In recent years, the influence of digital platforms has transformed more than just communication—it’s reshaping how we perceive identity, visibility, and even space itself. Social media, once confined to screens, now permeates how we present ourselves, how we relate to others, and how we construct our environments. For Lilian, a high school student with a growing interest in architecture and a critical eye on digital culture, this shift felt like an opportunity. Her research began with a simple question: what would it look like if physical spaces could reflect the social dynamics of life online?
What followed was a months-long exploration that wove together architectural design, media theory, digital sociology, and behavioral psychology. Rather than building a traditional structure, Lilian designed a conceptual space—a kind of architectural narrative—that examined how public personas, curated identities, and the constant toggling between authenticity and performance could be visualized in three dimensions.
Early Interests: From Design Curiosity to Cultural Inquiry
Lilian’s interest in architecture wasn’t new. She had spent time sketching layouts, exploring how light moves through rooms, and considering how design affects mood. But it wasn’t until she began paying closer attention to digital culture that her questions about space took on new complexity.
Watching influencers, content creators, and public figures on platforms like Instagram, TikTok, and YouTube, she noticed a strange paradox. These individuals appeared relatable and accessible, yet their content was meticulously curated. Their homes, wardrobes, and even personalities seemed designed to match an aesthetic. Behind this performance was a whole layer of reality that remained hidden.
Lilian became intrigued by this dynamic—not to critique it, but to understand it. She wondered: if so much of our sense of self is now shaped by the online spaces we inhabit, can those same dynamics be reflected in the physical spaces we design?
Rethinking Space in the Context of Digital Performance
To tackle this question, Lilian needed to rethink what space meant. Traditional architecture tends to focus on function, form, and material. But she wanted to explore something more psychological—how space feels, how it manipulates perception, how it can comment on visibility and privacy.
She began her research by reading across disciplines. She explored writings on the architecture of experience, delved into Erving Goffman’s theories of social performance, and studied how marketing and personal branding shape public perception. These readings helped her see the influencer not as an isolated figure, but as part of a system—one that thrives on the careful management of attention, image, and emotion.
This theoretical foundation allowed her to begin imagining space not as a backdrop, but as an active participant in social dynamics. A room could suggest vulnerability. A corridor could signify transition. A surface could reflect or obscure, depending on how it was used. Architecture, in this context, wasn’t just shelter or style—it was narrative.
The Influence of Mentorship on Conceptual Development
Throughout her project, Lilian worked closely with a mentor who challenged her to connect conceptual insights with design decisions. Their sessions covered everything from technical modeling to philosophical discussions. When Lilian proposed using mirrors as a metaphor for performative identity, her mentor asked how that metaphor would function in real space. Would it disorient? Invite self-reflection? Signal surveillance?
These questions pushed her beyond symbolism. She began thinking more intentionally about how users would move through her designs—what they would see, how they would feel, and what they might infer. Her mentor encouraged her to sketch not just buildings, but experiences. What begins as a bright, open space might slowly become dimmer, quieter, more enclosed. These shifts, though subtle, could guide users through the emotional terrain of influencer culture: exposure, connection, burnout, withdrawal.
The mentor also helped her navigate technical tools like Rhino and Photoshop. Early models lacked cohesion—rooms felt disconnected or conceptually thin. But through trial, feedback, and revision, Lilian learned to use these programs as creative tools, not just technical ones. Her models became more coherent, not only in structure but in meaning.
Designing Spaces Inspired by Online Culture
Eventually, Lilian developed three interconnected spaces that represented different aspects of influencer life:
- The Exhibition Gallery — This space represented the public-facing side of the influencer. It was designed like a showroom or social media feed—visually polished, curated, and optimized for engagement. Shelves mimicked product placement; lighting was flattering and even. The layout directed the viewer’s gaze, encouraging passive consumption rather than active interaction.
- The Broadcast Room — Here, Lilian explored the idea of “live” performance. The space was intimate but heavily controlled—lit from specific angles, acoustically dampened, with seating positioned to suggest a camera-facing orientation. It felt like a hybrid between a stage and a confessional. Users in the space were both performer and audience.
- The Private Retreat — This final area was the most secluded. Here, materials became softer, light more diffused, surfaces more textured. The design encouraged solitude and reflection. It was a space for off-screen moments—emotionally restorative but also unshareable. Lilian wanted it to feel almost fragile, in contrast to the polished exhibition space.
What made these spaces compelling wasn’t just their design—it was the transitions between them. Moving from the gallery to the retreat wasn’t instantaneous. It required crossing thresholds, navigating in-between zones, engaging with moments of ambiguity. These spatial movements mirrored the psychological journey of being “on” for an audience and then retreating into privacy.
Engaging with Broader Cultural Themes
As Lilian’s work deepened, it began to touch on broader themes: the commodification of the self, the emotional cost of constant visibility, and the performative nature of contemporary identity. She wasn’t just designing spaces inspired by influencers—she was creating a lens through which to think about modern life.
She raised important questions. Are public personas inherently performative, or does performance become the default when every moment can be shared? Can design help users think more critically about what is real and what is curated? How might architecture support authenticity in a culture driven by appearance?
These questions didn’t have easy answers. But they gave her project weight and depth. It wasn’t about glorifying influencer culture or condemning it—it was about sitting with its contradictions, and asking what they reveal about the way we live now.
