A Pattern in "21 Observations"

I've been working on improving my writing lately, which has made me pay closer attention to word choice and structure in popular essays. When I read the viral piece "21 observations from people watching," something interesting jumped out.

At first glance, the essay seems balanced - mixing observations about human struggles with celebrations of openness and authenticity.

But as I read through it attentively, I'd notice "that's a strongly negative description" followed by "that's a mildly positive one". I was tallying words based on their emotional impact rather than just their literal meanings. This informal emotional accounting revealed a clear trend.

The negative observations outnumber positive ones roughly 2:1. More striking is the difference in descriptive language. When describing concerning behaviors, the author uses visceral, specific imagery: "feverish pitch," "desperate," "fractures," "cannot stand themselves." These phrases create immediate emotional responses.

The positive observations, by contrast, rely on more abstract language: "open," "elastic," "accepting." They're often defined by what they're not - people are praised for not being controlling, not being desperate, not being fractured.

This isn't necessarily intentional. Writers naturally gravitate toward what engages readers, and negative observations tend to generate more engagement. Positive observations about human warmth don't create the same personal urgency.

I have a theory about why this particular essay resonated so strongly. People aren't reading it for wisdom or insight - they're anxiously scanning it to see if their own flaws might be similarly visible. It's like reading a list of security vulnerabilities, desperately hoping your particular weakness isn't on it.

The evidence? This essay catapulted its author from around 100 to over 4,000 subscribers overnight. Product market fit.

Skeptical? Here's a thought experiment: Imagine the author wrote a follow-up with "21 Positive Observations from People Watching." Would it go equally viral?

The fact that we all know it wouldn't reveals the underlying dynamic. An essay about people being warm and kind isn't personally actionable. An essay cataloging potential social flaws, on the other hand? That's immediately useful. Like reading a list of security vulnerabilities, you scan it thinking: "Do I do this? Could people see this in me?" That personal utility drives engagement.

This dynamic shapes what we write and how we see the world. When negative observations are rewarded with engagement, we train ourselves to notice and articulate flaws more precisely than strengths.

None of this makes the original essay "bad." It's a well-crafted piece that resonated with thousands of readers. But understanding these patterns helps us think more clearly about the content we create and consume, and what incentive structures we're reinforcing.

My takeaway is personal: I've noticed that when I want to be heard, criticizing something reliably generates responses while praising it often yields silence. While writing this analysis, I realized I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of such scrutiny - having my behaviors cataloged and pathologized based on miniscule observations.

I'm left questioning my own instincts. If I get no reaction when I point out strengths but immediate engagement when I highlight problems, what am I unconsciously training myself to notice? And if that pattern repeats across thousands of interactions, across millions of people, what kind of collective attention are we cultivating? Not a question with an easy answer, but maybe one worth sitting with.