Decades before social media existed, sociologist Erving Goffman described social life as a series of performances. Individuals, he argued, present curated versions of themselves depending on the audience they face. Social media did not invent this dynamic—it industrialized it. Today, platforms measure performance in likes, shares, reposts, and views. Attention becomes a currency. Visibility becomes evidence. In this environment, repetition can be mistaken for consensus and prominence for legitimacy. Political authority is no longer built solely through institutions, parties, or policy platforms. It can also be manufactured through algorithmic amplification.
The rise of Donald Trump illustrates this transformation.
Long before entering politics, Trump had already constructed a national persona through tabloids and television—most famously as host of The Apprentice. The program cast him as the archetypal executive: decisive, wealthy, and uncompromising. When he launched his presidential campaign in 2015, he was not introducing himself to voters so much as repurposing an already familiar media character. Traditional political gatekeepers initially dismissed his candidacy. By conventional standards—party endorsements, donor networks, policy credentials, governing experience—Trump appeared unqualified. But those metrics were no longer the only ones that mattered. Digital visibility had become a parallel form of political power.
Trump understood the logic of the attention economy. Provocation generated coverage; coverage generated engagement; engagement generated more coverage. In today’s media ecosystem, attention is not merely symbolic. It shapes agendas, frames public debate, and defines who appears politically central.
Now serving his second term in the White House, Trump continues to cultivate a highly personalized political brand, particularly through his platform Truth Social. His online presence often adopts heroic imagery and exaggerated symbolism, reinforcing an image of singular authority. The line between political office and media persona increasingly blurs, as leadership becomes inseparable from continuous self-display.
A related—though structurally different—dynamic can be seen in the case of Reza Pahlavi, the son of Iran’s last shah and a self-declared leader of the Iranian opposition.
In recent years, segments of the Persian-language media ecosystem—particularly satellite channels such as Iran International and Manoto TV—have played a significant role in shaping Pahlavi’s public image.
Amplified through transnational media networks and supported by political actors abroad—including figures aligned with the Government of Israel—Pahlavi is frequently portrayed as the principal, and even sole, viable alternative to the Islamic Republic and as the natural leader of a unified opposition.
But visibility should not be confused with political reality.
While Pahlavi enjoys recognition among monarchist circles in the diaspora and in international media, there is limited verifiable evidence of broad, organized support for him inside Iran. The country’s opposition is fragmented and ideologically diverse: reformists, secular republicans, labor activists, leftist organizations, ethnic minority movements, and civil society groups. These constituencies do not uniformly support a restoration of monarchy. The image of a cohesive opposition rallying behind a single heir simplifies a far more complex political landscape.
To understand these dynamics, we must look beyond individual personalities and examine the architecture of modern media systems.
Social platforms reward what might be called the manufactured political character: a simplified, emotionally legible identity optimized for shareability. Nuance rarely travels far online. Outrage, moral clarity, and symbolic gestures spread easily. Complex political debates collapse into slogans.
In such an environment, algorithmic visibility begins to function as a quasi-source of legitimacy. The more emotionally recognizable the political symbol, the more effectively it circulates. Pahlavi’s media persona fits neatly into this logic: the heir, the unifier, the emblem of national restoration. These archetypes travel well online—even if they lack organizational infrastructure on the ground.
Digital amplification can also create the illusion of scale.
A social-media analysis conducted by Al Jazeera Media Network in January 2026 examining online content about protests in Iran found that of 4,370 posts analyzed, 94 percent were retweets. Fewer than 170 accounts produced the original posts, yet the campaign reached more than 18 million users. In other words, a relatively small group generated the content that millions ultimately saw.
This structure—centralized production combined with massive redistribution—can produce the appearance of widespread consensus even when the underlying participation is limited.
The dynamics of digital storytelling can further distort political reality. During past protest waves, for instance, a photograph of Israeli woman was circulated widely on social media after being falsely presented as an Iranian protester killed during demonstrations. Several viral video clips depicting alleged protest scenes were later revealed to be AI-generated. In the speed of online circulation, emotionally compelling images can shape narratives long before verification catches up.
Numbers, too, can become symbolic.
In February 2026, some outlets and online accounts promoting Pahlavi reported participation figures for anti-regime demonstrations in Toronto and Munich that exceeded independent estimates. Once repeated across platforms, such numbers can function less as data than as signals—evidence of momentum, unity, and mass support. A similar dynamic appeared in 2017, when Trump repeatedly overstated attendance at his inauguration despite widely reported lower figures.
The parallels between the American and Iranian cases are instructive, even if the political systems are very different.
In both environments, media ecosystems reward emotional clarity over institutional depth. Repetition generates familiarity; familiarity generates perceived legitimacy. Public debate narrows into simplified binaries: establishment versus outsider in the United States, monarchy versus republic in Iran.
But there is also a crucial difference.
Trump operated inside a competitive electoral system and successfully converted media attention into formal political power. Pahlavi operates largely outside Iran’s governing structures. His media visibility has yet to translate into measurable domestic authority.
The outcomes differ. The mechanism—the media-driven elevation of a symbolic political figure—is strikingly similar. What these cases reveal is a defining feature of contemporary politics: leadership can now be constructed and amplified through transnational media networks that operate partly outside traditional institutions. Political identity becomes a performance optimized for circulation rather than deliberation.
During moments of crisis or uncertainty, such figures can quickly occupy the symbolic center of national debate—even when their organizational foundations remain thin.
The implications are profound. Movements built around institutional reform, pluralism, and civic participation often struggle to compete with personality-driven politics. Branding can mobilize emotion, but it cannot replace durable institutions or negotiated consensus. When legitimacy is measured primarily in views, shares, and viral moments, democratic deliberation risks becoming a spectacle.
The controversy surrounding Reza Pahlavi—and the political ascent of Donald Trump—reflects the same underlying shift. In the digital age, power is contested not only in parliaments or on the streets but inside algorithms, media architectures, and the constant performance of political identity.
The question is no longer simply who leads.
It is how leaders are produced—and who controls the systems that amplify them.
Contact information:
Nader Rahimi
Email: nrahimi@bu.edu
