We are being watched—not by force, but by design. Not through open doors, but through open apps. Each of us has become the central character of a performance we willingly stage, feeding the machine with every click, scroll, and post. We hand over our data to personalize our experience, to make the algorithms feel more “relevant,” until we can no longer tell whether we’re controlling them—or they’re controlling us. We offer up our photos, birthdays, locations, preferences, politics, class, and careers. All of it is processed and refined to build platforms that captivate us endlessly, while subtly urging us to buy more, consume more, and want more. No matter what tragedy unfolds in the world, or who rises to power, violence becomes a meme, political debates are clickbates, and causes are reduced to logos printed on $20 t-shirts. Most crucially, there is always something to distract us… What are we being distracted from?
George Orwell’s 1984, written in 1948, paints a grim picture of a totalitarian regime where Big Brother watches every move, truth is manipulated, and language is weaponized through Newspeak—a deliberately limited language designed to restrict thought and eliminate dissent. In this world, fear is the primary mechanism of control. Citizens live under constant surveillance, and even their thoughts are policed.
One of Orwell’s most chilling inventions is the telescreen—a device that broadcasts propaganda while simultaneously watching and listening to citizens. Installed in every home and public space, the telescreen cannot be turned off, serving as a constant reminder that the Party is always watching. It doesn’t just record people’s actions—it conditions them to act as if they are always being observed, creating a society where privacy is extinguished, and obedience is automatic.
When 1984 failed to materialize by its named year, many breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that the roots of “liberal democracy” had held, and Americans congratulated themselves for escaping Orwell’s nightmare. But that same reflection pointed out that we may have ignored a more insidious prophecy: the one offered by Huxley in his book Brave New World, written in 1931. While Orwell warned us of external tyranny, Huxley warned of internal decay—of a world where people love the very things that enslave them.
Orwell feared a world where books would be banned; Huxley feared a world where no one would care to read them. Orwell foresaw a society deprived of information; Huxley foresaw one overwhelmed by it—so much so that truth would drown in a sea of irrelevance. In Orwell’s world, people are broken by pain; in Huxley’s, they are seduced by pleasure. Orwell feared what we hate would ruin us. Huxley feared what we love would.
Following the 2016 U.S. election, Orwell’s 1984 experienced a dramatic resurgence, quickly topping bestseller lists. For many, the election of Donald Trump and the rise of “alternative facts” felt disturbingly Orwellian. The administration’s open hostility toward the press, the use of misinformation, and the promotion of conspiracy theories mirrored Orwell’s depiction of a regime that insists “whatever the Party holds to be truth is truth.”
Today, the concept of two-way surveillance feels eerily familiar. Amazon’s Alexa, Google, Facebook, and other smart devices are “always listening,” collecting vast amounts of personal data under the guise of personalization and efficiency. We’ve invited surveillance into our homes—not under duress, but voluntarily.
Even the concept of an elite Inner Party, representing 2% of the population enjoying total control, eerily echoes modern concerns about the disproportionate power of the ultra-wealthy “1%”.
But as critics of Orwell have pointed out, 1984 reflects a bygone fear rooted in the Cold War era. Today’s anxieties are less about violent repression and more about numbing distraction. That’s where Huxley’s Brave New World seems uncannily prophetic.
Modern life increasingly mirrors Huxley’s vision of a shallow, consumerist society. Casual sex, instant entertainment, and the worship of convenience have become cornerstones of our digital age. We now have pills for happiness, apps for dating, and virtual realities to escape from the burdens of actual reality. In Brave New World, citizens routinely consume soma, a state-sanctioned drug that numbs pain and ensures compliance—a chemical escape from discomfort or dissent. Today, while we may not take soma by name, we are heavily medicated, distracted, and sedated in other ways. From antidepressants and anti-anxiety medications to mindless scrolling and digital dopamine hits, our own forms of self-medication are widespread and often encouraged. Social media encourages constant self-gratification and superficial engagement, much like the “feelies” and “orgy-porgies” that Huxley imagined.
Perhaps most chilling is the parallel between Huxley’s genetically engineered caste system and today’s rapid advancements in gene-editing technologies. While we haven’t reached the point of designer babies or biological class divisions, developments like CRISPR and the biotech ambitions of Silicon Valley hint at a future where the wealthy might extend their lives or enhance their children’s intelligence—creating, perhaps, a new super-class not unlike Huxley’s Alphas and Betas.
So, which dystopia do we live in today?
The answer may lie somewhere in the uneasy space between the two. Elements of Orwell’s vision still persist, particularly in authoritarian regimes, state surveillance, and disinformation campaigns. But for much of the Western world, it’s Huxley’s warnings that feel more urgent. We’re not being beaten into submission—we’re scrolling ourselves into passivity. We’re not afraid to speak—we’re too distracted to care. Civil liberties haven’t been taken from us by force; we’ve traded them for convenience, novelty, and dopamine hits.
In Brave New World Revisited, Huxley remarked on humanity’s “almost infinite appetite for distractions,” a line that rings truer today than ever before. The tools of control have evolved. They no longer wear the uniform of tyrants, but the sleek design of apps and algorithms, and society is ready to amuse itself to death.
In the end, Orwell and Huxley weren’t warning us about two separate futures, they were sketching different sides of the same present. We scroll endlessly, feeding the systems that watch us, guide us, and sell to us. There is no need for a telescreen in every room, we’ve willingly placed one in every pocket. And we don’t need forced obedience when we readily give up our privacy, autonomy and attention for entertainment and ease. The danger is no longer a totalitarian regime, but in how eagerly we participate in giving up our freedom. Orwell feared those who would burn books; Huxley feared there would be no one left who wanted to read one. Today, as we curate our lives for invisible watchers and trade truth for trends, it’s clear: the dystopia we live in is not one or the other—it’s both, seamlessly blended into a digital performance we no longer know we’re giving.
