I was eating banana-flavored protein ice cream—sugar-free but sweetened with erythritol—the kind that tastes like childhood yet reads like the Periodic Table. But that didn’t stop the ice cream from tasting more banana-like than bananas themselves. A perfect twenty-first-century product: pleasure without guilt, a “healthier” sweetness, or maybe just the illusion of it.
As I scrolled through my phone, an image appeared of Greta Thunberg, icon of twenty-first-century performative morality and the global avatar of sustainability, standing on the deck of a vessel named Madleen. The Freedom Flotilla Coalition ship, carrying a cargo of humanitarian aid, was sailing into the Mediterranean Sea, aiming to pierce the blockade of Gaza and draw the world’s gaze to those who were suffering. Plastic water jugs, baby formula, the Palestinian flag. The camera images were shaky, but more important was the vibe—warm, empathetic, Instagrammable.
I froze mid-scroll. The image held me. Meanwhile, my ice cream melted, dripping onto the screen and leaving yellow blotches that heightened the unreality of the scene. The whole moment reeked of moral consumption. Greta, now an emoji of freedom. Me, consuming a supposedly guiltless treat.
Jean Baudrillard once wrote that third-order simulacra no longer mask reality—they conceal its absence. What we are witnessing is not an imitation of goodness but its ghost: a phantom that saturates consciousness so thoroughly, we no longer crave the real thing. The sweetener in our mouths lessens our longing for real fruit, just as gazing at the moral tableau on our screens substitutes for actual decisions and actions.