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It happened quietly at first. No official announcement, no ceremony, no certificate framed on a wall. One day, you needed years of study, experience, and the occasional nervous breakdown to be called an expert. The next, all you needed was Wi-Fi, a strong opinion, and the confidence of someone who has never once said, “I might be wrong.”

Newsflash! Everyone now considers themselves an expert.

Admit it. If you have scrolled online, you must have seen them. The “experts” that populate the comment sections of every thread like a determined weed that is thriving in a damp corner of the internet. Think of a medical specialist who posts years of research only to be corrected by a bloke called ‘Dave’ whose credentials include “I’m sure I had those symptoms’ and “I have a feeling about that.”

Dave is not alone. Dave is part of a legion, an army. Dave sits in his parent’s basement doomscrolling and thinking he knows more than anyone. Dave should get outside and touch some grass!!

If you head to any social media platform, I guarantee, in fact I will lay money on it, that you find an endless stream of people who “know.” Those that visit the gym weekly will tell a nutritionist that they know better. Teachers are put in place by those who went to school once. Economists are corrected by those internet scrollers who tell you, “It’s common sense really.” The belief seems to be that the closeness to a subject gives you the same knowledge as experts. It is one hell of a phenomenon really.

The age we are living in, this digital 24/7 age, is one where information is abundant. The internet has gifted us knowledge which in theory, is a wonderful thing. We have access to research and information that was once behind a locked door of an institute. The internet allows us to learn anything, anytime, anyplace. However, that access also comes with its own ‘something extra.’ I am talking about the democratisation of confidence. The other thing that I have noticed is that while the internet gives us so much, wisdom seems to be an optional extra, one which many don’t take advantage of.

Because while knowledge is something that arrives with some doubt, a little nuance, and a sleepless night or two, knowledge comes pounding on your door ready to argue. (Just remember what I said about wisdom being an optional extra!)

Let’s get right into it. The expert. Now I am not talking about just any expert, I am talking about the modern day, internet at their fingertips, I’m always right, type of expert. You know the ones. They see half a headline, add in a misunderstood statistic, and they are ready to charge. Then it starts,

“Actually….”

That first word is your red flag. It’s the modern-day experts code for saying, “Actually you’re wrong. I am going to put you right, so sit down, shut up, and listen.” Now the modern-day expert has tactics. They don’t disagree; they couldn’t possibly! They correct you. Not only do they correct you, but they do it with the unwavering certainty of someone who (a) thinks they know everything and (b) has never had anyone dare to stand up to them and test their opinion.

The real experts, those that are actually ‘in the know,’ speak carefully. They will say such things like, “evidence suggests” or “there are several factors to consider.” Real experts are not afraid to hesitate. They will consider evidence. They will revise. And most importantly, they are not afraid to say, “I’m wrong.”

Now compare the two. One treats every conversation like a courtroom where they are both judge and jury; the other treats it like a discussion where, brace yourself, other people might contribute. And in that contrast, you realise the loudest voice in the room is rarely the wisest… just the most convinced.

Social media and the incredible internet access we are blessed with in today’s world, is a marvellous thing. Now, you know what I am about to say…. but…somewhere along that blessed path we took a wrong turn, a very wrong turn. We have mistaken accessibility for ability. Yes, the information is available but that does not mean that it’s understood. Do you watch three cooking shows and consider yourself Nigella Lawson? No, of course you don’t. Even though you might have tried the odd fancy meal and burnt a lasagne, you know you are not Nigella.

But there is something called illusion. We skim over information and absorb enough that we feel informed, just the basic dot points you understand. Then we step into the internet arena and declare that we know a lot about the said subject. We announce ourselves as ready to help. There is no apprenticeship in this process, no gradual accumulation of skill—just a sudden and unshakable belief that we have cracked the code, that we are the fountain of knowledge for the subject on discussion.

Why do we do this? Why do the `keyboard warriors` and `basement dwelling experts` declare their ability and claim their rewards? That is due to the way the internet works. Outrage travels faster than accuracy. Outrage and boldness will perform for you. Standing firm and declaring ‘you know best’ will quite often get you the clicks and likes you dream of, and at high speed!

But is that the way to go …. really?

Of course it isn’t. If you are a rage baiter, it is perfect for you. If you want clicks and likes and have little care for truth, it is perfect for you. If you want to stay hidden behind your keyboard anonymity, it is perfect for you. Algorithms will reward you as they favour you over a careful, conditional statement. Algorithms do not favour hesitation; they reward engagement. And nothing engages quite like a confident opinion delivered at high speed.

