I Read Every DM (and It Changed How I Post): Notes on Parasocial Honestly

There's a message I've never answered that I think about constantly.

It was from a girl who told me she watched my Sunday vlogs every week while her mom was in the hospital, and that my voice was the thing that made the waiting rooms bearable. She wasn't asking for anything. She was just telling me, the way you'd tell a friend, that I'd mattered during the worst months of her life.

I sat with that message for a long time. Because here's what made it complicated: she was right that I mattered to her. And she was also wrong about what I am. I'm not her friend. I'm a stranger who points a camera at her own life. Both of those things are true at the same time, and the entire weird reality of being a creator lives in that contradiction.

The Word That Makes Everyone Uncomfortable

'Parasocial' has become a scare-word online, usually deployed to imply that someone is deluded for caring about a person they've never met. I think that framing is condescending and mostly wrong.

Humans have always formed one-sided attachments — to authors, to radio hosts, to athletes whose jerseys we wear. The feeling isn't new. What's new is the volume, and the direction. For the first time, the person on the other side can read the messages, respond, and sometimes blur the line on purpose because engagement pays the bills.

So when people ask whether parasocial relationships are bad, I think that's the wrong question. The better question is: what are the responsibilities on each side of the screen? I can't control whether someone feels close to me. I can control whether I exploit that feeling.

Where I Draw My Lines

After about two years of this, I've landed on a few rules that I hold even when they cost me views.

I don't share my daily routines in a way that makes my life feel accessible. You'll see my coffee shop, but never which one. You'll see my neighborhood, never my block. This isn't paranoia — it's the difference between sharing a life and selling proximity to it.

I don't do 'tell me your secrets in the comments' content. It performs well. I've watched other creators build entire formats around harvesting their audience's most vulnerable moments. I find it grim. If someone shares something heavy in my comments, I acknowledge it with care rather than pinning it for engagement.

And I don't pretend to be closer than I am. I'll never say 'you guys are my best friends.' My actual best friends would have some notes on that.

The Messages That Changed Me

The DMs fall into categories, and honestly, most of them are lovely — outfit questions, requests for the song in a vlog, people telling me they tried a look I wore. That's the fun stuff.

But there's a heavier category too. People going through breakups, grief, anxiety, and for some reason telling me instead of anyone in their offline life. At first this stressed me out. I'm not a therapist. I have no training. I'm a twenty-something with a camera and an editing backlog.

What I've settled on is honesty about what I can offer. I read the messages. I respond when I can, which is less often than I'd like. I've built a resource highlight with actual crisis lines and support services, because sometimes the kindest thing I can do is admit I'm not the right resource and point toward people who are.

The moment that changed how I post was simpler, though. Someone commented that they appreciated that I show bad days, not just good ones. And I realized that the most valuable thing I offer isn't inspiration — it's a realistic picture of what a creative life actually looks like. The aspirational version of me was never the useful one.

For the People on the Other Side of the Screen

If you follow creators — me or anyone — here's what I'd gently offer.

It's okay to feel connected to someone you've never met. That feeling is real even if the relationship is one-sided. Enjoy it. Let it comfort you.

But keep your real relationships funded. If a creator's videos are the main voice in your evenings, notice that. Not with shame — just with curiosity. The best creators should make you want to call your actual friends more, not less.

And be skeptical of anyone who monetizes your attachment. If someone's main pitch is 'join my inner circle' or 'don't let them take me away from you,' that's not intimacy. That's a sales funnel wearing intimacy's clothes.

What I Owe You

I used to think my responsibility to my audience was consistency — posting on schedule, keeping the content coming. I've revised that. My actual responsibility is honesty. To show the work as it is, to never fake closeness to drive engagement, and to treat the trust in those DMs like what it is: something borrowed, and something I have to be careful with.

I still read every message. I answer fewer than I should, and I feel bad about that. But reading them has made me a better creator and, I think, a more careful person. Somebody out there is watching my videos in a hospital waiting room. I owe it to her to be worth the time.