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I initially wasn’t going to write anything about January 6th, out of fear of being accused of trying to garner personal attention during one of the country’s darkest moments. But as the day came, I spent the morning reflecting on the heaviness I felt internally—the way my body tensed up, my jaw clenched, and my brain scrambled to dissociate. I knew I had to write.
On January 6, 2021, like millions of Americans, I watched as a group of white supremacists stormed the Capitol in an attempt to stop a peaceful transfer of power and upend democracy. My processing was delayed. Instead, I was quickly thrown into the chaos of crisis communications after someone I indirectly represented at work attended the insurrection.
At the time, I was working at an ad agency, leading social media management and strategy for several global clients. I genuinely liked the work I did. I was good at it. I was deeply passionate about social media—I attended tech conferences, closely monitored trends, and even wrote about sex worker censorship on social platforms. I was so entrenched in the digital world that I didn’t realize how much of it I’d carefully curated to suit my worldview.
My bubble was full of progressive and radical content: leftist politics, Democratic organizing, sex worker advocacy, and of course, really fashionable people. These spaces were vibrant, supportive, and deeply meaningful to me. I thought I was curating an authentic experience, but in hindsight, I was creating a padded reality. I knew other bubbles existed—I’d seen them while managing social media accounts for brands—but I hadn’t fully understood what was brewing in spaces like QAnon, Proud Boys groups, or other alt-right corners of the internet.
That morning started like any other. I logged on, scanned for potential issues, routed customer questions, and engaged with user-generated content. Then I rushed to a doctor’s appointment to get custom insoles for my embarrassingly flat feet. I wasn’t thrilled about the inauguration and the potential of the next four years, but the promise of sweet relief for my feet kept me going. I quickly rushed out to the doctor’s office, choosing to dissociate in the car.
When I left the doctor’s office, the world had shifted. I stared at my phone, horrified, scared, and confused. How could this happen? What was happening? Were there hostages? I called my partner as I waited for a rideshare, trying to understand what was unfolding. By the time I got home, I was glued to the TV, catastrophizing about what this meant for the future of the country.
As I panicked, I decided it best to work—one of several of my trauma responses. I had a meeting with the agency’s new creative director and wanted to make a good impression. Looking like I’d spent the last few hours bug-eyed in front of the TV wasn’t going to cut it. So, I worked for a bit, eventually joining the meeting.
But during the meeting, something happened. A social listening tool I used to monitor online discussions around clients started going haywire. Notifications flooded in so quickly I couldn’t read one before the next dozen appeared. Then I saw it: a member of one of our trade organization clients, Kathryn*, had attended the insurrection. Not only that, but she had documented it heavily on social media.
Kathryn wasn’t just a passive participant in the insurrection—she was actively fanning the flames. After documenting her private plane ride to D.C. and posting a photo of herself next to a smashed Capitol window, she continued to use social media to provoke outrage. Her posts were designed to inflame tensions, mocking critics and doubling down on her rhetoric. Her now-infamous deleted tweet read: “Sorry, I have blonde hair, white skin, a great job, a great future, and I’m not going to jail.”
The backlash was immediate. Our social channels were inundated with comments demanding the organization cut ties with Kathryn. The irony was painful—this was the same client I loved working with for their campaigns spotlighting fair housing and underrepresented groups in the home-buying process.
Managing the fallout was the worst two weeks of my career. Kathryn’s defenders flooded our channels with hate speech and slurs, while her critics demanded immediate action against her. Meanwhile, she continued to post, adding fuel to an already raging fire. The story quickly gained national attention, picked up by major outlets like The Washington Post, The Today Show, and Vice Media. Kathryn became one of the faces of the insurrection, a symbol of privilege and impunity.
The emotional toll of those weeks was staggering. As a queer person, seeing the volume of hate speech pouring into our channels wasn’t just exhausting—it was deeply traumatic. There was no buffer. My team lacked the resources, support, or even acknowledgment from leadership that we needed to navigate this crisis. We were left to manage the storm as best we could, trying to keep the brand and our sanity afloat while carrying the weight of the hate directed at us simply for existing in the spaces we were trying to protect.
For weeks, comments poured in from both sides—some demanding justice, others hailing Kathryn as a hero. Eventually, she was arrested and sentenced to 60 days in prison. Before her sentencing, she made the rounds in the media, astonishingly comparing herself to a Holocaust victim. “That is the epitome of a scapegoat,” she said. “Just like they did to the Jews in Germany.” Cognitive dissonance is a hell of a drug.
This event fundamentally changed me. I left the agency soon after, burned out and disillusioned. I realized I wanted to move beyond managing social media and focus on the systems that enable it. I’ve since started pursuing product management in social media technologies because I want to make a bigger impact—to shape the very platforms I’ve loved and criticized for so long.
At the same time, we need to confront the role billionaires play in shaping public discourse and politics. Elon Musk’s ongoing destruction of Twitter, essentially turning it into a safe haven for white supremacy and hate, and Jeff Bezos’s alleged censorship at The Washington Post both underscore how much power these individuals wield over what we see and hear. When billionaires can silence cartoons critical of their actions or reshape platforms to suit their interests, it raises serious questions about the integrity of our democratic systems.
While I’d like to say social media has improved since January 6th, it hasn’t. Platforms continue to profit from outrage and division. The insurrection may have ended, but the ecosystems that enabled it remain alive and well.
Social media’s role in creating these bubbles can’t be overstated. Algorithms prioritize content that reinforces existing beliefs, keeping users in echo chambers. My bubble felt safe, but it was a false reality. Kathryn’s bubble was equally curated, but it served a far darker purpose.
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Some research suggests that exposing people to a broader range of news sources can reduce polarization by breaking down the barriers of ideological bubbles—but the reality is more complicated. Recent studies have found that even when algorithms increase exposure to diverse viewpoints, polarization doesn’t necessarily decrease, as users often seek out like-minded content elsewhere. Platforms would need to actively promote diverse perspectives, and even then, users must be willing to engage with them. Efforts like Instagram’s attempt to limit political content show how resistant people are to even modest changes in how their feeds are curated.
Beyond that, platforms must overhaul algorithms to deprioritize extremism and misinformation. But such changes would come at the cost of profits, which makes me skeptical they’ll ever happen. I believe it’s possible to break out of bubbles, but it requires intentional effort: conversations, face-to-face time, and patience. Breaking bubbles is a long-term project. Preventing them from forming in the first place feels more achievable in the short term.
These events reinforce what I’ve learned: the line between moderation and suppression, between free speech and propaganda, is razor-thin. If we don’t confront the role of social media in our political process, we risk losing far more than our bubbles—we risk losing democracy itself.
*Name has been changed for anonymity
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If you are looking for an educational resources around social media and January 6, i have curated a list of my favorites here.
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