I have a fraught relationship with Social Media.

It’s wonderful to be able to keep tabs on long-distance friends and relatives, to be able to share thoughts and photos instantly… but it also feels like a moral failing, contributing my labor (however minuscule) to the Attention Economy: allowing Meta, or TikTok, or Twitter, to profit from my ability and desire to communicate and connect with others.

I certainly haven’t always felt this way. I was in 8th grade in 2008, and I vividly remember borrowing my mom’s work BlackBerry for hours after school, sorting through the mobile-incompatible pages to look at Facebook “flair.” We didn’t have regular internet in our home until after I had gone to college, but I still somehow managed to post a LOT of unfiltered, deliciously cringy Millennial-era content on Facebook, which I’m slowly deleting even now. Instagram followed thereafter, and I joyously posted grainy food pics and selfies along with some of the earliest adopters. Twitter was, controversially, my favorite, because I loved reading everyone’s quippy “live-tweeted” thoughts.

This was before those platforms changed, removing chronological feeds, and monetizing via (even more) ads, shopping, and subscription “verification.” This was before I knew what an algorithm was. This was before “meta” was Meta, before Elon Musk bought Twitter, before ChatGPT and Sora, before I had read Digital Minimalism by Cal Newport, before doomscrolling.

The fact of the matter is, Social Media has led us into a new economic model: the Attention Economy. Just like how printed newspapers sell ad space inside, based on their readership, so too can online platforms; the difference is that a newspaper ends on a daily basis, and a website can be endless. Social Media sites earn more money the more time that viewers spend perusing them, and so they are financially incentivized to make those platforms as time-absorbingly addictive as possible–and they do. These platforms have increasingly homogenized, and these days they all operate exactly like slot machines: you never know what each swipe or scroll may bring, and you’ll never get the same page curated twice. Personalized algorithms create bubbles of feedback which uncritically reinforce our views and increase social divisions. The barrier of the internet lets some people feel safe to bully and harass, protected by distance and anonymity. Bot farms produce hundreds of thousands of comments, which can be inflammatory, misleading, or both. Now AI muddles our perception of reality, throwing additional confusion into a time period where “Truth” is both a Social Media platform and a vicious debate. Perhaps worst of all, the Attention Economy steals our time, energy, motivation, dreams, while we barely notice it.

In a society where the average person already makes too little money, the Attention Economy preys upon the last possible resource we have to give: our time. We freely contribute to this maelstrom, in the hopes of getting a tiny fraction of that attention back–in the form of business traffic, outside validation, or internet fame–but there’s no guaranteed return on investment, and the cost is steep. In recent years, more and more studies on Social Media’s effects on us have come out: we know that our attention spans are shortening, our tolerance for mental discomfort is lessening, our memories are suffering, and our collective social stress is through the roof. Unsurprisingly, the same billionaires who head these platforms keep screens away from their own children, sending them to analog schools and keeping their faces offline. Through Social Media use, our self-perception warps, leading to decreased self-esteem, body image issues, and such dystopian trends as “Instagram face.” The popularity of AI has made all of these issues exponentially worse, from the spread of misinformation and scams to increasingly unattainable self-expectations.

“So, Franny, it sounds like you just hate Social Media.”

Well, no. On the bright side, Social Media is in many ways a great equalizer in terms of connection and opportunity, and has completely changed the game when it comes to operating a business and generating publicity. It has enabled thousands of ordinary voices to be heard, artworks to be shared, and vital news and information to be transferred, all faster than ever before.

Herein lies the personal conflict: I’m an artist. I write, paint, take photos, sing, perform. An artist’s job is to share their art, therefore, I must publish my work: moreover, I believe in increasing access to art as a whole. Because of the way the world has developed, these platforms continue to be the most accessible way to share a message or image with others, and to grow a community. If you are hoping to communicate an idea quickly and/or internationally, Social Media is perhaps the poor communicator’s only option.

This instant globalizing prowess has always been the charm and value of Social Media, but as it currently stands, when I myself am trying to cut down on a doomscrolling habit that I’m sure has negatively impacted my life, is it reasonable to ask others to keep scrolling for MY content? It’s the same reason I was a terrible salesperson back when I worked on commission at the makeup counter at Kohl’s: how could I possibly ethically persuade someone to buy a product, when I couldn’t afford it, myself? I may not have known a customer’s financial situation, but I know for sure they didn’t need a $50 eyeshadow palette… and it has always felt predatory to pretend otherwise.

I stopped posting as actively on Social Media back in November 2020, when that USA election cycle, combined with the COVID-19 pandemic, proved that every online disagreement was fruitless (at least at that time). I deleted Twitter the day it was sold. I wiped my TikTok profile earlier this year. And yet, despite my own choices, I am still scrolling, and still susceptible to twinges of envy when I see others freely, seemingly guiltlessly, sharing.

This blog, The Franifesto, is in part a manifestation of this frustration: I wanted a place of my own, where my opinions are less likely to be subject to censorship and algorithm, where I can post any amount of any kind of media, structure it any way I like, and control my narrative… but, of course, it completely lacks that magical element of community. It seems I must share more consistently on those flawed, established, popular, annoying platforms, but I worry about the hypocrisy of doing so. Posting there seems to puncture my points.

In the end, I know it’s not my job to make the choice for others whether and what they consume, and how much. Why not my work? Has my microscopic protest withheld anything from those in power? Or just from myself?

Paradoxically, the ability to incite change in this unsatisfactory system will almost certainly require participating within it.

Perhaps it’s enough to be aware of the conflict, acknowledge it, and make a post to talk about it. Perhaps it’s enough to ask other artists, and other doomscrollers, what they think. Perhaps it’s enough to simply use what tools we have, while they exist.

So: what are you doing, about/with/for/against/because of Social Media?

Lately, I’ve been:

1. Implementing a weekly no-scroll day (Wednesdays for me. If I accidentally start, I just stop as soon as I realize.)
2. Trying to limit my scrolling to ~2 hours or less a day. (Shamefully difficult.)
3. Trying to engage with Social Media intentionally (such as actively liking my friends’ content, amplifying speakers from historically underrepresented groups, sharing important information, advocating for causes).
4. Engaging in long-form attention habits (meditation, studying a new language, reading books, creative hobbies).
5. “Create more than consume.” Of course the creative cycle requires consuming new media, knowledge, connections, inspiration, but it’s easy to get out of balance if you never synthesize what you’re consuming into something new. (Digest it, if you will, or you’ll end up creatively… blocked.)

All this to say… take a scroll break. Unless you like my work. In that case, I guess, take a break after you’re done reading. 🖤