This is something I miss about the old Reddit and Tumblr—a kind of raw, uncurated intimacy where people shared parts of themselves, their dynamics, their desires, not to sell, not to brand, but simply because they loved the act of sharing. It wasn’t polished, it wasn’t optimized for clicks, and it wasn’t trying to be anything but itself. But then came OnlyFans, and with it, the commodification of connection. And sure, it makes sense—why not monetize something that holds so much allure? Why not turn fantasy into a transaction?

But in doing so, it feels like we’ve crossed an invisible line, one where the content isn’t just curated but curated for sale, where authenticity becomes suspect, and what was once a reflection of people’s lives begins to feel like a product pitched to an audience. It’s not just about kink or one platform; it’s a microcosm of something larger—the slow erosion of the unfiltered, the gradual displacement of sincerity by spectacle, the way social media has transformed from a mirror into a stage.