“If your friend jumped off a cliff, would you do it, too?”
Who has not heard this exasperated parent-phrase, usually right after explaining why "everyone else is doing it" is not actually a good reason for anything? But here is the paradox: herd behaviour is both one of nature's most brilliant survival strategies and one of humanity's most ridiculous impulses. So, which is it?
Herds are very common in the animal kingdom and with good reason. Herding is not some evolutionary mistake; it is a masterful technique in collective intelligence. A school of fish confuses predators with their synchronised movements. A wolf pack takes down prey ten times their individual size. Migrating birds save energy by drafting off each other in V-formations. Even finding a mate becomes easier when you are part of the group.
And it is not just biological creatures that benefit from moving together. Digital herd behaviour described by Tristan illustrates how functionality of herding can extend to artificial systems as well. Webscrapers collectively gather enormous amounts of data, and navigation apps predict traffic flows by aggregating millions of device locations. In each case, herd behaviour is not mindless but rather efficient, adaptive, and purposeful. The collective action amplifies the capabilities of single units, producing outcomes that would be impossible alone.
Yet, in humans, the term kuddegedrag (= herd behaviour) often carries a negative connotation. While it is natural to want to fit in – we are social animals, after all – most of us also crave authenticity and individuality. As we grow up, we learn to balance this conformity and uniqueness. But during youth, this balance is often fragile. Teenagers, for instance, are highly susceptible to peer pressure and may influence each other to take risks, sometimes even to the point of self-sabotage. So, suddenly we are not talking about elegant schools of fish but about teenagers vaping behind the gym because "everyone's trying it”. Adults are not immune either, blindly following trends or social norms without reflection are by no means uncommon. In both cases, herd behaviour can lead to irrational or harmful outcomes. In other words, the same mechanism that helps geese fly across continents can drive humans to jump off metaphorical – or literal – cliffs.
This duality inspired my concept: A group of little creatures that follow the light in front of them, naturally running after each other in circles. As the creatures circle, their batteries drain and their lights gradually dim. One creature breaks from the circle. It rolls to the edge of the space and simply stops and sits still. It conserves its remaining charge. That lone creature's light burns much longer than those still running in circles. While the herd spins itself into darkness, exhausting the last of their energy on meaningless motion, the solitary creature glows steadily in the corner. Not bright, but persistent. It is surviving alone now while watching its companions chase each other until, one by one, their lights flicker and die. The creature that stepped out will outlive the others by ten, maybe fifteen minutes. Then it too will fade to black.
Now, what is the right choice? Staying together, burning bright in collective motion but also dying fast as a group? Or the one who broke away, living longer but spending that extra time in isolation, potentially even rejected by the herd it abandoned? This is the question teenagers and even adults face every day. We know, rationally, that some circles are destructive – that the herd is sometimes running toward a cliff. But stepping out means being alone and different. Watching everyone else continue without you, even as you "survive" longer.
The creatures cannot answer this question. After fifteen minutes of darkness, they reset: their lights return to full brightness, the circle reforms, and they begin chasing again, as if they learned nothing. We are not robots; we can see the patterns in our behaviour. But even when we see the circle clearly, even when we understand the cost, the pull of the herd remains almost irresistible. Because humans were not built for isolation. We were built for the circle, even when the circle is killing us.