1. The Fitness Fanatic
It starts with one kettlebell. Then, it’s a pair of resistance bands. Next, your feed is a shrine to protein pancakes, foam rollers, and water bottles the size of small toddlers.
They consume before-and-after videos like it’s a Netflix documentary. They know their macros, their resting heart rate, and the best aisle in Aldi for high-protein yoghurt.
Culturally, this person used to be that one lad in the gym who grunted too loudly. Now they’re digital. And somehow more relentless. Science backs it up, too.
A University of Limerick study found that posting about fitness can increase motivation because it holds you accountable to your followers.
In April 2021, they launched a social media campaign promoting exercise to reduce exam stress.
Featuring 12 staff and students (the “Dirty Dozen”), it encouraged daily activity through an Instagram guessing game and educational video, using the slogan “Healthy Body, Healthy Mind”.
The Fitness Fanatic is not here to mess around. They’re lifting weights, logging steps, and possibly judging you silently through your Smartwatch.
I don’t know who needs to hear this, but no one’s real life looks like their Instagram grid, except maybe the Lifestyle Curator.
These are the people who can make an oat milk flat white look like a Renaissance painting. They post morning rituals, bath trays, cloud-shaped pillows, and captions like “found this little moment of stillness today”.
Lifestyle Curators are digital decorators. They consume videos of fridge restocks, minimalist wardrobes, and Zara haul try-ons.
They know how to fold a fitted sheet. They treat lighting like it’s a religion.
Science-wise, it turns out people are more likely to follow those who portray an “idealised version” of life — which is just a fancy way of saying we all like looking at clean surfaces we’ll never have.
If you’re this person, embrace it — but don’t let it keep you up at night over your aesthetic. The rest of us are watching you while eating curry chips in bed off our chest.
They don’t post family photos. They don’t share their workouts.
But they will send you a meme of a dog dressed as a priest with the caption “bless up” at 11.52pm on a Tuesday. And honestly? That’s the kind of friendship we need.
Meme Dealers are cultural lifelines. They consume everything funny — from stand-up clips to niche Irish Twitter accounts.
It’s like being in a WhatsApp group with a hyperactive jukebox.
“Lol, this is you.” “Had to.” “Watch to the end.”
Sociologists argue meme sharing is our generation’s version of passing notes in class. It’s how we bond.
And how we say “I’m thinking of you” without the awkwardness of actual feelings.
We’ve all got a bit of this in us. I once commented on a post about dishwashers to say, “Honestly, you should rinse first.” I was in a mood. I regret nothing.
Culturally, this is the spiritual descendent of the lad who used to call Lifeline twice a week. Psychologically, these users get a hit of dopamine from feeling heard.
Or from stirring the pot. Or from being right — which they always are. Just ask them. If you’re this user, a tip: count to ten before you press “post”.
And remember: no one has ever changed their mind because of a comment under a video of a dog dancing.
You may be exhausting, but your unfiltered honesty keeps things spicy. Social media without you would just be brunch photos and cat-playing piano reels.
This is where I live.
My feed is 30% old Irish maps, 40% clips of people opening crisp packets from the 1990s, and the rest consists of niche accounts like Abandoned Roundabouts of Ireland and Things Found in Walls.
The Niche Enthusiast has found their tribe. They don’t want followers. They want fellow obsessives.
Whether it’s buses, ancient roads, mid-century curtain fabric or GAA match programmes — these people are deep in the digital wormhole, and they love it.
They consume YouTube explainers, subreddits with 47 members, and videos like “10 things you missed in Dallas Episode 312”.
They tag you in things you didn’t know you needed — “Did you know there was a county Donegal GAA jersey with a collar in 1986?!” No. But I’m glad you exist.
Culturally, they’re the people you want on your table at a wedding. Especially after three pints. Experts refer to this as “micro-community content.” I call it “finally being seen”.
If you’re this user, post your obsession. There’s someone out there who also wants to discuss the typography of 1970s Esso Tiger Tokens.
- Flexing and tagging their gym gear brand in every mirror.
- Turning a cappuccino into a cinematic masterpiece.
- Healing the world one ridiculous clip at a time.
- Armed with strong opinions and a Wi-Fi connection.
- Deep in the folklore of butter and 1980’s Japanese Car Imports.
Or — more likely — you’re a glorious cocktail of all five. Whatever you are, just know this: your algorithm learns more about you than your own parents.