Navigating Practical and Ethical Design Questions
As her designs became more ambitious, Lilian had to contend with practical constraints. Could these spaces exist in real buildings? Would they meet safety requirements, or were they more conceptual installations? Her mentor helped her find balance—suggesting materials, structures, and configurations that grounded her ideas in feasibility without diluting their meaning.
She also began thinking more about the ethics of her designs. If a space reflects curated identity, is it reinforcing the very dynamics it seeks to examine? If a gallery mimics influencer aesthetics, does it become part of the same branding machinery? These were difficult questions, and Lilian didn’t pretend to resolve them. But by raising them, she began to understand the designer’s responsibility—not just to form and function, but to meaning.
Reflections on the Process: What She Learned
Looking back on the process, Lilian said what surprised her most was how many disciplines her project ended up involving. What started as architecture became a study in sociology, psychology, marketing, and media theory. Each informed the other, giving her designs more nuance and her research more complexity.
She also came to appreciate the value of iteration. Her final designs looked nothing like her first drafts, and that was a good thing. The process of revising, questioning, and rebuilding helped her clarify not just what she was making, but why it mattered.
Most of all, the project gave her a different way of thinking about architecture. It’s not just about making beautiful things—it’s about shaping experience, challenging assumptions, and participating in cultural conversations.
Advice for Students Exploring Interdisciplinary Research
For students thinking about diving into interdisciplinary projects—especially those blending fields like design, sociology, media, and psychology—Lilian’s experience offers valuable insights. Her approach wasn’t linear or prescriptive, but shaped by flexibility, curiosity, and a willingness to rethink ideas. Here are five key lessons she drew from her journey, each with expanded context for students considering a similar path:
1. Start with a Question, Not an Answer
Lilian’s most productive ideas didn’t come from having a polished goal in mind; they began with open-ended questions. Her early inquiry—how might architecture reflect influencer culture?—didn’t demand a quick solution. Instead, it invited exploration. Starting with a question allowed her to explore multiple perspectives and gave her space to reframe the problem as she learned more.
For students, this means resisting the urge to lock into a conclusion too early. Interdisciplinary research thrives on exploration. If you begin with curiosity rather than a fixed thesis, you’re more likely to uncover surprising connections and novel approaches.
2. Let Your Interests Evolve
When Lilian began her project, she expected to focus on traditional architecture: forms, materials, spatial organization. But the more she engaged with the topic, the more she was drawn to questions about online identity, performance, and public image. Rather than resisting that shift, she leaned into it. Her project expanded to include elements of media studies and sociology—and became stronger for it.
This kind of evolution is common in interdisciplinary work. Interests shift, new influences emerge, and the project grows in complexity. Students shouldn’t feel locked into their original proposal. If your research starts to take you in an unexpected direction, let it. That flexibility often leads to deeper insight.
3. Don’t Work in Isolation
Although much of Lilian’s project was self-driven, regular conversations with her mentor were crucial to her progress. These meetings didn’t just help with technical skills; they helped her clarify her ideas, question her assumptions, and stay grounded. Her mentor provided feedback that challenged her thinking and helped her strengthen both the theoretical and practical sides of her project.
This kind of collaboration is especially important in interdisciplinary work, where students are often working at the edge of multiple fields. Having someone to bounce ideas off of—whether a mentor, teacher, or peer—can help you identify blind spots, sharpen your focus, and stay motivated.
4. Trust the Process
Lilian’s early sketches and models were far from final. She went through multiple revisions, some of which required her to discard hours of work. But over time, those iterations helped her refine both her technical execution and conceptual clarity. She came to see iteration not as failure, but as a necessary part of learning.
In interdisciplinary projects, the path forward is rarely straightforward. You’ll likely test ideas that don’t work, hit conceptual dead ends, or run into skills you need to develop. That’s normal. Progress often looks like circling the problem again and again until the pieces start to fit. Being patient with the process—and with yourself—is essential.
5. Stay Critical
Studying influencer culture meant engaging with a world full of aesthetic appeal, polished branding, and carefully constructed identities. It would have been easy for Lilian to simply replicate those aesthetics in her designs. But instead, she asked harder questions: What are the emotional consequences of curated self-presentation? How does constant visibility affect one’s relationship to space, privacy, or self-image?
In interdisciplinary research, especially when studying trends or technologies, it’s easy to get caught up in fascination or fandom. But Lilian found that asking uncomfortable questions led to more meaningful outcomes. She didn’t try to resolve the contradictions in influencer culture; she designed spaces that reflected and revealed them.
For students, this means staying engaged with the ethical and emotional layers of your topic. Ask not just how something works, but why it matters—and for whom. Your role isn’t to confirm what already exists, but to challenge it, complicate it, or reinterpret it through a new lens.
A Broader Lens: Architecture as Cultural Commentary
In the end, Lilian’s project did more than analyze influencer culture or create interesting design concepts. It pointed to a broader potential for architecture: as a form of cultural commentary, a way to engage with the tensions and patterns of contemporary life. Her work asked what kinds of spaces we need—not just to live or work, but to reflect, to process, to disconnect.
In a world where more and more of life happens online, we need physical spaces that acknowledge those realities—spaces that help us understand how performance shapes perception, how curated visibility affects connection, and how design can serve both as a mirror and a critique.
Lilian’s research doesn’t claim to solve these issues, but it opens up thoughtful, grounded ways to explore them. And in doing so, it reminds us that architecture is not just about building—it's also about listening, observing, and asking: What kind of spaces do we need now?
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