Beyond “toxic keyboard warriors”: the hidden jealousy behind online trolling

I spend a lot of time online for work, and I’ve developed a quiet ritual when I publish anything remotely personal.

I post, put my phone face down on the kitchen island, and start chopping onions for lunch. It’s the most ordinary way to give my nervous system a buffer.

Sometimes the comments are warm and thoughtful. Sometimes a stranger barrels in to poke, provoke, and stir the pot for sport.

For years I filed those people under one label: angry. But a wave of new research nudged me to look again. Maybe what powers some trolling isn’t just rage or boredom. Maybe it’s a specific kind of envy.

What new research actually found

A recent study in Behaviour & Information Technology mapped a path from certain narcissistic traits to social media trolling.

The interesting twist was the middle of that path: malicious envy and the kind of media people choose to consume. In short, people higher in narcissism were more likely to feel malicious envy, and those feelings were tied to seeking out more antisocial, aggressive content. That combination, the authors report, was linked to more trolling behavior.

Coverage of the study framed it this way too, but without the technical language. PsyPost summarized the pattern as a psychological pathway that starts with narcissistic tendencies, flows through malicious envy, is reinforced by antisocial media, and ends in aggressive online behavior. It’s a tidy description of what many creators feel on the receiving end.

This line of work builds on a broader literature that splits envy into two flavors. Benign envy is the “she has it, I want to earn it” push that can motivate growth. Malicious envy is the “she has it, I want to pull it down” impulse that breeds hostility.

A 2021 paper validated those “two faces” and linked malicious envy to aggressive responses, especially when self-control runs low. That helps explain why the same scroll can fuel radically different behaviors in different people.

Why jealousy, not just anger, fits what we see online

When you picture a troll, you might imagine someone who’s simply furious. But anger doesn’t fully explain the patterns I see in my inbox. Envy does.

A troll often attacks success signals: happy photos, a new job, a healthy relationship, visible confidence. The target changes, but the theme repeats. The message under the message is “how dare you.”

Envy is social. It needs comparison. The modern internet is an engine for comparison, so it’s a perfect amplifier. If malicious envy is already simmering, platforms offer endless triggers and endless chances to turn private discomfort into public hostility.

There’s also the shopping-for-content piece the study highlights. When you already feel that hostile envy, you’re more likely to gravitate toward aggressive videos, dunk threads, and “own the other side” clips. Spend time there and the norms shift. What felt out of bounds last month starts to feel normal. That drift matters for all of us, not just the worst actors.

What this looks like in real life

A few months ago I posted a short reflection on routines.

Nothing flashy, just a snapshot of our weekday rhythm here in São Paulo and why it calms me: family breakfast at 7, a stroller walk to drop Matias at work, a quick supermarket run with Emilia, and then we each dive into our day.

Later, bath time, bedtime stories, then dishes and a quiet couch with tea.

The comment that stuck wasn’t the loudest. It was the one that questioned my right to feel proud of a working routine because “some people don’t have a nanny.” That’s true. It’s also not what I said. What I heard underneath was: “Your life looks smoother than mine today, and that stings.”

I grew up in a very different reality, and I carry deep respect for how uneven the playing field is. But I’ve also learned that no amount of context will satisfy a stranger who’s posting from painful comparison.

When I zoom out, the patterns line up with what the research suggests. The troll isn’t engaging with ideas. They’re swatting at a status cue. It’s not debate, it’s a bid to take something down a notch. That’s textbook malicious envy.

The human side behind the screen

I’ve lived across continents, and there’s a common thread in how communities handle envy.

In Central Asia, aunties guard against “the evil eye” with jokes and little rituals, acknowledging that good fortune can draw heat. In Brazil, people often soften a brag with a playful shrug. In Chile, I’ve watched family members celebrate wins out loud and then quickly fold in gratitude, as if to balance the scales in the air.

We all sense the same thing: envy is part of the social weather. Online, that weather gets wild. A feed that mixes luxury trips, political outrage, and humble-brag productivity hacks is a perfect storm. If you’re already vulnerable to malicious envy, the storm pulls you in and offers a script. You feel the sting, you scroll where the sting is normalized, and then you act.

What I do when a troll shows up

First, I try to see the person, not just the post. That doesn’t mean I engage. It just means I remind myself that envy feels awful from the inside. It’s hot and tight. I’ve felt it in other seasons of my life, especially when I was sleep deprived, overworked, and watching friends leap ahead while I felt stuck. Remembering that helps me drop the urge to clap back. It also helps me keep my boundaries clean.

Second, I set clear rules in my spaces. You can disagree with me all you like. You can’t attack people. You can’t target my family. If you cross that line, you’re deleted and blocked. Limits aren’t unkind. They’re how we keep a kitchen safe when the stove is on and little hands are reaching up.

Third, I manage my own inputs. If I spend too much time with content that rewards humiliation or pile-ons, I notice my patience thinning. So I prune. I follow more cooks, gardeners, and long-form journalists. I let my brain exhale. That’s my way to resist the normalization the study warns about.

How to keep envy from curdling in your own feed

Envy isn’t a moral failure. It’s a signal. It says, “you care about this.” Benign envy uses that signal as fuel. Malicious envy uses it as a match. The difference isn’t in what you see, it’s in what you do next.

Here’s a simple reflection I use when I feel that familiar pinch. I ask: do I want to move toward this thing or away from the person who has it? If it’s toward, I jot a tiny next step. If it’s away, I pause and get curious. What belief about control or worth is being poked right now?

The research suggests self-control matters in which way we tilt. So sleep, food, and breaks aren’t just self-care. They’re steering tools that keep envy from tipping into aggression.

And if a creator’s content consistently makes you feel worse, mute or unfollow. We don’t have to marinate in what hurts just because the algorithm served it. Curating your inputs is not denial, it’s hygiene.

Why this matters beyond feelings

Trolling isn’t just rude. It shapes public conversation. When malicious envy meets a steady diet of antisocial media, the cost is bigger than a few mean comments.

People retreat from sharing useful information. Good faith exchanges shrink. Communities polarize around dunk-culture micro-rewards. The new research gives policymakers and platforms something concrete to think about.

If the path to trolling runs through malicious envy and certain media choices, interventions can target both points: build friction into the most inflammatory content loops, and design features that nudge people back toward prosocial norms when they start to slide.

I’m not waiting on platforms to fix it all. In my little corner of the internet, I’ll keep telling the truth about my life, from our stroller walks in Itaim Bibi to the messy days when dinner is just scrambled eggs and tomatoes. I’ll keep my spaces clean and my comments open to disagreement, not disrespect. And I’ll keep encouraging you, and myself, to notice envy without letting it drive.

Because the opposite of trolling isn’t silence. It’s honest desire put to work.