👁 Smile for the Algorithm

a soft-spoken siren song for the surveillance age

Jul 17, 2025

She wore resistance like a charm and laced her dissent in metaphor—

They told us to smile for the camera.
So we did.
And now the camera smiles back.

But it’s not a flashbulb anymore—it’s a retina scan.
It’s a front-facing lens tucked in our pockets.
It’s a filter that studies your jawline and sells your dopamine.

We’ve entered the age of Beautiful Surveillance—
where even rebellion is a performance,
and the algorithm is the audience.

🕵️‍♀️ Resistance is now...aesthetic

We no longer burn manifestos in the street.
We pin QR codes in our irises.
We lace propaganda in poetry.
We dress like glitching ghosts of the internet’s subconscious.

Because in a world addicted to scrolling,
the only way to say “No” loud enough is to make it go viral.

So we make subversion look good.
We weaponize lipstick.
We whisper whistleblower truths into ring lights.
We publish resistance under pen names and post times.
We turn performance into prophecy.

This isn’t selling out.
It’s survival.
It’s code-switching for the revolution.

📸 The Performance of Being Watched

The camera is always on now.
But here’s the trick:
when you know you’re being watched,
you can choose how to perform.

And that’s what they never accounted for.

They thought surveillance would silence us—
but it just made us more theatrical.
It turned poets into performers.
Writers into strategists.
Viewers into witnesses.

You’re not just here for the content.
You’re part of the choreography.

So strike a pose.
Say what needs to be said.
Smile—not because you're obedient.
But because you understand the game.

🧠 Substack isn’t Social Media; it’s the Hallway Behind the Bookshelf.

This place?
It’s not for clout.
It’s not for algorithms.
It’s for the archives.
For the whisper network.
For the literary underground that still believes words can cause wildfires.

I don’t write for applause.
I write because silence is suspicious.
Because I was raised to smile sweetly—
but never forget the exits.

And when the history books are rewritten
(you know they will be),
I want my name on record
as someone who refused to blink.

🕯️ The Revolution is Branded. But it’s Still Real.

So here’s your souvenir:
A pin with a watchful eye.
A phrase meant to linger in your chest.
A smile that doesn’t mean surrender.
A little literary landmine labeled:

Smile for the Algorithm.

And when they ask what it means,
don’t tell them.
Just hand them the QR code
and say,
“Keep watching.”

Say “cheese” — the algorithm’s hungry,

—Rebecca M. Bell

The Bell Rings 🔔

P.S.
I blinked when you logged on.
Felt your cursor hover.
You're not alone—
the mirror's brother.
If you’re reading this,
it already knows.
Smile wide, love.
That’s how the story goes