Fuck Multiverses

Somewhere, someone decided that reality wasn’t enough. Or maybe they felt that regret needed a more sprawling stage. Enter the multiverse: countless versions of you, endless versions of everyone you love or hate or scroll past on the internet. It’s everywhere now—not just in sci-fi novels or niche comics, but in billion-dollar movies and memes. A thought experiment turned cultural wallpaper, a framework for exploring infinite possibilities, and infinite anxiety.

Because at the heart of the multiverse is the tantalizing whisper: What if? What if you’d stayed in school? What if you’d moved to another country? What if you’d said yes? Or no? Or tried harder? The multiverse promises that every decision you didn’t make still happened somewhere else. And while that might seem liberating at first—you’re not a prisoner of your choices!—it quickly curdles into something oppressive. If every choice exists somewhere, then every mistake does, too. Every failure. Every missed opportunity. All endlessly spinning in a kaleidoscope of regret. Concreting the mediocracy of yourself.

Exhausting. As if the buzz of our phones and the churn of content weren’t enough to fracture our attention, we’ve got the multiverse to contend with, too. Not only is reality fragmented, but so are we. That there isn’t one version of you navigating the chaos of modern life, but endless versions, scattered across countless timelines. It’s too much. It’s absurd. Not too helpful.

Because here’s the thing: none of those other versions of you are real. They’re stories. Entertaining, maybe even useful if they help you reflect. But they’re not your life. Your life is here, now. It’s the moment you’re in, the choices you’ve made. And yes, maybe it’s messy. Maybe it’s not what you imagined. But it’s real. It’s yours. And it’s enough.

The multiverse, for all its shimmering possibilities, is a distraction. A trap. It pulls you out of the present, out of the life you’re actually living, and into a hall of mirrors where nothing is solid and everything is hypothetical. And that’s not an inhabitable place.

You don’t need limitless options to feel fulfilled. You just need to show up for what’s here. Fuck the endless what-ifs. Fuck the idea that your life is just one thread in a cosmic tapestry. It’s this moment, and the next, and the next. Fuck multiverses.