A post went viral claiming that people who can't visualize are 'furniture.' You've probably seen it. Maybe someone sent it to you with a "have you seen this??" text. Maybe you stumbled across it yourself and felt your stomach drop.
The premise is this: If you can't rotate an apple in your mind, blur it on command, and rebuild it in a new scene with new lighting—you are, and I'm quoting here, "furniture." You are not building the future. You are a resident in someone else's imagination. And the world will stop changing when the last great visualizer disappears.
I have aphantasia. I see nothing when I close my eyes. No apple. No horse. No faint outline, no flickering shadow. Just... dark.
By this post's logic, I am furniture.
I'm also the person who founded the Aphantasia Network, built a global community from scratch, collaborated with the researchers who coined the very term the post relies on, and helped bring attention to one of the most fascinating frontiers in cognitive science.
So let me be direct: that post gets almost everything wrong. And the way it gets things wrong is worth talking about, because the misconceptions it spreads are exactly the ones that cause real harm to real people discovering their minds work differently.
The Grain of Truth
I want to be fair first. The post references real science. Aphantasia is real—formally named in 2015 by Professor Adam Zeman at the University of Exeter. I know, because I was one of the first 21 documented cases in that study. The visualization spectrum is real. Hyperphantasia is real. The physiological responses to vivid mental imagery—pupil dilation, heart rate changes—are documented in peer-reviewed research. The post didn't invent these facts. It weaponized them. It took a fascinating area of cognitive diversity and turned it into a hierarchy. Visualizers on top. Everyone else below. And aphantasics at the bottom, relegated to "maintaining the present" while the real architects build the future overhead.
This is not science. This is storytelling dressed up as science. And it's the kind of storytelling that does damage.
The Visualizer's Fallacy (Yes, It Has a Name)
Researcher Christian Scholz identified something he calls the Visualizer's Fallacy. It's not just the belief that everyone visualizes. It's the more specific—and more harmful—assumption that because a visualizer uses mental imagery to perform a task, anyone who doesn't use imagery must be incapable of performing that task. Read that again, because it's exactly what the viral post does. It assumes that because architects, engineers, artists, and composers can visualize, visualization must be why they create. And therefore, anyone who can't visualize can't create.
This is like saying that because most writers use keyboards, anyone without a keyboard can't write. The tool is confused with the capacity. The method is confused with the outcome.
The Evidence the Post Ignores
Here's what the viral post doesn't mention:
Glen Keane has aphantasia. He's the Oscar-winning Disney artist behind The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast. He describes his creative process as an "explosion of scribbles"—working externally, on paper, discovering the image as he draws it rather than copying one from his mind. John Green has aphantasia. His books have sold over 50 million copies worldwide. The Fault in Our Stars is one of the best-selling novels of all time. He builds vivid, emotional worlds that millions of readers inhabit—all without seeing a single mental image. Craig Venter, one of the leading geneticists of the 21st century—the man behind the first draft of the human genome—has aphantasia. He's said that it actually helps him assimilate complex information into new ideas by focusing on concepts rather than getting stuck on specific mental pictures. These aren't exceptions that prove the rule. They're evidence that the rule is wrong.
The post claims that "reality is built by people who can see things that don't exist yet." But seeing is not the only way to conceive of something new. You can reason toward it. You can feel your way into it. You can build it externally, iteratively, using tools and language and collaboration. You can hold the concept of what doesn't exist yet without needing to project it onto the backs of your eyelids.
Creation is not a visual process. Creation is a cognitive one. And cognition comes in many forms.
The Spectrum Isn't a Ladder
One of the most important things I've learned in a decade of studying aphantasia is this: the visualization spectrum is not a hierarchy. It's a landscape.
Hyperphantasics aren't "better" thinkers. They're different thinkers. Some experience imagery so vivid and uncontrollable that it becomes intrusive—songs playing on loop during stressful moments, involuntary scenes that won't quiet down at night. One community member described their hyperphantasia as an animated cartoon running nonstop in their visual field, transforming every conversation into an exaggerated scene. Fascinating? Absolutely. Always useful? Not necessarily.
