It is no longer surprising for Egyptians to film and share every detail of their daily lives on social media, from casual conversations and meals to gaming challenges, street pranks and other behind-the-scenes moments. These practices have become a repetitive routine—sometimes a ritual—driven by intertwined psychological, social and political motives.
The driving component of this phenomenon is the country's increasingly closed political climate, especially amid renewed crackdowns on content creators today. So, what exactly are Egyptians doing on social media, what are the drivers behind this digital deluge and why does the regime fear it?
The Daily Lives of Egyptians
The phrase, "Egyptians' obsession with the image," is neither a metaphor nor a critical prognostication. Rather, it is a lived reality. For a vast swath of the population, particularly those marginalized by political, religious and social structures, the smartphone has become a portal to make the invisible recognizable. These groups—what Italian philosopher Antonio Gramsci labels subalterns—have spent generations in the shadows.
These individuals present themselves—with their bodies, voices and lives—in pursuit of visibility and validation. Here, views are not merely numbers: They represent a currency in the struggle for recognition and dignity from the other. Thus, by garnering significant views, they endeavor to break free from the marginalized, shadowy spaces of Egyptian society and enter the visible, central space.
German philosopher Axel Honneth describes recognition as a fundamental human need. In Egypt, the public sphere of social media has become the new arena for struggle.
In a society steeped in authoritarian repression, even mild political expression carries real risk. Issues like impoverishment—driven by President Abdel Fattah El-Sisi's economic policies—are avoided altogether, replaced by adjacent issues pertinent to Egyptian society.
- Ahmed Abdelhalim
But beyond the pursuit of recognition lies another, more sobering truth: Most content creators lack the knowledge and cultural capital necessary to draw upon for their viewers. In a society steeped in authoritarian repression, even mild political expression carries real risk. Issues like impoverishment—driven by President Abdel Fattah El-Sisi's economic policies—are avoided altogether, replaced by adjacent issues pertinent to Egyptian society. For example, common topics in predominantly rural areas include betrayal, women's attire and inheritance theft, alongside other social dilemmas.
Narratives around meals have become central to storytelling in a nation gripped by economic strife but largely unable to discuss it. During the previous Ramadan, countless clips dramatized Iftar gatherings in this context, including stories of families hiding food or refusing to serve meat and chicken to visiting relatives due to financial hardship.
These moments reveal more than personal stinginess, highlighting how food security, amid the severe impoverishment afflicting society, has become a symbolic reflection of social anxiety and class stress. In many homes, meals have grown from mere sustenance to storytelling devices—mirrors of economic deprivation expressed as alternative, albeit indirect, forms of political activity.
The Shift in Class Struggle: From Politics to Technology
As such, financial gain is a core driver behind and a major component of content creation in Egypt. For many, social media is not just an outlet but a livelihood. Their videos, through views and advertisements, generate income, effectively transforming clips into stable employment.
Sometimes, the transition from digital visibility to mainstream success is swift. Television and film producers—particularly those creating Ramadan series—have begun recruiting social media stars. What initially surfaced as a survival tactic has evolved into a daily obligation towards a potential career path.
Many creators, previously excluded from stable employment or social mobility due to their marginalized positionality, now see content creation as a rare gateway to wealth and stability—long overdue compensation for the decades of impoverishment under Egypt's regimes.
On TikTok, the shift towards digital performance and consumption is most visible. Many Egyptians—particularly teenagers—spend considerable time engaging in "challenge" games. One notable figure is Omar Farag, a young man with special needs and a leading TikTok figure for his prank challenges.
Omar gained fame due to his light-heartedness and physical disability. In a different era, Omar's condition represented a concern for Egypt's political and social system, leading it to ensure a decent quality of life and healthcare. Now, individuals like Omar find recourse via technology.
Since the 2013 military coup and President Sisi's rise to power, Egypt's political sphere has been gutted. The ruling elite have stripped Egyptians of their political—and thus public—existence, leading Egyptians to find visibility elsewhere.
- Ahmed Abdelhalim
Through his online status, Omar earns a livable income. In this sense, technology has replaced politics as a medium for existence, challenge and struggle. More accurately, it offers a convenient route to obtain what the state is ostensibly obligated, but has failed, to provide.
Technology has become a new arena for conflict, replacing politics. The risks are lower as denizens are no longer challenging the authorities and their political system. But the stakes are equally, if not more, important and personal. As French philosopher Michel Lacroix outlines: "Since the world does not grant me the opportunity to influence it, all that remains for me is to exercise my abilities on myself." In this sense, Egyptian youth are channeling their frustrations inward, engaging in self-focused challenges rather than confrontations with power.
When Political and Cultural Emptiness Become Ideology
Since the 2013 military coup and President Sisi's rise to power, Egypt's political sphere has been gutted. The ruling elite have stripped Egyptians of their political—and thus public—existence, leading Egyptians to find visibility elsewhere.
As such, Egyptians represent both their lives and the lives of others on camera. Prank shows platform acts of humiliation and violence towards strangers, exploiting their exhaustion and vulnerability for laughs that produce profit. These videos are not beatings or any incident of state repression. They are acts of social violence performed by fellow citizens, often against Egypt's weakest.
It marks the beginning of a new kind of public degradation: humiliation for entertainment, filmed and broadcast in pursuit of likes, laughs and money. In a way, this indicates the beginning of a digital archive of societal cruelty, where the poor film the poor for survival.
The authoritarian hollowing of Egypt's political and cultural life due to Sisi's repression has created a vacuum. Into this vacuum flows a new kind of social interaction that is aesthetically rich but substantively empty. As French sociologist Gilles Lipovetsky argues, emptiness itself can become an ideology.
This dynamic is especially true of societies emerging from failed revolutions and protracted wars, like Egypt, Syria and Lebanon. Exhausted by despotism, failed uprisings and prolonged instability, these societies search for identity in other realms: consumption, performance and individual achievement.
In this context of robbed political life, even absurd content becomes meaningful. It offers a kind of self-assertion, however hollow. And in the fragmented economy of social media attention, any performance—no matter how trivial—becomes a bid for existence and a voice.
The State Strikes Back
This month, Egyptian security forces launched a systematic campaign of arrests targeting content creators on social media platforms—most notably TikTok. As in past campaigns, charges included "violating Egyptian family values" and sharing "inappropriate content." But this time, the scale appears larger and more systematic.
The campaign reflects a deliberate regime strategy to assert control over Egyptian bodies in the only public space they have left—the digital one. While the state cloaks its actions behind claims of "protecting family values" and preventing the spread of "inappropriate" content, the underlying truth is deeply political.
It is the regime—not society—that defines what is acceptable. It is the regime—not society—that controls all spaces for public discourse. It applies these rules selectively, targeting working and middle-class creators while sparing elites and those connected to power. Class and status remain the primary drivers of rights in Egypt today.
Thus, what we are witnessing is not a defense of morality, but the policing of the margins—the final frontier of individual expression for Egyptians and the latest supposed threat to those who fear them.
