So, I honestly never thought I’d be the kind of person who gets emotional over social media likes. I’ve always told myself I post for me and not for validation. But here I am, rethinking that whole philosophy because something weird happened the other day, and it has me questioning everything.
Let me just give you the rundown:
A few days ago, I snapped a picture of my dog—let’s call him Charlie—and I was feeling pretty good about it. Sure, he’s not one of those insta-famous dogs with a perfectly groomed coat or that adorable, made-for-viral-content face, but to me, he’s perfect. He’s got this soulful, quirky look that has always stolen my heart. He’s my best buddy, the kind of dog who’s there when you’re crying, there when you’re laughing, and basically right there every time you even think about grabbing a snack.
So, I posted this photo on Facebook. You know, the usual “Look at my adorable fluffball! Doesn’t he just melt your heart?” type of vibe. I was expecting at least a few likes—maybe some “aww, how cute!” comments, maybe a heart emoji or two. Because normally, that’s what happens when you post a photo of a dog, right? People lose their minds over pups, and I do the same with everyone else’s.
But this time? Absolutely nothing.
No reactions, no comments, no “so cute!”—just silence. It was like everyone collectively decided to scroll right past Charlie’s picture without a second glance.
At first, I figured it was just the timing. Maybe I posted it too late in the evening and nobody was online. But hours passed. Then a day. Then two days. I started feeling weirdly anxious about it. I kept checking my post to see if the algorithm had finally decided to bless it upon my friends’ feeds, but the numbers stayed the same: zero reactions, zero comments.
I can’t lie, I took it personally. And then I started to spiral a bit. I started thinking, Is my dog really that unappealing? I mean, I love him. That’s never been in question. But for other people to scroll past him like he didn’t even deserve a “like”… it stung.
I know it might sound silly—getting worked up over something as trivial as Facebook engagement. But in the moment, I couldn’t help it. I started comparing. I’d go through my feed and see people posting pictures of their puppies, and everyone was fawning over them: “OMG, so precious!” “I can’t handle this cuteness!” “I’m stealing your dog!” And it was driving me nuts, because I was like, Hello? My dog is also a living creature worthy of that kind of love! Where are his fans?
Some of my friends have dogs who look like they walked straight out of a dog food commercial—fluffy, bright-eyed, always photogenic. Charlie, on the other hand, is more of an underdog. He’s got a slightly scruffy look and these big, expressive eyes that sometimes make him look concerned about life in general. I’ve always thought his unique features gave him character. But apparently, the internet didn’t agree (or so I was telling myself).
And that’s when the self-doubt started creeping in. I began to wonder if maybe I’d been oblivious all this time—maybe he really wasn’t as cute as I thought. Or maybe I was just a bad photographer who captured him at his worst angle. Or maybe—gasp—my friends are tired of seeing photos of him.
I don’t usually get insecure about social media. I mean, I’m the type to post random vacation shots or pictures of my questionable cooking experiments, and if people like them, cool. If not, no big deal. But for some reason, the idea that the world might see Charlie as anything less than adorable was messing with my head.
I started analyzing my own reaction. Why do I care so much? He’s my dog, and I love him unconditionally. Why did I suddenly need the validation of the internet to confirm that he’s lovable? But the truth is, in the age of social media, we kind of do look for that communal nod of approval—especially with something or someone we love deeply. It felt almost like people were ignoring my child, you know?
So, there I was, refreshing my feed like a maniac. Still nothing. I tried to distract myself by cleaning my apartment—though I ended up just cleaning the same countertop over and over again while dwelling on the nonexistent likes. I found myself wanting to text my close friends to say, “Hey, did you see the post of Charlie? Isn’t he cute?” But that felt even more desperate.
Then, one of my friends posted a picture of their brand-new puppy. You can imagine the meltdown that ensued in my brain. Within minutes, she had dozens of comments. People were tripping over themselves to say how sweet and adorable her puppy was. Some were even dropping heart emojis and GIFs of puppies frolicking in fields of flowers. And I was just sitting there, phone in hand, feeling like my own dog had been deemed “unworthy of attention.”
So, I did something slightly petty: I reposted the picture of Charlie, but this time I changed the caption to something more… direct. It was along the lines of “Everyone seems to scroll past my boy these days—anyone out there who still finds him adorable?”
I hit “post” and immediately regretted it. It sounded whiny, but I’d already done it, so I figured I’d wait and see what happened. Another day passed, and guess what? A handful of likes trickled in. A couple of pity comments: “Aww, of course he’s cute!” from my mom, and “He’s so precious!” from one of my best friends. But that was it.
That’s when I realized: maybe I was making this a bigger deal than it needed to be. If people didn’t react, it could be for a thousand different reasons. The algorithm might have buried my post. People might have been busy. Or maybe, just maybe, folks were “liking” it in their heads and forgetting to actually press the button.
