The Internet
A Failed Project
Oh, the internet. It started off with such promise. Since the early ’90s, we’ve been exploring its commercial potential, opening new worlds of information, self-presentation, and marketing. Shops could showcase themselves virtually, hobbies could be shared across continents, blogs… It felt like the future was wide open.
Things evolved gradually, starting with AOL chat rooms in 1997, where strangers could chat anonymously. Then came MySpace in 2003, laying the groundwork for social media. Facebook arrived in 2004, initially exclusive and invitation-only (because exclusivity always makes things better). Then YouTube and Twitter in 2006, the first iPhone in 2007 (not the first touchscreen, but it redefined smartphones as we know them). Instagram in 2010, Snapchat in 2011, Vines in 2013, each a little more “innovative,” each drawing us in deeper.
It was new and exciting. We could share with friends and family, meet people around the world. Creativity felt limitless, and everything looked so shiny on the surface. But soon, phrases like “Facebook syndrome” crept in. We’re humans; we’ve always compared ourselves to others, and that’s part of how we evolve. But now we weren’t just comparing ourselves to the neighbors or colleagues; we were up against curated snapshots of perfection, endless windows into idealized lives. Nothing quite like being alone with your phone, scrolling through everyone else’s picture-perfect moments, right?
Social media was there, but it wasn’t everywhere. Not yet.
Then came 2016. Meta introduced its infamous algorithm on Instagram, Twitter’s political polarization escalated, and Musical.ly/TikTok burst onto the scene. The dream became a full-blown fever.
The shift from “old” to “new” social media was so subtle we almost didn’t notice. We went from sharing memes, funny videos, and genuine creativity to a digital landscape where self-image is distorted beyond recognition. Teens now reshape their faces to match a narrow beauty ideal that wipes out individuality and makes everyone look exactly the same. Social media has turned into a competition to see who’s the most oppressed, while AI-generated content and bots amplify every trend and opinion until it’s inescapable but dying just a few days later. Outrage has become the new currency, fueling endless engagement and keeping users in a perpetual state of provocation.
LinkedIn became a corporate butt-kissing paradise, where “job opportunities” await, and tearful CEOs with millions boast about the “humbling experience” of firing someone. Facebook and TikTok’s echo chambers feed a steady diet of extreme views, pushing them deeper into isolation. Meanwhile, Twitter has become a breeding ground for hate and bigotry, each post further dividing us, with society splintering faster than a badly built IKEA chair.
Some influencers, always on the lookout for profits, glamorize gambling and promote online games that make high-stakes risks look like innocent fun. Others drive fast fashion, urging us to buy and discard cheap, disposable clothing that exploits workers and pollutes the planet. And let’s not forget the crypto and NFT hustlers, selling dreams of quick riches to anyone feeling the squeeze of rising living costs, only to leave them broke through the latest pump-and-dump scheme.
Even streaming services like Netflix are in on the game, designed to keep us binge-watching for hours on end. As Netflix’s co-CEO once put it, their biggest competitor is sleep. And Google? It doesn’t serve up the answers you need; it serves the ones it thinks you want, pulling you into endless searches, wondering if that weird-looking spot might be cancer. But don’t worry, here are those shoes you searched for last month; they’re on sale now.
Don’t get me wrong, the internet is an incredible tool. We theoretically hold the knowledge of all the world’s libraries in our hands. We can still create, connect, and find community around the globe. Thanks to the internet, we’ve been able to uncover and clarify so much—not just regionally but internationally as well. The #MeToo movement, for instance, would have been nearly impossible without the internet. The same goes for global conflicts and crises. But then, it raises the question—how much information is actually good for us?
Consider local news. Not every incident in a city makes it to print. This isn’t about censorship or cover-ups; it’s just that if every event were reported, newspapers would become books. And if we knew every single tragedy happening around us, would we even want to leave our homes? Sometimes, knowing less might actually help us feel safer and more connected, even if our empathy urges us to learn it all.
Consider human evolution: Humanity has existed for roughly 1.9 million years, but modern humans only for about 200,000. Agriculture was invented just 11,000 years ago. When you think about how slowly we evolved to that point, it’s insane to imagine the mental overload we’ve adapted to in just the past decade. The overstimulation, the flood of information, and the way corporations exploit our attention to keep us hooked should make us ask—how much control do we even have? Of everything we’re consuming, what’s actually necessary and what’s actually good for us?
For those who are now wondering how to counteract all of this: go out without your smartphone every once in a while, be unreachable. Talk to people, get to know them. Call someone for a change instead of texting. Cancel one of your streaming services. Watch regular TV. Delete or hide your social media apps, or, like I did, lock your phone away for a few days until you stop caring about it. And for those who are already doing these things, chapeau.
And finally here’s my question to you, and I encourage you to think deeply about it while taking a closer look at what you’re consuming.
If it truly had only benefits and you knew it would be good for society, could you live without your smartphone and social media? What would it take to free yourself from everything you just read?
P.S. Fitting for the topic, today I want to share Welcome to the Internet by Bo Burnham.
He sums it up better than I could ever write.