GENUINE SCARCITY, MANUFACTURED SCARCITY AND THE COST OF ATTENTION

Lately, I've been noticing something about the online world that I haven't been able to ignore. Everywhere I look, there seems to be a transaction waiting to happen.

"Comment a keyword and I'll send you a guide."

"Subscribe to read the rest."

"Download the free PDF."

"Join the membership."

"Get the secret formula."

To be clear, I don't believe there is anything wrong with people earning a living from their work. Writers, artist, teachers, coaches and creators deserve to be compensated for the value they provide.

What I have been reflecting on is something more subtle: the difference between genuine scarcity and manufactured scarcity.

As an artist, I understand genuine scarcity. When I create a painting, it is a one-of-a-kind piece. If it finds its home, there isn't another identical version waiting in my studio. That scarcity isn't a marketing strategy. It's simply the nature of original artwork. The same can be said for time, energy and certain experiences. Some things are naturally limited.

What I've noticed online, is a different kind of scarcity. It's the article that stops just before the most important insight and you are prompted to subscribe. The social media post that hints at an answer but requires a comment, a direct message, or a subscription before revealing it. The promise that what you're looking for is always one more click, one more signup or one more purchase away.

Again, this isn't a criticism of any individual creator. Many people are following advice they've been given about growing an audience, building a business and increasing engagement, or just trying to keep up because everyone else is following that formula. The challenge is that when every interaction contains an ask, something begins to shift. What starts as sharing can begin to feel like EXTRACTING.

As a reader, viewer or participant, I sometimes find myself wondering whether I am being invited into a conversation or guided into a funnel. That constant activation of scarcity, has my nervous system braced every time I am on social media. Because the message, whether spoken or implied often sounds like:

"You don't know enough."

"You're missing something important."

"The answer is just beyond your reach."

"Someone else has what you need."

"And if you're not careful, you'll miss your chance."

When repeated often enough this creates a subtle sense of lack.  A feeling that there is always another piece of information to acquire, another strategy to learn, another secret waiting behind another door, if you will.

I am realizing that attention itself has become one of the most valuable currencies of our time. Every platform is competing for it. Every creator is being encouraged to "capture" it. Every interaction seems designed to generate more of it. In that environment, genuine sharing can begin to feel surprisingly rare.

I often find myself longing for a different kind of exchange. One rooted in curiosity rather than urgency. Generosity rather than scarcity. Connection rather than just conversion.

Perhaps this is why I continue to return to art. A painting asks nothing of. It doesn't require a keyword. It doesn't ask us to subscribe before revealing itself. 

It simply exists. We bring our attention to it, and in return it offers an experience. No funnel required.

As creators, I think we are all navigating a difficult landscape. We want our work to be seen. We want to support ourselves. We want to connect with people who resonate with what we create.

This makes me wonder: Can we build meaningful relationships around our work without constantly relying on scarcity? Can we create sustainable businesses without turning every interaction into a transaction?

I don't have an answer, but I find myself thinking about the difference between genuine scarcity and manufactured scarcity more and more.

And I wonder if others are feeling it too.