Last week, I saw a guy pull over to help a stranded driver fix a flat tire on I-275, in traffic. It’s a solid move—until he whips out his phone, snaps a selfie with the tire iron, and posts it on Instagram with “#PayItForward #GoodSamaritan.”
Suddenly, that quiet act of kindness felt like a press release.
It’s not just him. From volunteering at food banks to donating old clothes, people can’t seem to do good anymore without a megaphone—and social media’s the loudest one they’ve got.
Time was, a good deed stood on its own. You helped a neighbor, maybe got a “thanks” and a beer, and that was it. No audience required. Now, it’s as if the act doesn’t exist unless it’s documented—preferably with a humblebrag caption and a filter that screams “look at me, but not too hard.”
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A 2023 Pew study found 68% of Americans have posted about a “charitable act” online, up from 41% a decade ago. X is littered with “Just dropped $20 in a homeless guy’s cup #Blessed” posts.
LinkedIn’s got CEOs flaunting their “team-building” soup kitchen shifts. Even close friends on Facebook showcased “random acts of kindness,” buying coffee for the car behind them—complete with a pic of the receipt.
What’s driving this? Dopamine is part of it. Likes and retweets hit the brain like candy, and studies—like one from UCLA in 2022—show social media validation lights up reward centers faster than a quiet “well done” from your conscience.
But it’s deeper than that. We’re obsessed with branding ourselves as “good people,” especially in a world where every move’s judged. A good deed isn’t just kindness—it’s a résumé bullet, a shield against cancel culture, a way to say, “See? I’m not the jerk you think I am.”
The problem is, gloating guts the soul out of generosity. When you help someone and trumpet it, the focus flips from the act to the actor. That stranded driver? Reduced to a prop in your hero saga.
The homeless guy? A cameo in your redemption arc.
It’s not altruism if it’s a transaction—your kindness for their gratitude, plus 50 likes.
Kant would roll in his grave; he argued moral worth comes from duty, not applause. Even Jesus weighed in—Matthew 6:1 warns against practicing righteousness “to be seen by others.”
Yet here we are, turning soup ladles into selfie sticks.
I’m not saying don’t post. Share your kid’s graduation, your dog’s antics—fine. But when every good deed comes with a hashtag, it’s less about the deed and more about your ego.
Last month, a friend told me he fixed an elderly neighbor’s AC—sweated for hours, no charge. I asked why no post. “Didn’t need to,” he shrugged. “She baked me cookies.” That’s it: the quiet reward, no Wi-Fi required.
So here’s my plea: next time you do good, skip the broadcast. Let it breathe in the real world, not the algorithm. If you can’t resist, at least wait a day—see if it still feels pure without the claps. Virtue’s not dead; it’s just drowning in notifications. Let’s save it, one unposted kindness at a time.
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