For much of my life, I’ve avoided using “social media”. I enjoyed chatting on IRC in 1990’s. My days, thankfully, were filled with the tangible, the immediate, the deeply human interactions that required no glowing screen or algorithmic intermediary. My existence, as I perceived it, simply did not necessitate their embrace. Yet, as the tide of the digital age relentlessly surged, it became undeniable: everyone, it seemed, had waded in. Even those who once held fast to the shores of tradition—our elders, our stoic relatives—have found themselves navigating these increasingly turbulent waters.
UPDATE: Recent internal documents from Facebook (Meta) have cast a stark, alarming light on the scale of this exploitation. These revelations indicate that a staggering 10% of all adds on their platforms is comprised of outright scam material, ranging from illegal schemes to fraudulent enticements. One must then ponder: if 10% is definitively illegal scam content, how much more is comprised of content that is merely less than ethical? Content designed to mislead, to inflame, to subtly coerce? The true figure, one suspects, would be substantially higher. And with these platforms projected to rake in an astounding $16 billion in advertising revenue in 2024 alone, the incentive to maintain this lucrative, if morally dubious, ecosystem is frighteningly clear.
The sheer omnipresence of these platforms eventually nudged me. A recent desire to rekindle connections with old acquaintances, perhaps glimpse a familiar face or share a forgotten anecdote, led me to cautiously step into one of these behemoths (facebook). What I found, I must confess, was not the communal hearth I had envisioned, but a cacophony that left me profoundly unsettled. The experience was akin to entering a bustling marketplace where every salesperson yelled attention, every corner hawked a distraction, and every interaction felt subtly engineered. My initial foray was met with such an overwhelming barrage of advertisements and content that felt less curated for connection and more crafted for capture. I had my a primal urge to simply run into the woods. It became an overwhelming sensation. I deeply regret the decision to re-engage, and my retreat will be swift and resolute.
The promise of connection, so alluringly packaged, often unravels into a journey into isolation. We scroll through curated lives, witnessing highlight reels that, in their perfection, make our own lived realities feel mundane. In reality, these are fake. This constant, subliminal comparison is a insidious thief of contentment. It fosters a profound sense of loneliness in an age ostensibly designed for boundless connectivity—a paradox of the digital century. We are more “connected” than ever, yet often feel more profoundly alone, adrift in a sea of performative happiness and manufactured outrage.
Beyond the psychological toll, the very fabric of our discernment is under constant assault. The manipulation inherent in these platforms is grand, sophisticated, and relentless. Every feed, every suggested post, every “trending” topic is a carefully calculated intervention, designed not to inform or connect, but to engage, to retain, and ultimately, to extract value. Our attention, our data, and our emotional responses are the currency in this new economy, and the algorithms are masters of extraction.
The modern internet, once a vast expanse of unbridled potential and distributed knowledge, has converged into these centralized walled gardens. They present themselves as indispensable, yet they have become echo chambers, battlegrounds, and relentless machines for resource extraction—from our attention spans to our very sense of self.
Perhaps the path forward lies not in attempting to reform these colossal, ingrained structures, but in consciously seeking out and cultivating alternative spaces. The Handcrafted Web, for instance, represents a quiet rebellion—a directory for sites built by humans, for humans, prioritizing thought, simplicity, and genuine connection over algorithmic dominion.
For my part, the call of the wilderness is strong. It is a yearning for substance over spectacle, for presence over performance, and for a world where connection is forged in shared experience, not dictated by an algorithm. I’m choosing to run back to the woods, and I invite you to consider if the view from there isn’t far more refreshing.