But if I’m being honest, deep down, I kept thinking, No, there’s something more.
I started to wonder if people have this unconscious preference for “traditionally cute” animals—like, we’re drawn to fluffy, photogenic pups with big eyes that sparkle for the camera. Maybe Charlie’s look doesn’t scream “Pinterest puppy.” He’s got a slight underbite, an odd coloration, and a scrappy disposition. Those of us who know him see how sweet and loyal he is, but that doesn’t always translate in a single snapshot.
That realization led me to a bigger question: Are we all just a little shallow, even when it comes to dogs? I kind of hated that thought. Dogs are pure souls who love us unconditionally. Shouldn’t we love them back for who they are?
Yet here I was, seeking external approval for my own dog, which felt hypocritical. Like, shouldn’t I be enough for him? Shouldn’t my love be the only validation he needs? But that’s the catch—we often want to show off the things we love, hoping that others will see them the way we do.
I was at work, half-distracted by this internal debate, when my phone buzzed. Another friend had commented on my second post: “He’s so handsome in his own unique way!” For some reason, the phrase “in his own unique way” made me smile and cringe at the same time. I guess I appreciated the compliment, but it also felt like that polite thing you say when you can’t come up with a more enthusiastic reaction.
Still, it reminded me that not everyone sees beauty the same way. What’s offbeat or scruffy to one person might be endearingly quirky to another. And then I realized: maybe the reason people scrolled by had nothing to do with his looks. Maybe it was the day’s vibe, or the fact that so many other posts flood everyone’s timelines.
Eventually, I came to this semi-conclusion: yes, it hurts when something—or someone—you love doesn’t get the recognition you think they deserve. But that’s life in the social media age. We’re bombarded with images every second. We can’t possibly register everything.
Yet, even with this understanding, a tiny part of me still feels a pang when I think about Charlie not getting that flood of “likes.” It sounds silly writing it out, but it’s the truth. Sometimes, you just want your little companion to be seen and adored by the whole world.
I think the real lesson I’m taking from this is that my own love for Charlie needs to come first. He doesn’t care if he’s “Instagrammable.” He cares if I refill his water bowl and give him belly rubs. He cares if I come home on time and if I sneak him bits of chicken when I’m cooking dinner.
And honestly? That kind of unconditional love should be enough.
But I won’t pretend I’m 100% over it. Every now and then, I get this twinge of irrational envy when I see another dog post go viral. I’ll be sitting there thinking, Hey, my boy is just as awesome! I’m working on not letting it consume me. I keep reminding myself: social media is fleeting; real life is what matters.
Even so, I have a plan. I’m going to keep posting pictures of him—casually, whenever I feel like it—without overthinking. Maybe next time, a few more people will click that like button. Maybe they won’t. But at least I’ll be sharing him with the world in a way that feels honest.
It’s funny how something so small can spark a mini identity crisis about what we value and how much we rely on external validation. But I guess that’s just the era we live in.
One last twist in this story: Yesterday, an old acquaintance of mine—someone I haven’t spoken to in years—randomly commented on the very first post I made of Charlie. She wrote, “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I missed this! He’s adorable! I have a rescue that looks exactly like him. Let’s plan a doggie playdate sometime!”
I can’t explain how much that brightened my day. It was like a little sign from the universe: hey, people do see him, it just might take a while for them to respond. Or maybe they stumble upon it later, long after I’ve had my meltdown.
It made me smile, but it also left me feeling this complicated mix of relief and lingering insecurity. Because, sure, that one comment lifted my spirits, but I still don’t know if it changes everything I’ve been feeling. I’m still kind of stuck in this loop of overthinking, but at least there’s a flicker of hope reminding me that, yes, my dog does have admirers out there—beyond me and my closest circle.
So, I guess that’s where I’m leaving this. I’m still navigating my own ridiculous emotional rollercoaster over Facebook likes and whether or not the world thinks my dog is as cute as I do. There’s no neat conclusion here. I’m a work in progress, just as Charlie is a scruffy ball of love who’ll continue being him, regardless of how many thumbs-up symbols he gets online.
But at least now I know there are people who appreciate him—and a part of me hopes that, maybe, with time, I can appreciate him without needing anyone else’s seal of approval.
TL;DR: I freaked out because no one liked my dog’s photo, and it felt like they were rejecting him and, by extension, me. Realized how messed up that is, but I’m still not fully over it. Baby steps, right?
Anyway, thanks for reading this massive emotional dump. If you’ve ever felt the same way about your pet, let me know I’m not alone. Or if you think I’m being dramatic… well, you’re probably right. But that’s the beauty of the internet: we get to share these weird, raw moments of insecurity with strangers who might just understand.
And who knows? Maybe this whole experience is the start of something better—like learning to trust my own instincts about what’s lovable in my life, instead of waiting for a “like” button to confirm it.