in the afternoon. Today I won't leave here before dinner time. And to think that I came to the emergency room at seven in the morning”, could be heard in a video recorded as she left the bathroom, the flushing echo of the toilet flushing in the back, to add drama. “There are days when nothing goes right #bestrong”, alerted a story full of GIFs with little arms imitating Naomi Parker, the lady of the most famous vintage poster in the West. “Poor thing. This girl has no no luck at all.” That's pretty much what

M.'s followers thought, including the author of this text, who reacted with all the love that the virtual world allows — dozens of likes, rows of warm hearts, messages of “strength” that could have been written by a romantic singer out of work.  And M. continued, day after week, believing that her misfortunes were recognized and that her pain was not in vain. The entity most coveted by the bored people of the new millennium, the God of the Internet, Imaginary Causes and Excessive Free Time, was on her side. This story has no moral, and no follow-up, because one day when the sky was grayer, the author of this text decided to stop following M. “Damn this girl. I can't take this mi-mi-mi anymore.” And that was that. The author of this text is no visionary who realized, before her peers, that M. was an emotional saboteur who used social networks to “get” affection and attention. She just had less patience than others. And this is where the pig gets its tail twisted. Because if it were possible to make an exact survey of EVERYTHING the author of this text has shared on her miserable Instagram and Facebook accounts — among deleted posts and others edited for reasons that not even Mark Zuckerberg can understand —, we would probably find some s*** similar to M.’s. So let's start this text with a double mea culpa: don't say “I won't drink from this mania” because it is possible that you have already fallen asleep to the sound of the crystal clear waters of this stupidity; M., if you are reading me, I’m sorry. But I couldn't stand your left foot, the sickest left foot in the galaxy, whose contours I still remember. I too go to the hospital, more than I would like to, too often, even, and you don't see me sharing snaps of the needles that pierce my skin and the offices where sometimes even the doors remain open, so intense is the smell of mold and death. The more attentive reader will realize that the previous sentences are also a way of attracting attention — not on the Internet, admittedly, but on the page of a magazine that is expected to be read by thousands of people — a kind of “fishing for compliments” packaged in a quick personal vent. Sadfishing, essentially.

According to Wikipedia, “the first known use of the word sadfishing occurred in January 2019, in an article for [newspaper] Metro written by Rebecca Reid in reference to Kendall Jenner’s Instagram posts about her acne problems, where she showed pictures of herself while talking about it.” The term, a pun made from the English word “catfishing” (deceptive activity in which a person creates a false identity to fool someone), was later picked up by Good Morning Britain and subsequently began to be “trending” on social media in early October of that year. In a society where everything has the potential to be a “trend”, from clothes that seek inspiration in other decades to the way of taking selfies, it is not surprising. And the reason, in fact, is simple: sadfishing — the propensity to make exaggerated statements about trauma and emotional problems in order to invoke sympathy on social networks — is caused by a myriad of reasons, among which stands out the need for attention: people (most of them young) who practice sadfishing usually have very serious self-esteem problems, even those who seem to have the world in their hands, like Jenner. It should be stressed, however, that the Kardashian-model episode is not even the most glaring in this fountain of crocodile tears. In November 2021, Bella Hadid (you know I love you, Bella, but facts are facts) posted a series of photos in which she appeared crying, under the theme “social media is not real” a decision that earned her more than 2.5 million likes, 230,000 comments, and the title of chief mental health warrior. Hadid will surely have problems, like any human being, but it is impossible not to smell the theatrics in her venting. “Sadfishing is the emotional equivalent of clickbait”, Reid summarizes. Don't think, however, that it's just the need to “be liked” that triggers an episode of sadfishing. People who feel neglected relative to other “more successful” partners are three times more likely to be sadfishers than those who don't give a damn about other people's wins. Loneliness (a serious issue that may require specialized monitoring) is another trigger for sadfishers — by showing their emotional shortcomings, the sadfisher seeks an invisible understanding from their audience. Of course, all this causes the line between reality and fiction to blur to the point of almost disappearing. It is almost impossible to know who is really suffering (anxiety and depression are pretexts that sometimes attract those most prone to sadfishing, forgetting that in the meantime there are millions of people for whom such issues become life-and-death) and who actually needs help. As if this were not enough, the dangerous trend label has turned sadfishing into something suddenly interesting and profitable, to the point where platforms such as TikTok or Instagram now offer filters that make the user's face tear up. The time when sharing #happymoments was synonymous with applause is over. Now it's all about exploiting despair and unhappiness. Sex no longer sells, now it is sadness that gives bitcoins. Apparently, the Internet loves us when we are sad. 

