Social Networks or Social “Work”?

WeChat: lifeline to home

Every morning, the first thing I do—right after reluctantly opening my eyes—is check WeChat. My family group chat is already bustling with “good morning” emojis and heartwarming messages. For my parents, this is their version of “emotional labor,” a digital expression of care (Hochschild, 1983). For me, WeChat isn’t about emojis; it’s my lifeline to home. Studying abroad can feel isolating, and this app is the digital bridge connecting me to my parents’ worries and reassurances. My updates are their emotional anchor, a way to show them, “Don’t worry, I’m doing great!” (Even when I’m not.)

Scrolling through my feed, I see a friend’s fancy vacation photos and another’s adorable cat selfies. Naturally, I give them a like—it’s what we call relational labor (Duffy, 2017). And yes, I occasionally post updates myself: a snapshot of late-night study sessions, my favorite outfits, or an aesthetic shot of avocado toast. Why? To document my life, to let my friends and family know I’m doing okay, and—let’s be honest—to showcase the “thriving” version of me. That’s labour of self-fashioning (Duffy, 2017), crafting a polished version of my life for the world to admire.

Instagram: The Networking Playground

My next social media stop is Instagram, where my international classmates and study-abroad friends gather. It’s not just about liking their picturesque campus shots; Instagram DM is our go-to for assignment planning and group discussions. This platform is indispensable in my daily routine—not just for academic collaborations but as a way to maintain social ties. Staying connected with academic peers is a form of emotional labor (Hochschild, 1983), an effort to nurture relationships that extend beyond the classroom.

XiaoHongShu: The Hope Labour Headquarters

Evenings are for XiaoHongShu (aka Little Red Book), my playground for hope labour (Duffy, 2017). Here, I carefully select trendy or eye-catching photos, retouch them to perfection, and add heartfelt captions. Sometimes, I even share personal reflections—study tips, life lessons, or moments of growth. T

hese posts often garner likes, saves, and the occasional DM, giving me a fleeting sense of “micro-influencer” status. But let’s be real: XiaoHongShu is the real winner here. Every post I upload contributes to their reservoir of user-generated content (UGC), which drives ad revenue. Meanwhile, my “reward” is limited to virtual hearts and strangers’ kind words (Cohen, 2013).

Platform Exploitation: The Invisible Workforce Behind the Screen

Here’s the harsh truth: every click, like, and post I make isn’t just a casual act—it’s labor. Enter Smythe’s concept of audience commodity. He explains that as users, we’re not just consuming content; we’re being consumed. Advertisers pay for our attention, and platforms like WeChat, Instagram, and XiaoHongShu use sophisticated algorithms to monetize it (Smythe, 2006). My time, energy, and emotions feed their profits, yet I see none of the economic benefits.

Cohen’s idea of double commodification hits even harder. My photos are both a product to attract other users and a source of value for the platform. I spend hours editing, curating, and crafting the perfect post, only to receive intangible rewards—likes, comments, and fleeting validation (Cohen, 2013).

Is It Worth It?

“Why complain? Posting is voluntary, right?” some might say. But here’s the kicker: every action I take on these platforms is part of their value chain. Sharing photos, engaging with comments—these aren’t just social gestures; they’re driven by a digital-age culture of validation and recognition. Terranova’s free labour theory perfectly describes this phenomenon: my contributions are voluntary yet deeply embedded in the platform’s economic ecosystem (Terranova, 2004).

But let’s not paint it all doom and gloom. These platforms do provide convenience and joy. Through WeChat, I stay closely connected with my family; Instagram helps me collaborate and socialize with peers; and XiaoHongShu fulfills my desire to create and share. While my digital labor is undoubtedly capitalized, it’s not without its perks.

Don’t Lose the Fun

Reflecting on my daily routine, I realize I’ve become a “model worker” in the digital age—always online, tirelessly contributing to the content economy. My likes, comments, and posts shape my social reality, but they also fuel the platforms’ profit engines.

Am I adequately rewarded for my labor? Honestly, probably not. My efforts translate into ad revenue and user data for platforms, while I gain little more than emotional satisfaction and a sense of connection. This realization calls for a more critical approach to how we engage with social media. As platforms increasingly commodify our lives, it’s worth asking: are we making intentional choices, or are we just following the algorithmic tide?

Next steps? Maybe it’s time to manage my online presence more mindfully—investing energy in content that offers tangible benefits, like potential collaborations with brands (Duffy, 2017). Or maybe it’s as simple as enjoying the act of sharing without obsessing over the “like KPI.”

Because at the end of the day, the joy of being a digital “worker” doesn’t come from the platforms. It comes from you.