You know you’re dealing with a narcissist if they post these 10 things on social media

Quick caveat up front.

Only a licensed clinician can diagnose narcissistic personality disorder.

What follows isn’t about armchair diagnoses—it’s about spotting repeat patterns that tend to cluster around narcissistic traits online.

When you see several of these together, across time and platforms, it’s a signal to tread carefully.

Social media is a stage.

Narcissists use it like a mirror and a megaphone.

Here are ten posts that often give the game away—and what you can do when you see them.

1. The humblebrag that isn’t humble at all

You know the one. “Can’t believe they chose me for the keynote, I’m such an imposter 😅.” The emojis are modest; the intent is megaphone. The caption invites applause while preempting criticism—if you push back, you’re “being mean to someone with imposter syndrome.”

Why it’s a tell.
Narcissistic posting chases admiration while protecting the ego. The humblebrag is perfect bait: praise is the only acceptable response.

What to do.
Don’t feed the loop if it drains you. A neutral “Congrats” is enough—or nothing at all. Save your energy for people who can celebrate without fishing.

2. “Look what you made me do” victim monologues

Long captions about “haters,” “toxic exes,” “jealous colleagues,” always with the same ending: our poster is the wounded hero. There’s lots of passive voice (“mistakes were made”), lots of moral fog, and zero accountability.

Why it’s a tell.
Chronic victimhood keeps the spotlight while dodging responsibility. If every story centers their injury and never their impact, you’re not reading a diary—you’re reading PR.

Years ago I watched a former bandmate torch a mutual friend in a 12-slide Instagram story: “betrayal,” “sabotage,” “fake people.” A week later, screenshots surfaced showing he’d ghosted on commitments. He quietly deleted everything, never apologized, then posted a quote about “rising above negativity.” Pattern recognized.

What to do.
Don’t get pulled into the comment war. If you’re named or implicated, take screenshots, then move the conversation offline where nuance lives—or decline to engage at all.

3. Triangulation via cryptic quotes and subtweets

“Some people show their true colors 🌈” posted two hours after an argument with a partner—tagged? Of course not. Or the subtweet that’s obviously about a coworker: “Funny how ‘team players’ hide on deadline.” The point isn’t clarity; it’s control. They want you to feel the heat without giving you a handle.

Why it’s a tell.
Triangulation recruits the audience as silent jurors. It punishes without a direct conversation and keeps them “above” the mess they created.

What to do.
Refuse the triangle. If it’s about you, take it private once, briefly, and only if a relationship is worth salvaging. Otherwise, mute and move.

4. The thirst trap with a wounded caption

Selfies aren’t the issue. It’s the combo of hyper-curated images with bait captions like “Feeling ugly today” or “No one ever texts first.” The body says “applaud me,” the words say “console me,” and your role is to supply both.

Why it’s a tell.
It’s not expression; it’s extraction. Narcissistic posting converts attention into emotional fuel. The goalposts move until you’re drained.

What to do.
You don’t have to be the emoji clap machine. If you care about the person, connect offline: “You okay? Want to talk?” See if a real conversation exists beyond the dopamine drip.

5. Love-bombing in public, devaluation in private

Day 12 of dating and they’re posting “found my soulmate” reels with fast cuts, captions about destiny, and your handle all over it. Fast-forward two months: the posts vanish or get cagey. You’re confused; their feed is curated to confuse you.

Why it’s a tell.
Narcissistic cycles of idealize → devalue → discard are often mapped in the feed. Love-bombing secures supply. Quiet untagging sets up the revisionist history.

What to do.
Push for pacing. “Let’s keep us offline for now.” If they resist or guilt you, that’s data. Real love can wait. Performance can’t.

6. Smear campaigns masked as “just sharing my truth”

Long threads “exposing” an ex, a friend, a boss—names obscured just enough to dodge policy, specific enough to ruin reputations. They’ll say it’s about “awareness.” It’s actually about vengeance and narrative control.

Why it’s a tell.
Smear campaigns outsource regulation to the crowd. Applause soothes; pile-ons punish. Either way, they never sit with their part.

What to do.
Never add oxygen. If you’re close to the target, send a private note of support and resist the urge to litigate online. Screenshots, not speeches.