Sadfishing doesn't solve anything, quite the contrary. Those who succumb to the phenomenon find themselves addicted to the engagement it provides — for celebrities this usually translates into money and visibility, for the average citizen it means that their one hundred and thirty-four followers will still be “over there, anytime”, even if neither of them ever got to share the same space; the victims, bewildered, feel they are no match for the trials and tribulations of that friend/acquaintance; the sadness and tears multiply. Several studies prove that sadfishing has a dangerous snowball effect. Digital Awareness UK, a digital wellbeing agency aimed at improving the use and impact of the Internet on young people, interviewed 50,000 children aged 11-16 about their use of technology. It found that when they talked online about problems for which they genuinely needed support, they were most likely to end up disappointed by not getting the response they wanted. “Many people commented and ‘liked’ my post, but the next day at school some said I was ‘sadfishing’ for attention. Sharing my feelings online made me feel worse in some ways, but supported in others”, said one young man interviewed. As Rebecca Reid, the person responsible for the term sadfishing, wrote in an article in Grazia: “Sadfishing is not a pejorative term for people who are open to talking about their mental health struggles online. It is evidently a good thing if people, high profile or not, are honest about their mental health in public forums. It reduces the stigma attached to seeking help, and it deflates a culture of silence around unhappiness.” But there is a catch — a big one. “Mental health problems are not cured, or even relieved, by someone following you and sending you a shower of kissy emojis. Social media support is a Band-Aid for a bullet hole, and while it may be nice in the moment, it doesn't change any of the root causes.” That's the same as saying that the attention, if it exists, has the likes counted. Instead of Jenner and Hadid’s thousands of fans, teens are confronted with a diffuse audience that can be less loyal to their friends-reals than to their virtual crushes. Moreover, warned The Telegraph in 2019, social media researchers have found that young people who engage in sadfishing are more likely to be groomed by sexual predators — the fact that they make their worries and fears known to a huge, and often unknown, audience makes them easy targets for individuals who will not hesitate to exploit their unhappiness for their own gain.

There's not exactly blame to be found in this whole issue. “Many of us do sadfishing from time to time, and it's normal. Attention seeking is a perfectly legitimate thing. There's nothing wrong with wanting attention.” The message was from Reid, in a tweet published in October 2019, when the concept he invented exploded. Sadfishing is problematic, but there are problems (far bigger) than it, including those it hides. The warning comes from the English writer herself: “There is nothing wrong with sharing our feelings online, if that is what we need to do. But young people — and indeed all people — suffering from mental health problems should not use Instagram or any other social network as their only form of emotional support. If you are struggling, you should see your GP, be referred to therapy and, if necessary, take antidepressants. Whenever possible, a support network should include real people, not screens.” The perverse side of sadfishing lies in the fact that it is almost impossible to know if someone is knowingly and decisively practicing it, or if the call is real. And all of us, both normal people and public figures, have been accused of sadfishing at one time or another. When, in 2019, Justin Bieber made a post detailing his mental health struggles, he received such disparate responses that the backlash from haters ultimately outweighed the support from beliebers. “Wake up! There are people out there in situations 500 times worse than yours”, shouted one follower. Interestingly, when in June of this year the singer announced that he was suffering from a disease that caused him severe facial paralysis, empathy was (almost) widespread. Va savoir... If the issue is sadfishing — and we well know how cruel the Internet, that seven-headed invisible monster, can be — the petty-hate, the stage of dehumanization that precedes the rage-fatality, has no limits. There are even those who complain about the “manipulative staff” (the words of an unidentified internet user) that vibrate with the daily exposure of their love dramas, their existential doubts, and the anguish caused by the unexpected death of the centenarian aunt of a high school classmate they never got to know. Are we on the verge of a new form of cancel culture? We will never know. The only way is redemption. M., if you are on the other side of this page, grasping this magazine with your fat little fingers, listen to me: I know you haven't had it easy for the last years, but believe me, none of that will get better just because you share a pin as soon as you arrive at the health center. Don't you notice that on those days when no one you reaches out to you? Right. Hang up the phone, go see the sea. Or set up a lunch date with a friend. Don't feed your pain just to feel validated. You are already worth a lot, by yourself. And, of course, don’t alienate those who like you but can't stand your Calimero impersonation anymore. Full disclosure? There's only room for one Calimero here, and that's me. If people knew what my year was like, they wouldn't send me emojis, they’d raise money and buy me a pistol. Sadfishing, essentially. 

Translated from the original on The Butterfly Effect issue from Vogue Portugal, published October 2022.Full story and credits on the print issue.