The audience in your head

The audience effect

Ever been on a call with a loved one and you just know they’re not alone—without hearing a single extra voice?

I can always tell when my mom has guests over, even if the background is silent. Her tone softens, her words become more careful, her laughter—just slightly more performative.

Same with my daughter. I can instantly sense when friends surround her—she sounds different. Warmer, a bit more distant, or even more cheerful than usual. Like there’s an invisible curtain between us.

There’s a name for this invisible presence that shapes our behavior. It’s called the audience effect.

The audience effect is the change in one’s behavior or performance due to the belief that they are being watched or observed by others.

The idea is simple: we act differently when we think we’re being watched. But the effect runs deeper than you’d expect.

It doesn’t just influence our posture or pitch. It affects what we choose to do with our lives.

We pick careers, buy clothes, post pictures, write words, and make decisions—not always based on what we want, but on what we think will be well received.

• Writers write what they believe readers will love.

• YouTubers chase trends over truth.

• We order what sounds smart when dining with colleagues.

• We even adjust our personality to be more likable in a room.

This isn’t just for influencers. We’re all curating versions of ourselves, even when there’s no camera rolling.

Audience effect isn’t inherently bad

It’s what gives us empathy, civility, and awareness of others. A therapist friend once told me that people-pleasing is simply empathy with poor boundaries. In moderation, it’s a social glue.

But left unchecked, the audience effect has a dark side:

1. We abandon what we truly want.
   The aspiring artist becomes a management consultant. Not because they love spreadsheets—but because it’s “safer.” More “impressive.” More “acceptable.”

2. We suffocate our creativity.
   We second-guess ideas that don’t seem trendy. We write for clicks, not connection. We stop experimenting. We forget how to play.

3. We use flawed data.
   Our decisions are often based on imagined audiences and untested assumptions. What if no one’s actually watching? Or caring? Or judging?

4. We lose the thread of ourselves.
   In trying to become what “they” might like, we forget what we like.
   The irony—When we blend in too much, we stop standing out. And then we scramble to be “unique” again—like everyone else.

I’ve felt the audience effect many times while writing. Should I write about “10 secret habits of successful people” or about how emotions influence physical health?

One feels more clickable. The other feels more honest.

One gets more attention. The other gives me more peace.

The tension is real. However, there are also wise teachers among us to learn from.

The teeny tiny teachers

I’ve been spending time with a 4-month-old and a 6-year-old over the past couple of weeks. Their decisions are refreshingly unfiltered.

Babies don’t modulate their cries based on whether someone might find them annoying.

Kids don’t pick ice cream flavors for aesthetic value on Instagram.

They follow joy. Curiosity. Disgust. Delight.

There’s something uncorrupted there—something we gradually unlearn.

So what do we do?

We don’t need to ignore the audience. Just don’t hand over the reins.

Let your voice be shaped by awareness, not imprisoned by it.

Let your empathy guide your work—but let your truth lead it.

It’s okay to write what you truly desire to write.

Order what you actually want.

Do the thing that makes no sense to anyone but you.

That’s how originality is born. That’s how fulfillment stays. That’s how we slowly mute the audience in our heads—and amplify the voice that matters most. ❤️