In this environment, actual ability doesn’t disappear—it simply gets buried. But when it does appear, it looks different to the ‘I’m an expert’ posts. The actual expertise posts are often less polished and ask for patience and context. The actual ability posts don’t scream for a headline. They don’t ask for clicks. They just ask that we realise the truth and uncertainty that comes with them. Uncertainty as we know is not a marketable quality!

So, we very often turn away from the uncertainty and move towards those voices that are the loudest, the most certain. Clarity trumps accuracy. Simplicity beats truth. We listen to those who make the world feel understandable, even if what they are offering is a version of reality that has been tidied up and reworded a bit.

Why do we do that? The world is an overwhelming place. Sometimes we, as a human race, need comfort and simplicity. When someone says, “It’s actually very simple,” (even when it isn’t) we gravitate to that.

But comfort is not the same as correctness.

This cultural shift has consequences—real ones. When everyone is an “expert,” actual expertise becomes harder to recognise. It is drowned out by noise, buried beneath hot takes and instant reactions. Complex issues are flattened into simple arguments. Nuance is treated as indecision. And those who have spent years studying, researching, and refining their understanding are placed on equal footing with those who have spent an afternoon scrolling.

In some cases, they are even dismissed as out of touch.

There is a peculiar anti-expert sentiment that has crept into public discourse, a suspicion of those who dedicate their lives to understanding a subject. Expertise is often framed as elitism, but there is a difference between saying “you cannot understand this” and “this takes time to understand.”

We have, perhaps, lost our patience for time.

Why? The world has changed. The world has become immediate. Opinions are formed fast, shared quickly, and defended extensively. People no longer sit with an idea and prepare a response. There is not just that the expectation that we have an opinion, but that we have it now.

And loudly.

The result of this is as if we are sitting front row centre at the theatre. It is a performance of a different kind, an intellectual one. Everyone is performing the act of ‘certainty’ for an equally certain audience. Everyone of course thinks they are right, some more than others. This “act” is less of a conversation and more a competition. How do people aim to win it? If you can sound the most authoritative, the most decisive, the most right, you stand a good chance of winning.

Winning feels like it is the point. But is it?

What gets lost in this performance is curiosity. The simple, powerful act of asking questions. Of admitting gaps in our knowledge. Of approaching a topic not as something to conquer, but something to understand. There was a time when saying things such as “I don’t know” or “please explain” or “but why?” was not a personal failure. It was an honest starting point. Now, it feels like a weakness because of the uncertainty that these statements show. We fill the silence with opinions, patch over uncertainty with confidence, and hope no one notices the gaps.

Spoiler: the gaps are often enormous.

Beneath all of this, there is something human at play. We want to belong. Let’s face it, who doesn’t! We want to contribute. We want to feel informed in a world that often feels chaotic and unpredictable. Having an opinion—expressing it, defending it—gives us a sense of control.

It tells us we understand what is happening. Even when we don’t.

The problem with this, is not that people have opinions. It is that we have started to treat all opinions as equally informed. They are not. And pretending they are does not create equality—it creates confusion.

Expertise still matters. Experience still matters. Time, study, failure, revision—all the unglamorous, unsharable parts of learning—still matter. The fact that someone can explain something simply does not mean they arrived there simply. We need those people. The ones who have done the work. Who have wrestled with complexity and come out the other side—not with certainty, but with understanding.

So where does that leave the rest of us?

Perhaps it starts with a small shift. A quiet rebellion against the pressure to know everything. The courage to say, “I’m not sure.” The discipline to listen before responding. The humility to recognise that someone else might, in fact, know more than we do.

Revolutionary, I know.

It might also mean changing the way we engage. Asking better questions instead of delivering faster answers. Valuing sources over soundbites. Pausing—just briefly—before joining the chorus of certainty.

Imagine a world where comment sections included phrases like “That’s interesting, I hadn’t thought of that,” or “Do you have a source for that?” Imagine discussions that were less about winning and more about understanding. Imagine treating expertise not as something to challenge by default, but something to engage with thoughtfully.

It sounds almost radical.

Of course, Dave will still be there. Dave will always be there. Confident, committed, and entirely unmoved by nuance. But perhaps the rest of us can choose a different approach. One that values curiosity over certainty, questions over declarations, and knowledge over noise.

Because despite what the headlines—and the comment sections—might suggest, not everyone needs to be an expert.

Some of us can just be learners.

And in a world overflowing with certainty, that might be the most credible position of all.