At the park, somewhere between scraped knees, snack negotiations, and gentle parenting on the brink, I spoke with Lalli — an American who grew up in Australia, a playwright, a mother trying her best to raise a kind son in a brutal world. Bucket hat, no soda, no dyes, just homemade sourdough and a heart full of intention. She called herself a “run-of-the-mill Luddite,” skeptical of social media, wondering aloud when the world might finally move on from it.
I didn’t argue. She’s beautiful in her striving. But I couldn’t help but think — I’m the one who can’t look away.
Every moment feels like a post. Every quiet conversation feels like a thread waiting to be pulled. Not because I crave attention. Because I see value.
In the quiet.
In the innocuous.
In the 3%.
You see, political scientist Erica Chenoweth found that if just 3.5% of a population actively commits to a cause, nonviolent movements can succeed. It doesn’t take a tidal wave — just a shift in current. Just a few of us walking another way. Just enough of us refusing to play by broken rules.
And that’s why I keep writing, posting, painting, sculpting — pouring truth into every handmade charm and resin-sealed canvas. Because I believe in the ripple. I believe in the tiny revolutions that start at park benches and backyards and bus stops. I believe that small talk is never small when it’s rooted in truth.
Lalli wants to disconnect from the algorithm. I want to hack it — flip it, subvert it, use it to whisper louder.
Because what are we supposed to do when the world keeps saying it’s fine — as long as you stay soft, stay grateful, stay quiet? Even when women are still being erased, dismissed, or told they’ve already won when they’re barely surviving?
I had a client — a white woman in her 60s — tell me after my art show that her husband was shocked by my message about female empowerment. “Why do women even need empowerment?” he asked. She agreed. She said she always felt equal.
She also stayed home. Took antidepressants. Still does. And lives in books.
That’s not equality. That’s sedation.
That’s surviving a system by going quiet inside it.
And I don’t want that kind of peace.
I want a world where our stories are not only heard — but felt. Where women don’t need to package their pain in pastels to be palatable.
Where a mother can raise a son with love, sourdough and truth — and not have to bow to an algorithm or a billionaire or a hedge fund just to be seen.
So no, I don’t want a world without social media.
I want a world where it doesn’t own us. Where we use it like a chisel — to carve out our 3.5%.
To build something truer.
And maybe — just maybe — if we keep telling the truth in the small moments, in the pushes on swings and the pauses between scuffles, we’ll reach that tipping point.
And when we do, the whole damn system will shift — and maybe, just maybe, my beauty-pageant dream of a world where every human gets to live as a whole human won’t feel so far away.
Because like Depeche Mode said — everything counts in large amounts.
And in this case?
Small amounts, too.
MaryElizabeth Olsen
Valencia
