Can We Normalise Not Needing to "Normalise" Very Normal Things?

"Can we normalise..." Three words that have somehow become the unofficial slogan of social media.

Can we normalise wearing the same outfit twice?

Can we normalise only posting one photo on Instagram?

Can we normalise staying home on a Friday night?

Can we normalise ordering dessert first?

Can we normalise not answering messages immediately?

Every time I come across one of these posts, a small part of me wants to respond with the same question:

Can we normalise not needing to "normalise" very normal things?

And yes, before anyone points it out, I fully acknowledge the irony of writing an entire blog post about this because, in a way, am I not also throwing my thoughts into the void and hoping other people nod along?

Maybe.

But hear me out. I think there's a difference between sharing an observation and seeking permission. So, here's my observation:

What intrigues me about the "can we normalise" trend is what I feel sits beneath it. Most of the time, people aren't really asking for something to become socially acceptable; they're seeking reassurance. They're looking for some proof that they aren't alone in their thoughts and in their actions. And honestly? I understand that.

We're living through an era of intense visibility. Everything is compared and ranked. So naturally, every choice feels like it exists alongside a thousand other choices made by people who somehow seem cooler, more informed, more stylish, or more interesting than us. With that comes the truth that most people don't like to feel like they're the only one.

The only one who likes a certain book.

The only one wearing certain shoes.

The only one not enjoying the earthy taste of a matcha latte.

The only one whose hobby doesn't immediately translate into social currency.

The desire for community is deeply human. I'll even say that the desire for validation is one of our most inconspicous vulnerabilities as people. At the same time, I can't help but wonder whether we've started confusing the two because community and conformity are not the same thing. In fact, I'd argue that they're often opposites. One of the things I find most interesting is that, when I think back to my childhood, we were always told to be ourselves. To embrace our uniqueness, celebrate our differences, and reject the pressure to fit into neat little boxes. And for a while, that felt revolutionary.

Yet somewhere along the way, it seems we've started drifting in the opposite direction. Not because anyone explicitly told us to conform, but because algorithms quietly reward it.

It's a strange paradox. The same generation that was encouraged to embrace individuality has become increasingly uncomfortable doing anything unless we can first confirm that a large enough group of people agrees with us. Perhaps that's because being an individual is a lot harder than posting about individuality. And maybe that's partly because choosing individuality means risking being misunderstood. It means liking things that don't have a fandom. It means wearing things that won't necessarily become trends. It means accepting that some of your interests may never receive universal approval. And maybe that's exactly the point.

A few years ago, my friend introduced me to a concept that quite literally changed the way I view my participation in everything I enjoy. It is an idea from The School of Life that suggests that one of the most essential parts of well-being and genuine self-understanding is doing things for the simple fact that they spark joy. Easy, right? Yet I can't help but notice how often we reverse that logic. Instead of asking ourselves whether something sparks joy, we ask whether a good enough number of other people are doing it too.

It is only once we have the social proof that we give ourselves permission to fully enjoy something. It's a shame if you actually think about it. Joy was never supposed to work that way. You don't need an audience to endorse your happiness. If something genuinely enriches your life, why should you allow popularity to be the deciding factor in your joy?

In a world with limited freedoms, you're honestly doing yourself a disservice if you allow the way you go about sparking your joy to be dictated by numbers.

I think that there is a certain freedom that comes with not needing everyone else's approval. A certain richness that comes with being able to enjoy something without requiring it to be mirrored back by the crowd. Things don't need to be validated before they can be valuable. And sometimes? Your favourite things only need to make sense to you.

Not everything needs to be transformed into a movement.

In fact, some of the most meaningful parts of our identities are built away from consensus. Away from algorithms. I'd argue that the healthiest communities aren't the ones where everyone likes the same things; they're the ones where everyone brings something different to the table. It's the coming together of a group of people who introduce a new perspective to each other's lives. That's what makes community interesting. There is nothing I love seeing more than friendship groups that look like a showcase for different aesthetics and personalities. It is so refreshing.

In Crime and Punishment, Fyodor Dostoevsky points out this beautiful yet haunting truth to Sonya when he says:

"Your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing. Isn't that fearful?"

In the modern world, I think this line forces a difficult question:

What if we become so consumed by being perceived correctly that we forget to actually live?

I'd even go as far as to say that it's a sobering reminder that abandoning one's soul happens slowly, through everyday compromises we make to fit in. And in the end? You might find that your "whimsy" was too big a sacrifice for social acceptance.

Social media will always have rules about what is cool. The algorithm will always have opinions. Trends will come and go. But your life belongs to you. Allow yourself to enjoy the things that only make sense to you and give others the space to do the same in their lives without your scrutiny.

So perhaps the next time you're tempted to ask whether we can normalise something, ask yourself a different question:

Would I still do this if nobody else was doing it?

If the answer is yes, then maybe that's all the "normalising" you ever need.