Chasing followers, losing identity? Disturbing truth behind social media influencer Misha Agrawal’s suicide

Dubai: She dreamed of one million followers. She made it her phone wallpaper. She poured her heart, energy, and every carefully styled post into getting there. But when her Instagram follower count reportedly began to drop, so did her sense of self-worth.

And on April 24 — just days before her 25th birthday — Misha Agrawal died by suicide.

Her family later shared that Misha had become “distraught” and felt “worthless.” The number she once worshipped started to betray her, and she believed her career was over. This wasn’t just a crisis of content — it was a crisis of identity. And heartbreakingly, she didn’t survive it.

Which brings us to the question none of us really want to answer: When did losing followers become a reason to lose your life?

We live in a world where your worth can feel tied to your metrics. Where “likes” are treated as love, and “engagement” is mistaken for emotional connection.

For creators — especially young women and men navigating a digital world that constantly moves the goalposts — the pressure is relentless. One bad algorithm day and you start to wonder if you're irrelevant. If you're done. If you're nothing.

Let’s get real: Misha's tragedy isn’t about vanity. It's about a system — and a culture — that confuses visibility with value. She wasn’t “just an influencer.” She was a law graduate, a dreamer, a sister, and a daughter. But somehow, the drop in followers drowned all of that out.

And this isn’t the first time that the hunt for social media validation has turned deadly. Over the past few years, we've seen countless cases of travel bloggers, thrill-seekers, and influencers risking — and losing — their lives for that one perfect shot.

Hanging off cliffs, dangling from skyscrapers, or posing on ledges with zero safety — all in the name of engagement. Likes. Visibility. Some have fallen to their deaths. Others have been seriously injured. All for a fleeting moment of digital glory. The stakes have never been higher — and the pressure never more toxic.

When I interviewed actor Babil Khan recently for his film Log Out—a psychological thriller that tackles digital addiction—his words stayed with me.

“It’s about how an individual sacrifices self-love for external validation,” he told me. “They start believing their identity is the image shaped by other people’s opinions. When that happens, the spark of the soul dies. And when the spark dies, empathy dies too.”

Isn’t that what happened to Misha?

She wasn’t vain or superficial. She was a young woman who, like so many others, had tied her identity to a number. To being seen. To being ‘liked’. And when the algorithm turned its back on her, she felt invisible.

What Babil pointed out is chilling but accurate: “Once we start defining ourselves through that lens, we begin to lose the parts of us that are truly ours.” That’s when the danger creeps in.

Let’s be clear: this isn’t about demonizing social media. It’s about facing the uncomfortable truth that we’ve turned platforms into lifelines, and clout into currency. When a creator’s sense of self hinges on engagement stats, a dip feels like collapse. That’s not drama. That’s real damage.

We need to talk about this. Not just mourn and move on.

So let this sink in: followers are not fans, and likes are not lifelines.

To the platforms, the followers, and yes — even us in the media — it's time to ask what role we're playing in fuelling this facade. It’s time to stop romanticising hustle culture and start normalising emotional safety, digital boundaries, and self-worth that isn’t built on a swipe.

The truth is Misha and others who were chasing likes and fans on virtual media should never have felt like a number or a social media statistic. In many ways, did we fuel that culture of validation through clicks and follows? The answers are not pretty.

Misha deserved more than metrics. And so do the rest of us.