Digital Ghosts: The Psychology of Living Through Curated Identities | Part I

Two recent cases here in Brazil have revealed just how illusory our digital personas can become—both in terms of pure appearance and professional qualifications. They are stark, real-life examples of the chasm that can form between who we are online and who we are in the world.

First, there was the aesthetic influencer Natalia Becker. On Instagram, she was a vision of perfection—flawless skin, expert knowledge, and a thriving chain of clinics. She spoke with authority about beauty and wellness.

But when she was arrested after a patient died during an unauthorized procedure, the woman in the mugshot bore little resemblance to the filtered, curated figure followers knew. She wasn’t just enhanced; she was reinvented. And that reinvention had tragic, real-world consequences.

Then, there was this man, Renê da Silva Nogueira Junior, who shot a street cleaner in broad daylight. When his photo circulated in the news, few would have recognized him from his social media. Online, he was a “Greek god”—sculpted, angled, and filtered into an idealized version of masculinity. In reality, he was an overweight, ordinary-looking man. The man in the photo and the man on Instagram were two different people. One lived in pixels; the other in a body capable of violence.

These aren’t just stories about crime. They’re stories about identity—about what happens when the digital self becomes so detached from the physical self that reality itself seems negotiable.

We’ve all used a filter, touched up a photo, or chosen a version of ourselves to present online. But when does curation become deception? And when does that deception begin to harm—ourselves or others?

The line is often crossed when financial incentive enters the picture. In the case of the fake aesthetician, for example, her digitally crafted beauty was her most valuable business asset. No one would buy beauty advice or expensive procedures from a woman who didn't embody the unattainable ideal she was selling. The filters weren't just for validation; they were a calculated guarantee of profit, building an empire on a foundation of lies. This adds a sinister layer to the phenomenon: when self-dissatisfaction is monetized, the incentive to maintain the illusion becomes a matter of financial survival, making the disconnect from the authentic self even more permanent and dangerous.

But beyond the pursuit of likes and social validation—and, crucially, the underlying drive for profit—these extreme cases force us to confront a more uncomfortable question: How much of this digital ghosting is driven by a deep, profound dissatisfaction with the self?

We often discuss curation as a tool for building a personal brand, but we shy away from acknowledging it as a symptom of a fractured identity. The influencer wasn't just selling a lie to her followers; she was likely living one herself, seeking in the glow of the screen a worth that she didn't feel in the mirror. The shooter wasn't just constructing a facade of masculinity; he was attempting to escape the body he inhabited, creating an avatar powerful enough to compensate for the powerlessness he felt in life.

This isn't just about vanity; it's about existential dissonance. The digital world becomes a sanctuary from the imperfect, unedited, and often painful experience of being human. Every filter, every perfected photo, is a small betrayal of our authentic selves—a silent admission that who we are is not enough. And when we do this repeatedly, we risk becoming strangers to our own reflections, until the real 'I' is a ghost haunting the perfected digital monument we've built — a ghost that, as we've seen, can step out of the screen and cause very real harm.

In a world where likes can legitimize and followers can falsely certify, these Brazilian cases remind us: not everything that looks true online is true in life. And sometimes, the people we become on screen are ghosts—with real hands, capable of real harm.