The Hunger for the World: Why We So Desperately Want to Belong

By Pedram Zolgadri

The Hunger for the World: Why We So Desperately Want to Belong

A long-form essay on primal fears, neurobiology, the “Like” machine, and the art of true belonging.

Reading time: approx. 25–30 minutes

Prologue: The Bones of Shanidar and the Smile We Don’t Mean

45,000 years ago, a man lived in a cave in what is now northern Iraq. When archaeologists unearthed his bones from the sediment of Shanidar Cave in the 1950s, they were faced with a medical mystery: His right arm had been paralyzed and atrophied since his youth, one eye was presumably blind, his skull showed severe injuries, and one of his legs was so severely deformed that he could barely walk on his own. This man could neither throw spears nor hunt mammoths. He could not flee from predators and could not contribute to the arduous task of gathering food.

And yet, by the standards of his time, he lived to a very old age.

The researchers named him Shanidar 1 —or simply Nandy . The bone analyses revealed an astonishing story: All of his severe injuries had healed completely. This means that his clan fed him, kept him warm, protected him, and cared for him for years, perhaps even decades. Nandy didn’t survive through physical strength or efficiency. Nandy survived because he was loved. Because he belonged.

Let’s jump 45,000 years forward to the present. It’s two in the morning. The bedroom is dark; only the cold, bluish light of a smartphone screen illuminates a restless face. A thumb swipes mechanically across the glass. Images of perfectly arranged plates, vacation beaches, toned bodies, and other people’s successes flash by. Beneath one of my own photos is a small red number. When it goes up, my chest relaxes for a fleeting moment. When it stagnates, something tightens inside.

We know this everyday life. We sit in groups and laugh at jokes we actually find tasteless. We eat food that’s bland or tough, and when asked how it tastes, we respond with a warm, eager nod: “Really delicious, thank you very much!” We squeeze into clothes that pinch, endure shoes that give us blisters, and submit to fashions, rituals, and expectations. Underneath it all, the same quiet question runs incessantly like an operating system in the background: Am I popular? Am I liked? Do they like me?

Why do we do this? Why do we subject ourselves to this endless, exhausting treadmill of pretense, conformity, and embarrassment?

The answer doesn’t begin with Instagram, TikTok, or the algorithms of the 21st century. It begins in the deepest layers of our biology, in the wiring of our brains, and in a relentless survival contract that evolution drew up hundreds of thousands of years ago—and which our nervous system has never terminated.

1. The Wound in the Scanner: The Biology of Rejection

It is a widespread misconception in our modern, individualistic culture to believe that the human instinct for self-preservation is a purely private matter. We’re led to believe that we are independent monads capable of navigating life on our own. But neuroscience paints a very different picture: The sheer will to live—the very joy of existence itself—arises in the human brain only when very specific social motivational systems are active. We are not biologically wired to be loners.

To understand why rejection affects us so deeply, we must look back to the year 2003. Psychologist Naomi Eisenberger placed test subjects in a functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI) scanner and had them play a seemingly harmless computer game called Cyberball . On the screen, three animated characters passed a ball back and forth. After a while, the two computer-controlled teammates turned away and began passing the ball only to each other. The test subject was excluded. No argument, no insult—just a virtual ball that stopped coming.

What the brain scanners recorded shocked the research community: At the moment of exclusion, the dorsal anterior cingulate cortex lit up—exactly the region of the brain that also fires in response to physical pain, such as a burn or a broken bone. Meta-analyses conducted in the years that followed, involving tens of thousands of participants, relentlessly confirmed this finding: Biologically, the brain makes no distinction between a physical injury and social rejection.

From a biological perspective, the experience of exclusion is identical to a physical attack. As soon as we sense that our group’s support is wavering, the body shuts down the parasympathetic nervous system—the part responsible for relaxation, digestion, and healing. At the same time, the sympathetic nervous system kicks into high gear: stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline flood the bloodstream, blood pressure rises, and the heart races. Biologically, this means: Red alert! Fight back! Do whatever it takes to avert exclusion! Fight your way back into the horde’s good graces!