Meanwhile, people with aphantasia often develop "type thinking"—the ability to work directly with abstract concepts rather than specific mental images. When a visualizer thinks of a horse, they might see a specific chestnut mare from a childhood memory. When I think of a horse, I think about horseness—its essential qualities, its role, its context. No specific image means no specific image biasing my thinking. This isn't a deficit. It's a different cognitive architecture. And in many contexts—abstract reasoning, big-picture strategy, resisting the biases that come from overly vivid but misleading mental simulations—it's an advantage.
If you're curious where you fall across the full imagination spectrum—not just vision, but sound, touch, taste, smell, and movement—the Imagination Index measures all six senses in about 12 minutes. The Screen Time Argument Doesn't Hold Up
The post's most alarming claim is that screen time is "atrophying" our ability to visualize, creating a generation of "receivers, not generators." The implication is civilizational collapse.
Let me be careful here, because I respect the underlying concern about passive consumption. There's a real conversation to be had about attention, creativity, and the effects of constant media.
But the post presents as established fact what is, at best, a hypothesis supported by "preliminary studies." The relationship between screen time and visualization ability is not well-established in the scientific literature. And the leap from "some correlation in early research" to "we are destroying the human capacity for imagination" is exactly the kind of sensationalism that serious researchers avoid.
More importantly, the post completely ignores that aphantasia has existed throughout human history. Long before screens. Long before TikTok. Long before television. People have been living full, creative, world-changing lives without mental imagery for as long as humans have existed. We just didn't have a name for it until 2015.
Screens didn't create aphantasia. And turning off your phone won't cure it.
Why This Matters
I'm not writing this because someone was wrong on the internet. I'm writing this because I know what happens when posts like this go viral.
My inbox fills up.
People write to me scared. People write confused. People write saying they just discovered they have aphantasia and now they feel broken, deficient, like something essential is missing from their minds.
For roughly 35% of people who discover aphantasia, it's a significant psychological stressor. They're processing the realization that their inner experience is fundamentally different from what they assumed was universal. That's already a vulnerable moment. And into that moment lands a viral post telling them they're furniture. That they're not building anything. That they're living in someone else's imagination. That the future doesn't belong to them.
That's not motivational. That's cruel. And it's wrong.
What I Actually Know
Here's what a decade of living with, studying, and building a community around aphantasia has taught me:
Your mind is not broken. It works differently. And that difference is fascinating.
Not being able to visualize doesn't mean your mind is empty. I've always been drawn to photography—covering my walls with images, capturing moments externally. It took me years to realize those photos were doing the work my mind's eye couldn't. They were my external memory system. I wasn't compensating for a deficit. I was adapting, creatively, the way humans always do.
The people I've met through the Aphantasia Network—engineers, artists, scientists, teachers, parents, retirees who discovered this at age 75—are not furniture. They are creative, thoughtful, ambitious people who happen to think in a way the majority doesn't fully understand yet.
Cognitive diversity isn't a problem to solve. It may be one of the most underappreciated aspects of human flourishing.
A Better Question
The viral post ends with a challenge: close your eyes, see the apple, rotate it. If you can't, start practicing.
I have a different challenge.
The next time someone tells you how your mind should work, ask them: how do you know?
How do you know that your way of thinking is the way the future gets built? How do you know that the absence of mental imagery means the absence of imagination? How do you know that the person sitting next to you, the one whose eyes are open and whose mind is quiet and dark behind those eyes, isn't conceiving of something extraordinary right now—just in a way you can't imagine?
Because here's the deepest irony of that viral post: it asks you to imagine an apple, but it can't imagine a mind that works differently from its own.
And that failure of imagination? That's the real thing holding us back.
Editor's note: This article was originally published as a response on X. You can read and share the original post here.
