When I first saw the creepy composite face on a forum, someone casually wrote that the very first reported dream featuring that man happened in Manhattan back in 2006 — a woman told her therapist, the therapist passed the sketch along, and the story snowballed into 'This Man'. That narrative always felt cinematic to me: a small confession in a big city ballooning into an international mystery.
I’ve spent afternoons comparing old threads, and the timeline generally matches: the alleged 2006 encounter, followed by the appearance of the 'This Man' website in 2008 which distributed the image worldwide. Whether you believe it as a paranormal coincidence or a crafted hoax, the Manhattan anecdote is what gives the whole legend its eerie plausibility. Personally, I enjoy weighing the folklore against the more mundane explanation—people love a pattern, and the internet loves a mystery.
I dug into the origins because the story is so clean it begged to be verified. The purported first sighting of the face in dreams is said to have occurred in Manhattan, New York, in 2006 when a woman reportedly told her psychiatrist about recurring appearances of the same man in her dreams. That anecdote is exactly the kind of neat hook viral campaigns use.
If you’re the cautious type, you’ll want to know the narrative was popularized by the website 'This Man' that showed the sketch and asked visitors if they’d seen him. Many fact-checkers now call the whole thing a hoax, crediting an Italian artist and marketing group with creating the myth as social experiment or publicity play. I like to keep the Manhattan detail in mind because it anchors the otherwise eerie, globe-spanning rumor in a very ordinary place.
Short and to the point: the legend says the first reported dream about the face happened in Manhattan, New York, around 2006, when a woman mentioned the recurring man to her psychiatrist. That small detail is what the 'This Man' site used to spark wider interest.
If you want to poke holes, check the site’s origins and the fact-checks—many experts think it was a staged viral project. Still, that Manhattan origin is oddly specific, and it’s the part of the story I find most memorable when I bring it up with friends.
I got sucked into the 'This Man' story one sleepless evening and it stuck with me because of how mundanely specific the origin sounds: the first reported dream supposedly happened in Manhattan, New York, around 2006. The tale usually goes that a woman told her psychiatrist she kept dreaming about the same face, and that sketch eventually became the seed for the whole internet phenomenon.
Reading that felt like the perfect urban legend setup — a quiet confession in a therapist’s office turning into a global meme. Later, the mysterious website 'This Man' popped up in 2008 and amplified the tale, though many people now treat the whole thing as a clever hoax or viral marketing stunt. Still, I love the mix of clinical detail and folklore; it’s the kind of story I bring up when friends and I trade creepy internet finds over coffee.
2025-08-28 13:59:50
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This is a story between a bloodthirsty merman and a kind and naive researcher. Linda, a researcher at a Japanese maritime university, found herself raped by a lewd merman in a dream. This tempted her to conduct research on this mythical creature. Together with her professor Gary, they set off to sea in search of merfolk. They successfully caught a merman, but Linda was marked as its mate…Was it a human that had caught a merman, or was it a merman who had found its prey?
Since I moved into this apartment, I kept dreaming about a man every time I fell asleep. The man told me he was my husband.
However, I had only just started college.
When I woke up, my lower back ached, and my body felt sore. My neighbor was a psychologist, and he prescribed some medication to help me sleep.
Unfortunately, the dreams became even more real.
One night, the man leaned close to my ear and whispered, “You can’t escape me.”
Martha's life is turned upside down when she starts having terrible and scary dreams that creeps into reality.
She thinks she can protect her family from it but she fails repeatedly.
How is she going to handle the tragedy?
Cara, a senior Psychology student, has always been haunted by the face of a strange boy from her childhood dreams. As she grows older, the boy is replaced by a mysterious man in her dreams. Determined to understand the connection, she seeks the help of her best friend, a psychologist, to explore the meaning behind these recurring visions. In her waking life, two elusive men capture her attention, but they remain distant.
Instead of feeling lost, Cara embraces this mysterious journey, knowing it holds the key to deeper self-discovery. With the support of her friend, she begins to unravel the powerful message her dreams are guiding her toward, realizing that the answers she seeks are within her reach.
The day I decided to marry the heir to one of the East Coast's wealthiest families, my ex-boyfriend Jack Harris showed up in my dream again.
This time was different from all the others. He was on his knees in front of me, sobbing until his voice gave out.
"Nora, I regret it."
"Won't you come back to me?"
The old me would have softened.
But this time, I woke up and only wanted to laugh.
For ten years I thought I dreamed of him because I couldn't let go, that I was pathetic for it.
Then my best friend, a therapist, told me a colleague of hers had picked up a very strange client, a man who'd sold off everything he owned to learn a form of hypnosis that let him control people's dreams deeply.
That man was Jack Harris.
His wife was Vivian, the classmate who'd bullied me for years. The three of us had grown up together, childhood friends from the same small town.
He'd tormented me for ten years, dumping me a different way in my dreams every single night, all to keep Vivian happy.
And now he had me listening to his confessions in my dreams. It wasn't his conscience turning over.
It was so I'd kill myself, so my heart could be transplanted into Vivian whole and undamaged.
What he never imagined was that I'd found out everything ahead of time.
This time, I was going to watch this rotten pair destroy themselves, one rotting away in his dreams, the other rotting in a hospital bed.
I was touching myself in front of the teddy bear on my bed, because I knew a man was watching behind its eyes.
He had sneaked into my home, lay on the bed where I slept, and left traces of himself on my clothes.
When I noticed, he watched as I hid in a corner, trembling… not knowing that I had been waiting for him for a long time.
I got sucked into this whole thing late one night scrolling through weird internet lore, and the first thing that popped up was a slick little website called 'thisman.org' that claimed dozens of people were seeing the exact same face in their dreams. The pitch was beautifully ominous: submit your dream, see the face, and suddenly you felt like you were part of a global whisper network. It hooked people because it mixed the uncanny with plausible psychology — shared archetypes, suggestion, and the way memory reshapes detail.
From what I dug up afterwards, the simplest origin is a crafted hoax: an Italian creative put the site together as a viral art/marketing experiment. Bloggers, forums, and late-night message boards amplified it, and because humans love patterns and stories, it snowballed into an urban legend. Throw in Photoshop-savvy folks, dream-sharing culture, and a few sensational headlines, and you get the modern myth machine. I still get chills thinking about how quickly something so small became so widespread; it’s a perfect little study of how stories become folklore in the internet age.
I've chatted with a bunch of sleep nerds and dream-curious friends, and my gut says: yes and no — it depends what you mean by "appear." If you mean "can someone's dream content literally pop into someone else's careful lab-recorded dream report?" the evidence is thin. Shared dream studies that aim for content-level overlap face huge problems: memory distortion, suggestion, and the simple fact that people who spend time together often have overlapping waking experiences and cultural scripts that shape similar dream imagery.
That said, I’ve seen studies and experimental setups where researchers try to nudge two sleepers into similar themes. They use synchronized stimuli before and during sleep (sounds, smells, stories), pre-sleep priming with the same images, and then record PSG/EEG to confirm REM timing. When both participants are exposed to the same priming and are later asked to free-report dreams, overlaps increase above pure chance sometimes — though effect sizes are often modest and replication is tricky.
So, can "this man's dream" appear in shared-dream research? Practically, a dream-like motif from him can show up in another’s report under carefully controlled priming and expectancy conditions. But claims that a full, detailed private dream transfers mysteriously without any sensory or social bridge remain unproven. If you’re into this, I’d keep an open but skeptical curiosity, and maybe try a DIY priming experiment with a friend while keeping records — it’s fun, and you’ll learn how fuzzy dream memory really is.