As a hobby, I’ve been perfecting various burger recipes. It both feeds us and gives me something to incrementally improve. Add fake internet points to the mix, and now I’m motivated to post photographs of my creations. The feedback and reinforcement these fake points provide are enough to keep me consistently taking those photos, and making those burgers. A little push can be good.
But here’s the thing about fake internet points: they work. Absurdly well. Here I am, a grown adult who builds software for a living, getting genuinely excited because 47 strangers clicked an arrow next to a photo of my latest smash burger creation. The dopamine hit is real, even when I know exactly what’s happening to my brain.
The push we actually need
There’s something powerful about that small incentive. My burger obsession existed before I started posting photos, but the points created a feedback loop that made me more consistent. Suddenly I was documenting every attempt, tweaking recipes based on comments, and actually improving faster because I had an audience.
This is fake internet points at their best: amplifying something you already care about. The points don’t create the passion—they just give it a gentle shove forward. They turn sporadic hobby time into regular practice. They make you document your progress instead of letting good ideas disappear into the ether of “I’ll remember that technique.”
The consistency matters. Before points, I’d make a great burger and forget exactly how I did it. Now I have a photo record, ingredient lists in the comments, and a progression you can actually see. The fake validation created real documentation.
When points meet tribalism
Of course, there’s a darker side to this whole system. Try talking about chicken burgers in a burger forum and you’ll quickly discover the tribal boundaries that form around these communities. The same point system that encourages my beef experiments will punish deviation from orthodox burger theology.
This is where fake internet points reveal their ugly cousin: fake internet rage. The same mechanism that rewards conformity will absolutely crush dissent. Make a perfectly good chicken sandwich, call it a burger, and watch the downvotes pour in. The points aren’t just measuring quality, they’re enforcing community standards, often in ways that have nothing to do with the actual craft.
It’s fascinating and disturbing how quickly you learn the unspoken rules. Post a burger with the bun upside down? Downvotes. Use pre-made patties? Downvotes. Suggest that a chicken sandwich might technically qualify as a type of burger? Holy shit, the downvotes.
The system that motivated me to improve also punishes experimentation that threatens group identity. That’s not a bug, it’s a feature. Points create in-groups and out-groups with mathematical precision.
The psychology behind the numbers
So why do these arbitrary numbers have such power over us? It comes down to some fairly predictable psychological quirks that social platforms exploit ruthlessly.
Intermittent reinforcement is the big one. You never know if this post will hit or miss, which creates the same addictive pattern as slot machines. That uncertainty makes each potential reward more powerful than guaranteed feedback ever could be.
Then there’s the quantification of social validation. Humans have always craved approval, but we’ve never been able to measure it so precisely. Instead of wondering “Do people like this?” we get exact numbers: 23 people liked it, 3 people loved it, 1 person thought it was worth sharing. Human approval reduced to arithmetic.
The micro-feedback loops are incredible too. Post burger → get points → adjust recipe → post again → get more points. Each cycle teaches you something about both cooking and the community. You start optimizing for engagement, often without realizing it.
The gaming inevitability
Here’s where things get messy. Once you understand what gets points, the temptation to optimize for points rather than quality becomes overwhelming. I’ve definitely posted photos of mediocre burgers because they had better lighting than my actually delicious experiments.
This is how we end up with content that’s engineered for engagement rather than value. The best burger might not photograph well. The most innovative technique might confuse people. The thoughtful explanation might be too long for people’s attention spans.
And then there’s the agent pollution. Bots farming karma, fake engagement, automated comments that sound almost human but miss the point entirely. The more successful these point systems become, the more they attract people trying to game them at scale. What started as authentic community interaction becomes polluted with artificial manipulation.
What actually keeps us coming back
But here’s the weird thing: despite all this manipulation, despite knowing exactly how these systems work, I still post my burger photos. And it’s not really about the points anymore.
Somewhere along the way, the fake internet points introduced me to real people who genuinely care about craft. The comments section became a place to learn techniques I’d never heard of. Someone mentioned using mayo instead of butter for the bun toast, and it changed my entire approach.
The intrinsic motivation took over. I’d be making burgers anyway; the points just helped me find a community of people who appreciate the obsessive attention to detail that goes into a perfect smash burger. The gamification got me in the door, but the actual learning and human connection kept me around.
This is the paradox of shallow depth: systems designed for quick engagement can accidentally create lasting value. The points are training wheels for deeper interests.
Living with the system
Understanding the manipulation doesn’t ruin it, it just lets you play more consciously. I still check my upvotes, but I’ve learned to shield myself from the fake internet rage. When someone gets irrationally angry about my chicken burger post, I remember it says more about community boundaries than my actual cooking.
The key is recognizing when you’re optimizing for points versus optimizing for the thing you actually care about. Sometimes those align, sometimes they don’t. The trick is knowing the difference.
Points can motivate consistency, document progress, and connect you with like-minded obsessives. But they’re a means, not an end. The real value emerges in the conversations, the techniques you learn, and the gradual improvement of your actual craft.
I still post my burger photos, and I still check the likes. But somewhere along the way, the points became less important than perfecting that smash technique and connecting with fellow burger nerds. The fake internet points got me in the door, everything else keeps me in the kitchen.