Why social media is boring me to pieces

I’d like to thank Elon Musk for purchasing Twitter. Ahem — I mean ‘X.’

As soon as Elon Musk walked into Twitter’s headquarters carrying a sink (the caption to the video read, “Walking into Twitter HQ. Let that sink in,”) it was clear that Musk was more concerned with crafting Dad-jokey quips than he was about making the platform better, or at the very least keeping it clear from hate speech and disinformation.

Since Musk’s takeover of Twitter X, it’s been steadily losing users, who are tired of the arbitrary changes and lack of content moderation. Initially, users went to Threads, Instagram’s knock-off Twitter-lite, but that doesn’t seem to be taking hold, either.

For that matter, I’m noticing some of my Facebook and Instagram friends are quietly disappearing, as if they’re being sucked up into strange 1950-style space pods by green aliens. They either delete their accounts or outright abandon them. Sadly, a few of my friends who have passed away have profiles that sit in suspended animation, a poignant record of their life up until the moment it suddenly stopped.

A lot of what’s left is boring.

Social media used to be a place where you could catch up on family and friends. There was nothing better than getting the news (with photos!) of a couple’s engagement or the arrival of a new baby. It was a place to celebrate each other’s new jobs, weddings, new houses, and graduations. There might be an emergency in one area of the country, and your friend in that particular area could hop on social media and let everyone know “I am safe.” There were times when I felt as though social media expanded my community, rather than isolated me from it.

I know we throw the word “algorithm” around like a hot potato. I will not claim to really understand algorithms. I just know that they are used to determine how to sell me more products for the sake of capitalism. Algorithms, from what I can tell, are trying to guess what I want to see, when I want to see it. Lately, they are getting it wrong.

It may sound like I’m complaining. You may think I’m being nostalgic for the “good old days” of social media. Maybe I am. But inside this complaining and bellyaching, friend, you can hear a sigh of relief and a hopeful hallelujah.

I attended a live performance recently. Directly in front of me was a woman who turned sideways in her chair, put her feet up, and scrolled through Facebook for the entire 90-minute performance. She paid money to attend this concert, and she spent most of it with her head not even facing the stage.

It was easy for me to judge this woman, but the truth is, smartphones have robbed the attention of many of us for years. We willingly pay for the privilege of time theft. We purchase covers and cases and pop-sockets to adorn the thing that has trained us, like Pavlov’s dog, to begin hungering for a tasty morsel at the sound of a notification chime. How many things have I missed because I was doom scrolling? How many times have I engaged in terse “discussions” with complete strangers over politically or socially-charged topics, then ultimately go to bed feeling frustrated and unresolved, wondering if the person with whom I was conversing was even a real person at all?

The truth is, I’m becoming exhausted by the advertisements, the sponsored posts, the influencers who are performing somewhere in their barely-furnished house with a ring light and a tripod as they convince me that I need to watch them apply cosmetics or make a seven-layer cake with only 3 ingredients. I’m tired of friends or acquaintances using their accounts to sell the pyramid scheme du jour: weight loss products, anti-aging skin care products, clothing, even sound baths.

We all — the content creators and the content consumers — are trapped in our own bubbles, staring down into our laps while gripping the phone in our claws, shutting out the life that is begging to be noticed right beside us.

So I for one am thankful to Elon Musk and the others who have let things slide. Inside me, I feel a growing hunger for the real stuff. I want actual conversations with real people. I’ve been writing letters more — putting pen to paper is a grounding experience for me; receiving a letter back gives me a rush that no algorithm can provide. I’m attending live performances. I’m going for walks in nature, and having lunch with friends. I want real things that fully engage all five senses.

The fall of social media — or at least a steep decline of it — is what could save humanity. Go ahead, algorithms. Keep it boring. Please.

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