Post-Truth in the Age of Clickbait

Journalism’s Identity Crisis and How Engagement Metrics is Distorting Public Discourse

The controversial phenomenon of ‘clickbait’ has been described variously as harmless, a nuisance, a clever marketing strategy, eye-catching, misleading, and psychologically harmful—and it’s all of these and more.

The term ‘clickbait’ first gained prominence in the early 2000s, as marketers and advertisers recognised an opportunity to reach millions of consumers through outrageous product claims designed to boost impulse purchases. By 2015, the American Democratic and Republican political parties had also discovered how they could benefit. Politics, of course, has long been familiar with manipulation; however, there is growing unease within the media that the post-truth judgements of the general public—conceptions of fact and fiction, truth and lies, right and wrong in our societies—are not only being obscured but eroded, leading to decisions driven largely by emotion and fear, which in turn leaves many feeling utterly vulnerable.

Many believe that the origins of ‘clickbait’ and ‘fake news’ can be traced to America’s President Donald Trump, particularly through his frequent use of the phrase ‘fake news’ during his campaign rallies and subsequent presidency, as Nicholas Kristof described as “lies in the guise of news, in the Trump era.” However, over 2,000 years ago, when Octavian, Julius Caesar’s son, and the highly respected Mark Antony clashed over who should rule the Roman Empire, Octavian, recognising he could not win through military might alone, sought to tarnish Antony’s reputation. Using images of Antony drunk or with the Egyptian Queen Cleopatra in compromising situations stamped on coins and distributing derogatory poetry on parchment and animal skins, Octavian convinced the Roman citizens that Antony was morally and socially unfit to govern—ultimately establishing himself as the first Emperor.

Clickbait, then, standing alongside fake news, is a phenomenon that thrives on our innate curiosity about the worst aspects of our heroes, villains, and especially our politicians.

It relates to a process of socialisation, or perhaps democratization, that appears to accept fake news as an unavoidable feature of modern life—much like our general tolerance for what some term the ‘journalistic’ industry, which increasingly presents fake news as clickbait that plays upon human nature at its least palatable. Sabrina Tavernise of The New York Times poignantly writes, “As fake news spreads lies, more readers shrug at the truth,” and that, regrettably, rings all too true.

Since the advent of the World Wide Web, there have always been unreliable websites; however, they typically struggled to survive due to their unreliability, poor reviews, and limited resilience. The monetisation of online news, especially in politics, has fuelled an entirely new industry—where engagement metrics have soared, and the resulting global encouragement and finance for morally questionable, ‘illegitimate’ journalism have rewarded sensationalist, tawdry, and salacious headlines—the epitome of clickbait—by the advertising sector and by hyper-partisan blogs unbound by the ethics of genuine journalism.

Latest available statistics from 2024 show that nearly 60% of internet users express concern about their ability to distinguish between real and fake news online, up from 56% the previous year—amounting to nearly 5 billion respondents across all age groups. Statista.com, based on recent data from Amy Watson, found that 30% of the UK population believe the national news actively attempts to persuade, influence, or mislead their political opinions, while surveys by Intuit Research and Norstat indicated widespread suspicion that political parties are spreading fake news. Most voters express distrust towards social media platforms, a concern that Dan Tynan addressed in The Guardian, criticising how “Facebook powers money-machines for obscure political websites.”

Public discourse—the very foundation of discussion, debate, and robust argument vital for making informed political decisions—stands compromised if we cannot trust what we’re told. Politics, driven by pragmatic interests, may not care about right or wrong—those values bend like willows in the wind—yet, ideally, politicians should be accountable for their words. Personal experience teaches us that once we discover we have been lied to by someone we trusted, we view them differently; after two or three lies, we tend to distance ourselves entirely. We need honesty in politics; otherwise, democracy itself falters—and we should remember the countless lives lost in its name.

And what of journalism? Does it face an identity crisis? Most certainly—and largely of its own making. Veterans of the newspaper industry have observed that over the past three decades, cutbacks have reduced opportunities for young journalists to grow alongside mentors. Media mergers have led to closures and fewer jobs. The harshest critique, however, must be directed at the television sector, which has shifted focus towards image-driven, celebrity-based programmes and presenters at the expense of seasoned journalists. Former athletes, film stars, and politicians now adorn our screens 24/7, often as vacuous personalities rather than serious journalists. The traditional media relies heavily on advertising revenue, but can it truly avoid the influence of fake news? Could it be accepting money from sources that compromise its integrity, or is that already happening? Perhaps it’s a crisis of morality rather than identity.

Luci Pangrazio of Deakin University, Australia, highlighted in 2018 that Veles, a small city in Macedonia, was home to over 100 American political websites—genuine evidence that if the profession was truly committed to its core identity, it would investigate such phenomena thoroughly. The question remains: if the media took its role seriously, wouldn’t it scrutinise these networks more critically? The mere suspicion underscores how urgent and complex the issue is—one that demands reflection and action.