Pseudo-Individuality in the Digital Age: Adorno and Horkheimer’s Relevance Today

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I’m sitting here in a dim-lit room, sipping cheap whiskey, thinking about how life itself feels like a playlist curated by Spotify.

Every song, every goddamn beat, feels tailor-made for me, but not by me.

That’s the trick, isn’t it?

Capitalism makes us feel special while running the same algorithm for everyone.

Adorno and Horkheimer saw this scam for what it was, back in a time when cigarettes were medicine and radios were magic. And here we are, decades later, with screens replacing radios but the same con game in place.

The Culture Industry, they called it. The machine that turns art into product, beauty into marketing, individuality into a façade.

Back then, it was Hollywood movies and radio hits.

Today, it’s TikTok trends, AI-generated playlists, and Netflix Originals.

Explaining It to My Apprentice Over Cheap Coffee

My apprentice, a naive student who still thinks quoting Derrida in casual conversation made you a philosopher, plopped down across from me.

He had that eager look—the one that says, I’ve read three essays and now I’m here to fix the world.

“So, what’s the deal with Adorno and Horkheimer?” he asked, like they were a couple of guys who ran a podcast instead of two minds who saw through the shiny, hollow core of modern culture.

I took a sip of the sludge they called coffee at the corner diner.

The stuff tasted like regret, but it was cheap, and I was broke. I leaned forward, ready to break it down in terms he could digest.

“Alright, kid. Imagine this: You walk into an ice cream shop—31 flavors, the works. You’re overwhelmed by choice. You think, ‘Wow, I’m about to make a decision that defines me.’

Maybe you go for Rocky Road because it’s got that quirky edge. ‘I’m a Rocky Road kind of person,’ you tell yourself. But here’s the kicker: every single flavor in that shop was made by the same company, in the same factory, for the same damn reason—to make money.”

He furrowed his brows, trying to keep up.

“You feel like you’re choosing,” I continued, “but the choice was already made for you. It doesn’t matter if you pick Rocky Road or Mint Chocolate Chip; the game’s rigged.

They give you the illusion of choice so you’ll feel good about buying into it. But the outcome’s the same—you’re just another paying customer.”

His squint deepened. I could tell the gears were turning but still grinding a bit.

“That’s the Culture Industry in a nutshell,” I said, leaning back. “It’s a system that takes art, creativity, individuality—all the stuff that’s supposed to mean something—and churns it into a product.

It’s shiny and looks like freedom, but it’s just a leash. You think you’re expressing yourself when you buy a thrifted jacket or post some cryptic tweet. But all you’re doing is playing their game.

That’s pseudo-individuality: the illusion that you’re unique when really, you’re just another cog in the machine.

And guess what? Someone’s always profiting off it.”

He blinked. “But, like, don’t people still have real choices sometimes? I mean, there are indie bands, underground art—stuff like that.”

I nodded. “Sure, there’s stuff outside the mainstream, but it doesn’t stay underground for long. The minute something catches on, the machine scoops it up. Think about Nirvana.

Punk was supposed to be this raw, anti-establishment movement, right? Then suddenly, it’s on the radio, sold as a vibe. The system takes rebellion and slaps a price tag on it.”

The kid sat back, staring into his coffee. I wasn’t sure if he was having an epiphany or just regretting asking me in the first place.

“Look,” I said, softening the edge in my tone, “it’s not all doom and gloom. People can still create real meaning. But you’ve gotta stay sharp, question everything.

The second you feel like you’re part of something bigger than yourself, you need to ask: Who’s selling this to me? Because chances are, someone is.”

I left it there, letting him sit with it. Maybe he’d get it. Maybe he wouldn’t. But at least now, the seed was planted.

My Friend Who Got Swallowed Whole

I had a friend once—let’s call him Greg.

Greg was the real deal, a poet with dirt under his nails. He’d write lines that could punch you in the gut, then laugh about how broke he was.

But Greg wanted more, you know? Who doesn’t?

One day, Greg started an Instagram account. “It’s just to promote my work,” he said.

At first, it was harmless—pictures of notebooks, sunsets from his fire escape. Then came the hashtags: #poetry #artistsoninstagram #grindmode.

The likes rolled in, but the poems started changing. Shorter, simpler, algorithm-friendly.