7. Borrowed glory and proximity flexes

Watch for the chronic “with the legend” photos, constant tagging of celebrities, and captions that center their access more than the event itself. Or they post other people’s wins as if they were co-authors: “So proud of my team’s award” (team = one acquaintance they met twice).

Why it’s a tell.
Narcissistic self-esteem is often fueled by reflected light. Proximity becomes proof of importance.

What to do.
Clock the ratio. If most posts are “look who I know” rather than “look what we made together,” you’re dealing with image management, not contribution.

8. Boundary violations for content

Posting private texts. Sharing your child’s meltdown for “relatable” engagement. Filming acts of “charity” with the camera pointed at the giver. When called out, they claim it’s “just content” or “everyone does it.”

Why it’s a tell.
Narcissists treat other people as props in their movie. Consent is optional because the narrative is king.

What to do.
Set a bright line. “Don’t post my messages or images without permission.” If it happens again, consequences—unfollow, restrict, or legal options if needed.

9. Rage-bait and performative outrage that always centers them

Every news event becomes about how they feel most deeply, they are the real victims, they are bravest for speaking out. Comments that disagree are “attacks.” Critique equals “bullying.”

Why it’s a tell.
Narcissistic rage isn’t about cause; it’s about control. The issue is a stage. The performance is certainty and dominance.

What to do.
Let the algorithm argue with itself. You don’t have to be the counterpoint in their theater. Curate your feed for your nervous system.

10. The disappearing act followed by the resurrection arc

Weeks of silence, then a grand return: “I had to cut toxic people, elevate my frequency, and now I’m unstoppable.” Every comeback requires a villain and a reinvented self. No apology to the folks they ghosted. No repair. Just a new season poster.

Why it’s a tell.
Narcissistic identity is often a rebrand machine. When a supply pool dries up, they molt. The old audience is discarded; the new one is love-bombed.

What to do.
Don’t chase disappearances. If you’re in their offline life, evaluate whether basic repair skills exist. If not, treat the resurrection as what it is: marketing.

Spotting the pattern without playing therapist

Look for clusters, not one-offs.
Everyone humblebrags sometimes. Everyone posts messy. The pattern shows up when multiple tells repeat over time, especially across breakups, job changes, or friendship fallouts.

Track how you feel after you scroll them.
Drained, guilty, amped, on edge? That’s your body taking notes your brain might smooth over. Trust the data.

Watch the gap between online persona and offline behavior.
Can they apologize in private the way they preach in public? Do they handle “no” with grace? Integrity shows up in the ordinary.

Test with small boundaries.
“Please don’t post my photos without asking.” “Let’s not subtweet; if there’s an issue, tell me.” If you get deflection, blame, or public punishments, your answer arrived.

Two quick stories that changed how I set boundaries

The “awareness” reel.
A friend filmed a stranger crying on a train, captioned it with a lecture about resilience, and posted for engagement. When I DM’d, “This violates that person’s privacy,” they replied, “It’s inspirational content.” That was my cue to step back. When someone values virality over consent, you’re not a friend—you’re an extra.

The silent rebrand.
An acquaintance flamed out at a startup, torched colleagues in stories, then resurfaced three weeks later as a “mindset coach,” scrubbing old posts and writing parables about “jealous people.” Watching that cycle twice taught me a simple rule: no partnership with anyone who won’t do public repair after public harm.

What to do next (without turning into the comment police)

• Curate ruthlessly. Mute, unfollow, or restrict. Your feed is your nervous system.

• Move important conversations off-platform. Complexity belongs in voice notes, calls, or face-to-face.

• Screenshot, don’t spar. If you’re targeted, keep records. Internet fights are their oxygen.

• Name your line once. “Please don’t share our private messages.” Then enforce it.

• Invest in quiet people. The best signal isn’t a perfect feed; it’s consistent respect across small, boring interactions.

If you recognize several of these posts in someone you’re dating, working with, or related to, don’t panic—and don’t play rescuer. Narcissistic traits are about control, admiration, and immunity from consequence. Your power is the opposite: clarity, boundaries, and choosing where your attention goes.

Remember, social media is the highlight reel and, for some, the hunting ground. You don’t have to sign up for the role they’ve cast you in. Choose your exits, choose your audience, and save your best energy for people who can love you without an audience.