From FOMO to FOPO
We’ve all heard of FOMO—that anxious itch that someone else is living a better life than you. But now, FOPO has entered the chat: Fear of People’s Opinions. And unlike FOMO, this one doesn’t just nudge your weekend plans—it rewires how you speak, dress, work, post, love, and sometimes… who you become.
Take Ayesha, 29, a marketing executive who recently spiralled over a routine pitch deck. Not because of the workload—she’s handled far worse—but because of the anticipation. Years ago in college, a professor shredded her presentation in front of a packed class. One humiliating moment, and her brain bookmarked public judgement as danger. Ever since, the stakes have shifted. Fonts, colours, phrasing, stats—nothing escapes scrutiny. “What if they think I’m not smart enough? Or too opinionated? What if they see me as incompetent?” she asks. Her colleagues see someone polished and prepared. They don’t see the mental gymnastics behind the scenes—the self-censorship, the second-guessing, the exhaustion.
FOPO doesn’t stop at boardrooms. It follows people into brunches, breakups, family dinners, and Instagram captions. Ayesha won’t post a joke without running it through a friend or two. She edits her personality like a brand asset—not too loud, not too soft, not too much. Like many, she’s become fluent in social moderation.
Psychiatrist Dr Harbandna Sawhney puts it bluntly: “In early human tribes, belonging meant survival. Rejection meant exile. Exile meant death.” The brain hasn’t updated its software just because our predators wear suits and carry feedback forms. The amygdala still scans for social threats. Cortisol spikes. Serotonin dips. Dopamine chases praise like tiny applause.
If Ayesha’s FOPO shows up at work, Rishabh’s shows up online. The 21-year-old design student isn’t even a content creator, but one reel can take six drafts, three edits, and group polls for approval. “Does this look too try-hard?” is his recurring philosophy question. He submits only what he thinks professors or peers will approve. “I don’t even know what my real aesthetic is anymore,” he admits.
Prachi Saxena, Clinical Psychologist and co-founder of ‘The Emotional Wellness Initiatives’, FOPO isn’t always loud and obvious. “You’ll often see it as people-pleasing, constant agreement, or switching personas depending on company,” she explains. People start mirroring others—copying fashion, habits, even opinions—without pausing to ask: Is this really me? Saxena calls it “social shape-shifting.”
Gen Z and millennials have it even harder. Older generations feared family judgment, neighbours, and aunties. Younger ones fear being cringe, cancelled, irrelevant, or—the worst sin of all—uninteresting. FOPO isn’t purely psychological either. Chronic stress affects sleep, digestion, skin, mood, and eventually funnels into anxiety, depression, and burnout. Perfectionism, impostor syndrome, trauma—FOPO loves to braid itself into all of them.
But here’s the twist: FOPO isn’t all bad. A little FOPO keeps society functioning. It makes us considerate, empathetic, bearable. The problem starts when FOPO stops regulating behaviour and starts deciding identity. When it overrides values. When saying “no” feels unsafe. When life becomes a performance for an imaginary panel of critics.
Mindfulness coach Udit Bothra offers a counter: “Mindfulness creates separation. You stop reacting from insecurity and start responding with intention.” But he warns against turning spirituality into a new approval contest. “If you replace societal validation with spiritual validation, you’re still outsourcing your worth.”
Therapies like CBT and ACT help people unhook from mental narratives and re-anchor to their own values—not the audience’s. Because the truth no one tells you is this: Most people are too busy worrying about how they’re perceived to care that deeply about how you are.
And even when they do care—should that decide who you are?
So the next time you catch yourself asking, “Do they like me?” try Ayesha’s new replacement question: “Do I like me?” That’s the shift. That’s the exit ramp. That’s when FOPO loses its grip.