If we remain in this state of perceived isolation for too long, this chronic stress eats away at us from the inside. Epidemiologist Julianne Holt-Lunstad has shown that chronic loneliness and social isolation increase the risk of mortality to the same extent as smoking 15 cigarettes a day. It is more harmful than being overweight and more dangerous than a life without any exercise. Social rejection weakens the immune system down to the cellular level. The reason for this is quite simple: A person alone was not a hunter on the savanna—he was prey. Anyone who lost the pack was dead within a few days.

2. The Herd in Suits: From Public Shaming to Group Chats

Now, one might object: We haven’t lived in the Pleistocene for a long time. We no longer have to fend off saber-toothed tigers with spears. When we’re hungry, we go to the supermarket; when we’re cold, we turn up the heat. So shouldn’t the fear of being unpopular be an outdated, useless remnant—as superfluous as wisdom teeth or the tailbone?

Reality shows the opposite: We have left the savanna, but the horde has never left us. Humanity has always understood the lethality of exclusion and has shaped it into its sharpest weapon.

In ancient Athens, the cradle of democracy, citizens would once a year carve the name of an unwelcome fellow citizen onto clay shards. If 6,000 shards were collected, the person in question was banished for ten years—without a trial, without having committed any specific crime. Ostrakismos (the “court of the shards”) was considered the most brutal punishment in the polis. The maximum penalty was not imprisonment, but expulsion from the community.

Anthropologist Christopher Boehm compared dozens of hunter-gatherer cultures around the world and found the same "ladder of escalation" of social control everywhere:

Gossip and rumors

Ridicule and scorn

Ostracism and silence

Physical expulsion

Today we use exactly the same ladder; only the tools have changed. The schoolyard is the first laboratory of this cruelty: Anyone who wears the wrong shoes, makes a clumsy move, or is in the wrong place at the wrong time gets ostracized. But the schoolyard doesn’t end with graduation. It shifts to universities, open-plan offices, executive suites, and red carpets.

Even people who seem to have reached the top of the social pyramid are not immune to this pain. Comedian Felix Lobrecht, who performs in front of sold-out arenas packed with tens of thousands of people, once put it aptly: “I’ve actually always felt a little bit like an alien my whole life—like I never really belonged.”

This reveals a comforting yet terrifying truth: Whether we’re a global superstar or a clerk at the tax office—in our desire for acceptance, we’re all shockingly vulnerable. Success doesn’t protect us from the fear of falling through the cracks. Those admired by the masses often stand only on a higher—but all the more precarious—pedestal.

3. The Biochemistry of Euphoria: Dopamine and the Hacked System

Why does sincere praise feel so wonderful? Why does another person’s approving glance make us feel like we’re floating on air?

When we detect signs of acceptance, something highly precise happens in the central nervous system. The frontal lobe (the prefrontal cortex) constantly evaluates the nuances of our social environment: What is the expression in the other person’s eyes? What is the tone of their voice? Are we valued, or is there a threat of opposition?

When the brain receives positive signals, the motivation system fires and releases the body’s own cocktail of chemicals:

Dopamine: The fuel of desire, which keeps us focused, sparks curiosity, and provides energy.

Endogenous opioids: The body’s own painkillers, which create a deep, pleasant feeling of fulfillment and contentment.

Oxytocin: The bonding hormone that builds trust and lowers the heart rate.

A friendly glance is a dose. A sincere laugh is a dose. A pat on the shoulder is a dose.

But because this biochemical state is so pleasurable—and its absence is perceived as pain—an inevitable consequence arises: People can become addicted to recognition. And wherever there is a biological vulnerability, profiteers are never far behind.

Some of the most valuable corporations in human history—the social media giants of Silicon Valley—are fundamentally based on the fact that they have hacked this neurological reward system. Sean Parker, the founding president of Facebook, openly admitted in 2017 that the platform was designed as a “social-validation feedback loop.” The goal was to exploit a vulnerability in human psychology by giving users “a little dopamine hit every now and then” through likes and notifications.