“No one reads long poems anymore,” he said, scrolling his feed like a rat hitting a lever for cheese. By the time he hit 10,000 followers, the Greg I knew was gone. He wasn’t writing poetry; he was writing “content”.

The machine chewed him up and spit him out, rebranded as a product.

How the Digital World Worsened the Culture Industry

Adorno and Horkheimer had no idea what was coming. The Culture Industry of their time was a steam engine compared to today’s rocket-fueled algorithms.

Every scroll, click, and like is tracked, analyzed, and used to sell us more of ourselves.

Table 1: Evolution of the Culture Industry

EraMediumMechanismOutcome
1940s-1960sFilm, radioMass productionHomogenized entertainment
1980s-2000sTV, music videosMarket segmentationNiche conformity
2010s-PresentSocial media, AIPersonalization algorithmsPseudo-individuality at scale

The Opposing View: Is It All That Bad?

Not everyone agrees with Adorno and Horkheimer’s grim outlook. Some say the digital age has democratized art, giving everyone a platform.

Table 2: The Counterarguments

Thinker/WorkArgumentWeakness
Walter Benjamin (The Work of Art…)Technology liberates creativityTech often serves corporate interests
Joseph Pine (Mass Customization)Personalization gives consumers controlChoice can be manipulated
Steven Johnson (Everything Bad is Good for You)Pop culture is getting smarter“Smart” doesn’t mean free or diverse

Sure, anyone can upload a song or write a blog post.

But who gets heard? The ones who play the algorithm’s game. The ones who can afford to boost their posts, who fit neatly into a marketable mold.

Pseudo-Individuality in Fictional Characters

I think about Winston Smith from 1984, hunched over his battered journal in the dead of night, scrawling words he can barely bring himself to believe.

The room’s damp, the pen’s ink runs dry too fast, and every stroke feels like a whisper. Winston’s rebellion is a fragile thing—a single candle in a hurricane.

You can almost hear his desperation seeping through every line.

Here’s a man fighting to carve out a piece of himself in a world that eats individuality for breakfast and spits out conformity for dessert.

Tragic? Sure. The kind of tragic that makes your gut twist.

But now imagine yanking Winston out of Orwell’s grim gray wasteland and dropping him into ours.

Let’s be real—he wouldn’t touch a journal. Too analog, too solitary.

Today’s Winston would be on Instagram or Twitter/X, snapping a grainy photo of an unfiltered sunrise with a caption like, “Some people are free only in their dreams. #resistance #liveauthentic #woke.”

And here’s the twist of the knife: Big Brother wouldn’t even need to crush him anymore.

The likes would do it for him. Every little heart on that screen would tighten the noose around his neck, wrapping him in the warm embrace of approval.

He wouldn’t need to fear the Thought Police; he’d be his own jailer, chasing engagement metrics instead of revolution. His rebellion would get sliced, diced, and turned into a hashtag.

Winston in an ironic T-shirt, his hair tousled just right, sipping artisanal coffee while uploading “Revolutionary Vibes” playlists to Spotify.

He’d think he was subverting the system, all the while the algorithm quietly stamped “Edgy Consumer” on his file.

Hell, maybe he’d even partner with a brand—“Resistance Journals: Write Your Freedom!”—and start monetizing his despair.

Rebellion sold wholesale, $19.99 with free shipping.

Hope? Maybe. Maybe Not.

Adorno and Horkheimer didn’t believe in hope, not really. To them, culture under capitalism was doomed to be a tool of oppression.

But there’s a chance, slim as it may be, that we can break free.

It’s going to take effort—a willingness to question every ad, every trend, every “must-see” show.


The Culture Industry isn’t just a factory; it’s a mirror, showing us the hollow reflection of who we think we are. It feeds on our fears, our insecurities, our longing for meaning. And if we’re not careful, it’ll swallow us whole, just like it did to Greg.

But here’s the thing about mirrors: they can be shattered. The pieces might cut, but they’ll also show us something real.

So, we have a choice. Keep scrolling, keep buying, keep pretending we’re free—or stop. Look around. Build something that matters.

The void doesn’t care what we do, but we should.

Because in the end, all we have is the choice to either break the machine or become another cog in it.

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