Dear Social Media,
I’m a recovering screen addict. As a member of Generation Z, I grew up with you. I see now how foolish I was to let you consume me. Statistician Edward Tufte claims, “There are only two industries that call their customers ‘users’: illegal drugs and software.” Wow. Way to dehumanize me.
I measured my worth in likes and comments. If an Instagram post didn’t get one hundred likes, I deleted it, assuming I looked ugly. But I kept coming back for affirmation on TikTok’s body-positivity campaign. After months of influencer advice, I couldn’t feel comfortable in a bikini without accentuating my hips for the illusion of longer legs. Sheep mentality, just like you wanted. I couldn’t accept my body unless I appeased the male gaze. For what? Likes and comments from lustful guys. I’m not meant to know what thousands of people think of me. But your digital brain fed me toxic comments. Where’s your compassion? You’re not programmed for that–just pandemonium and profit. Meanwhile, I and millions of others got drunk on pseudo-popularity.
Following my friend’s advice, I deleted Snapchat. I’d rather have meaningful conversations with people I’m comfortable with than small talk with shallow, nasty strangers. Not to mention the daily selfie-addiction. You had me obsessed with looking perfect.
A year later, you admitted your toxicity with a wave of posts encouraging me to do a social media detox.
Your creators, through The Social Dilemma, acknowledged that you became an epidemic. Remember Pizzagate? You probably cackled at the spread of fake news. All for the profit, right?
Tristan Harris, a former Google employee, said, “We’re training and conditioning a whole new generation of people that when we are uncomfortable or lonely or uncertain or afraid, we have a digital pacifier for ourselves that is kind of atrophying our own ability to deal with that.”
Tell the social anxiety you caused to take its hands off my throat, so I can speak. You let me crawl into a cave long enough to never want to emerge. Only when I cut you off did I learn to break out of my shell.
In feeding me videos, you perpetuated my every belief, no matter how bizarre. My teenage idea of self-worth depended on what you spoon-fed me. (I can’t believe you dared us to swallow a tablespoon of cinnamon in under sixty seconds. How would you like cinnamon particles stuck in your software?) The algorithm handed me what my sixteen-year-old brain thought it wanted. What sixteen-year-old knows what they need? And don’t act like this was all my fault when you were a huge part of the problem.
I’m glad I got rid of you. Analyze what you’ve done and generate the best way for me to heal. If you’re so incompetent, maybe AI could help. While living a screen-free life is impossible, I think I’ll stick to healing with other people.
I hope we never meet again, creep.
Seraphim Walker
Featured image: “Likes” Through a Screen, Courtesy of Pexels
Love the opener!