18. May 2026

Posting for Attention: "Ask Me What’s Wrong”

There was a time when social media was fairly simple. You posted a photo of your tea, shared a birthday message, had a mild argument with someone from school you haven’t seen since 1998, then logged off feeling slightly worse about humanity.

Now? It’s become a full-time theatre production.

And the main character is usually someone checking into hospital with absolutely no explanation.

You know the post.

“Not how I expected today to go…”

Then a photo of a hospital wristband. Maybe a ceiling tile. Maybe a dramatic black-and-white shot of a cup of NHS tea.

Naturally, everyone piles in.

“You okay hun?”
“What’s happened?”
“Thinking of you babe.”
“OMG message me.”

And what does the person do?

They like the comments.

That’s it.

They sit there, clearly well enough to operate Facebook, liking every single concerned message like they’re working through admin at a call centre.

Then, after six hours of emotional bait dangling in the wind, they finally reply:

“I’ll message you.”

Brilliant. So now we’ve all been dragged into episode one of Casualty: Facebook Edition, but the plot is only available via private message.

It’s not concern they want. It’s engagement. It’s a little notification buffet. Ping, ping, ping. Lovely stuff. Like emotional Deliveroo.

Then you’ve got the local Facebook group people.

“Does anyone know if the post office is open today?”

Mate. Google exists.

You are typing into Facebook, on a device connected to the internet, asking 14,000 strangers whether a building is open, instead of typing the exact same sentence into Google and getting the answer in three seconds.

But no, where’s the fun in that? Google doesn’t give you seven comments, two arguments and one bloke called Keith saying, “It was open yesterday.”

There’s always one who replies with confidence but no knowledge.

“I think it closes at 2.”

You think? Beautiful. That’s helpful. Shall I drive there based on your vague emotional memory of a Tuesday in 2019?

Then we get selling pages.

“Can anyone tell me what this is worth?”

And there it is. A framed picture of Bruce Forsyth, slightly faded, possibly from a charity shop, possibly haunted.

No price. No effort. Just a photo and a dream.

Yes, of course, we’ll all stop what we’re doing and research the current market value of your prize Bruce Forsyth artwork. Let me just cancel my plans, contact Sotheby’s, speak to an antiques expert and find out if “Nice to see you, to see you nice” has appreciated in value since Brexit.

The thing is, some questions are fair. People need help sometimes. No problem with that.

But half of these posts aren’t really asking for help. They’re asking for attention dressed up as confusion.

“Anyone know where I can buy milk?”

A shop. Try a shop.

“Anyone know what time Tesco shuts?”

The internet knows. The Tesco website knows. Google knows. Even your phone probably knows. The only person who doesn’t know is you, because apparently the world must now form a committee before you buy semi-skimmed.

So why do people do it?

Maybe they’re lonely. Maybe they want a bit of interaction. Maybe asking a basic question in a group feels nicer than just silently searching online like a normal exhausted adult.

Or maybe we’ve all become addicted to the tiny thrill of someone replying.

A like. A comment. A “you okay?” A “PM me hun.” It’s a little hit of importance. A reminder that someone noticed us, even if it’s because we asked whether the chemist is open on a bank holiday instead of checking the chemist’s own website like a functioning member of society.

Social media has turned everyday life into a performance. Some people don’t just want answers. They want an audience.

And fair enough, we all like a bit of attention now and again. But there’s a difference between sharing your life and posting a mystery medical cliffhanger like you’re launching series two of yourself.

So next time you’re about to post “Anyone know if the post office is open?” just pause for a second.

Open Google.

Type the words.

Get the answer.

And save the group for the important stuff.

Like finding out whether that framed Bruce Forsyth picture is actually worth £3.50 or a life-changing £4.