Three years later, Tim Kendall, Facebook’s former head of monetization, testified under oath before the U.S. Congress: “We copied the playbook of the tobacco industry.”

They took our oldest survival instinct—the fear of isolation—and translated it into a quantifiable, digital currency. The “Like” button is the synthetic substitute for a nod of approval around the campfire. The red notification icon works on the principle of variable reinforcement —just like a slot machine in a casino. You press the button and never know whether emptiness or validation awaits you.

But this artificial form of recognition has a treacherous trait: It doesn’t satisfy. A “like” is generated in milliseconds with a hasty swipe. It gives the ego a brief thrill, but it doesn’t nourish the heart. It’s the neurological equivalent of artificial sweetener: it tastes like food at first, but leaves you even hungrier.

4. The Nuance Amid the Noise: Is the Smartphone the Culprit?

However, it would be too simplistic to blame our current sense of disorientation solely on technology. A look at the scientific evidence calls for a more nuanced perspective.

Large meta-analyses conducted by the University of Oxford (such as the one by Amy Orben and Andrew Przybylski involving over 350,000 adolescents) surprisingly showed that the purely statistical correlation between overall screen time and reduced well-being is minuscule —it often accounts for less than one percent of the variance. When Instagram hid like counts as part of its internal “Project Daisy” trial to take the pressure off users, researchers found that it had virtually no effect on people’s mental well-being.

Why? Because the number of likes isn’t the cause of the hunger. It’s merely the newest, most efficient vessel for a longing that has burned within us since Nandy’s time.

So the problem isn’t the smartphone itself. The problem is that we’ve forgotten how to examine what kind of recognition we’re actually chasing. We’ve forgotten how to distinguish between two fundamental concepts in social psychology: being popular and being liked .

5. The Demarcation Line: Popularity Is Not Love

In 1982, researchers John Coie, Kenneth Dodge, and Heide Coppotelli at Duke University conducted a classic study. They surveyed hundreds of schoolchildren with two simple questions: Who do you like the most? And who do you like the least?

The data revealed five characteristic sociotypes:

The Popular Ones: Children who consistently exhibit prosocial behavior. They are friendly, helpful, empathetic, and generous. Others feel safe around them.

The Rejected Ones: Children who often stand out due to aggression or extreme withdrawal.

The Ignored: Children who fly under the radar, remaining invisible.

The Average: The broad mass without extreme outliers.

The Controversial (the Popular): A fascinating group. They are passionately loved by many and hated by just as many. They possess high social intelligence, are dominant, attractive, and the center of attention—but they also use coercion, gossip, exclusion, and power tactics to secure their status.

Here lies the crucial dividing line:

Being popular is a relationship of equals. It’s based on genuine warmth, approachability, and mutual trust. Those who are truly popular create a space where the nervous systems of those around them can find peace.

Popularity , on the other hand, is a category of hierarchy and visibility. It requires neither closeness nor mutual acquaintance. Those who are popular attract attention; they are admired or feared. People look up to them.

The tragedy of our age is that we confuse popularity with belonging. Yet popularity places us on a pedestal. Those at the top may experience admiration, but hardly any genuine connection. They must constantly monitor who is sincere toward them and who merely wants to bask in the glow of their status. Popularity drains vast amounts of energy. Genuine likability, on the other hand—on an equal footing—gives that energy back to us.

6. The Tools of Closeness—and Their Dark Side

Over the decades, social psychology has identified surprisingly simple mechanisms that make people warm to one another. They sound almost trivial, but they’re deeply rooted in our neurology:

The Pratfall Effect (Elliot Aronson, 1966): Perfection instills a sense of distance and discomfort in people. Individuals who appear flawless come across as unapproachable. When an otherwise competent person experiences a minor mishap—such as spilling a cup of coffee or admitting a gap in their knowledge—people’s sympathy for them skyrockets instantly. Imperfection builds a bridge to approachability.

The Mere Exposure Effect (Robert Zajonc, 1968): The mere, repeated, and unobtrusive presence of things and people makes us perceive them as more familiar and pleasant. Proximity fosters trust.

Unconscious mimicry: When two people form a genuine connection, their postures, breathing rhythms, and speech patterns mirror each other involuntarily. This signals to the brainstem: No danger—this person is just like me.

Genuine Interest: Those who ask the other person questions and listen attentively give them the rarest commodity in the modern world: undivided attention.

But here lies the warning: All these mechanisms can also be misused as tools of manipulation. Psychopaths and narcissists often master the art of mirroring, flattery, and feigned closeness to perfection. They use these tactics to gain trust, while cold calculation drives their actions behind the scenes.

The difference lies in the motivation: You can use these tools to play a role and garner admiration—or you can use your own vulnerability to establish genuine connection. True belonging cannot be faked. It comes at a price that no shortcut in the world can bypass: risk, honesty, and the willingness to show your true self.

7. Loneliness in the Most Connected Age

We are currently experiencing, with unprecedented intensity, what happens when a society prioritizes the currency of reach over the currency of genuine connection.

In November 2023, the World Health Organization (WHO) officially declared loneliness a global health threat. In his groundbreaking report, U.S. Surgeon General Dr. Vivek Murthy spoke of an epidemic crisis: Social isolation increases the risk of heart disease by 29%, of stroke by 32%, and of dementia in old age by 50%.

But the most disturbing detail in the current data (such as the German Loneliness Barometer 2024 or the studies by the Bertelsmann Foundation) is the age distribution: It is not the seniors in nursing homes who make up the hardest-hit group. It is the 18- to 29-year-olds . Nearly one in four young adults today feels severely lonely.

It is the most connected generation in human history. A generation with hundreds of digital contacts, constant connectivity, and round-the-clock access to the world. And yet, at the same time, it is the loneliest generation since records began.

Hundreds of followers—but no one to call at 3 a.m. when life falls apart.

And the next digital promise is already stepping into this void: artificial intelligence and AI companions that are available around the clock, never contradict you, are never disappointed, and always simulate the perfect validation. They offer a dose of closeness without the risk of vulnerability. But they remain hall of mirrors. An AI can simulate a counterpart—but it can’t catch you when you fall.

8. What Remains in the End: The Insight from Harvard

When the pursuit of the fleeting admiration of the masses wears us down and artificial connections leave us feeling empty—what, then, is the answer?

There is a scientific study that seems tailor-made to answer this question: the Harvard Study of Adult Development . It is the longest-running longitudinal study in human history. Since 1938, it has followed more than 700 men—ranging from Harvard graduates to residents of Boston’s poorest neighborhoods—as well as their children and grandchildren, throughout their entire lives over a span of more than 85 years. Careers, illnesses, marriages, divorces, successes, and failures have been meticulously documented.

Robert Waldinger, the current director of the study, summarized the findings of nearly a century of research in a simple truth:

*“The quality of our relationships is the strongest predictor of health, happiness, and a long life. It protects our bodies and brains more than wealth, fame, social class, or genes.”**

How satisfied someone was with their closest relationships at age 50 predicted their physical and mental health at age 80 more accurately than their cholesterol levels or blood pressure.

It’s not the number of contacts that matters. It’s not the number of people who call out your name when you’re on stage. It’s the depth of the bond with those few people in front of whom you can let your guard down.

Epilogue: Laying Down Our Weapons

Let’s return one last time to Nandy in the Shanidar Cave 45,000 years ago.

Nandy had no audience. He had no reach, no followers, and no status. As far as we know, his entire world consisted of about twenty people. But those twenty people sustained him over the years, even when he could no longer achieve anything, contribute anything, or give anything back.

That is the fundamental difference at the very core of our existence:

Popularity asks: How many people want to see me? Belonging asks: Who will catch me if I fall?

The first question leads to an endless hamster wheel, because recognition cannot be stockpiled. Yesterday’s applause does not protect against today’s emptiness. Those who feed on the admiration of strangers must go out hunting anew every day.

The second question is answered not by performance, but by courage. By the willingness to be imperfect. By taking the risk of meeting others without a shield.

Perhaps it’s time for us to lay down our arms. To stop slaving away for a digital phantom image and realize that our self-worth doesn’t fluctuate with the stock market prices of fleeting attention.

It’s more than enough to put down our smartphones, look up, and meet the eyes of the person sitting across from us at the table. It’s enough to nurture the few people who know us as we really are—without the facade—and appreciate us precisely for that.

We don’t have to be loved by the whole world. It’s more than enough if a few people truly like us—and if we like ourselves.

Where I Come From and Why This Topic Haunts Me

I’m a Creative Director. Human psychology is my toolkit: When I analyze a persona, build a customer journey, or conceptualize a commercial, I work every day with the very mechanisms described in this text. Attention, validation, the feeling of being seen. I know how this hunger works because it’s my job to understand it.

And yet, this topic caught me off guard—from a direction I hadn’t anticipated.

I’m losing friends right now. Not because of a fight, not because they’ve moved to another city. To a machine. People who were close to me now spend 14 hours a day with AI, seven days a week. And they’re no longer themselves. The conversations are growing thinner; the answers feel secondhand. Now there’s always a system sitting somewhere between us—one that never contradicts, never disappoints, and is never absent.

I wonder why. This text is part of my answer: A machine gives you the fix without the cost. Validation without vulnerability, closeness without risk, a counterpart who never puts you last. For a brain that has been starving for a sense of belonging since Nandy’s time, that’s a perfect offer. And an empty one.

I’m not writing this as an outside warning. I work with AI every day myself; I use it to build films, brands, and worlds. But I miss my friends. And no system in this world can carry you through a winter the way a group of 20 people did 45,000 years ago.

It’s enough if just a few people really like us. Let’s take care of them.

About the Author: Pedram Zolgadri is Creative Director and AI Content Producer at Heisenberg Studio Berlin. With over 15 years of experience in film, advertising, and AI production, he combines traditional filmmaking craftsmanship with cutting-edge technology. Over 270 million views, 39 film awards, 45 pitch awards.

References & Inspiration

This long-form essay draws on core concepts, studies, and historical findings from the following scientific publications:

Neurobiology of Social Pain: Eisenberger, N. I., Lieberman, M. D., & Williams, K. D. (2003). Does Rejection Hurt? An fMRI Study of Social Exclusion. Science .

Neanderthal Care & Shanidar 1: Spikins, P., et al. (2018). Calculated or Caring? Neanderthal Healthcare in Social Context. World Archaeology .

Neanderthal Genetics & Group Size: Skov, L., et al. (2022). Genetic insights into Neanderthal social organization. Nature.

The Need to Belong: Baumeister, R. F., & Leary, M. R. (1995). The Need to Belong: Desire for Interpersonal Attachments as a Fundamental Human Motivation. Psychological Bulletin.

Loneliness & Health / Mortality: Holt-Lunstad, J., Smith, T. B., & Layton, J. B. (2010). Social Relationships and Mortality Risk: A Systematic Review and Meta-analysis. PLOS Medicine.

Social Media & the Reward System: Sherman, L. E., et al. (2016). The Power of the 'Like' in Adolescence. Psychological Science.

Sociometric Dynamics in Children (5 Groups): Coie, J. D., Dodge, K. A., & Coppotelli, H. (1982). Dimensions and Types of Social Status in School Children. Developmental Psychology.

Pratfall Effect: Aronson, E., Willerman, B., & Floyd, J. (1966). The effect of a pratfall on increasing interpersonal attractiveness. Psychonomic Science.

Longitudinal Study on Happiness & Health: Waldinger, R., & Schulz, M. (2023). The Good Life: Lessons from the World’s Longest Scientific Study of Happiness. (Harvard Study of Adult Development).

Global Loneliness Report: World Health Organization (WHO) (2023). Commission on Social Connection. & U.S. Surgeon General’s Advisory (2023). Our Epidemic of Loneliness and Isolation.

Contact: hello@heisenberg-studio.com — Heisenberg Studio, Berlin, Germany.