You Are Not “Addicted” To Social Media
How a lonely, self-inflicted battle points to a greater societal reckoning
Meet Evelyn Abbot: a 17-year-old high school senior procrastinating her Calculus homework. She goes on Instagram more out of habit than desire, flicking through posts she’s already seen and pulling down to refresh her feed in the lucky event she lands on something new. With nothing left to do, she visits the “Explore” page, numbingly watching cat videos and “five-minute crafts.” Her dad walks in ready to ask her about her day but stops at the sight of her sullen face. He looks down at her phone and sighs, declaring, “you know you can’t spend all of your time on that thing. I don’t get why you’re so addicted!”
Stop. Let’s pause. “Addicted”: a word intended to shoulder the blame on Evelyn for her lack of awareness and self-control.
Why doesn’t she just leave the app if she has nothing left to do? Or, more importantly, if it no longer brings her any joy? Why is this issue all too common yet rarely spoken about? If we can’t help but check our phones countless times a day in hopes of a new notification, are we all addicted?
In “No, You’re Not Addicted to Social Media,” University of Pennsylvania human behavior researcher Arunas L. Radzvilavicius reveals a key distinction between social media addiction and social norms; “Whereas addiction is something people experience mostly as individuals, social norms are shared mental states shaped by the views and beliefs of other members of the society and by our subjective perceptions of those beliefs” (Radzvilavicius). Essentially, delineating each person’s association with their social media as an “addiction” places the blame on them. Contrary to focusing on the issue as an individual addiction, Radzvilavicius rightfully prompts the question of why social media is so “addictive” in the first place. If an addiction scales to such large masses of society that it becomes the new normal, clearly it is not the fault of the individual.¹ In Evelyn’s case, referring to her situation as an “addiction” sets forth a self-inflicted, lonely battle that alienates her from recognizing the source of the larger issue: social media design.
Behind each simple, intuitive social media platform is a team of hundreds of software engineers, user interface designers, and psychologists collaborating to grip the user’s attention for as long as possible. In The Atlantic’s “Addicted to Your iPhone? You’re Not Alone,” journalist Bianca Bosker interviews former Google design ethicist Tristan Harris to expound the reality that every like, follow, tag, and comment was crafted with intentional and painstaking detail meant to suggest another reason to return to the app. Harris’ knowledge, along with many other budding Silicon Valley influencers, was founded in the same school of thought taught by experimental psychologist B.J. Fogg in his “Persuasive Technology Lab”. The baseline ingredient for social media’s success, as Harris explains it, is taking advantage of our innate psychological behaviors to “coax” us into using the app.²
Take Instagram, for example: a social media veteran, beloved for those that strive for an “aesthetic” photo feed and embark on the exhilarating journey of amassing likes and followers. By tapping into “deep-seated human needs” such as social approval and appreciation, Instagram achieves an “addictive” nature (Bosker). Psychologically, each “like” represents a level of social appreciation that triggers a rush of dopamine, a neurotransmitter in the brain that contributes to feelings of pleasure. Each notification is strategically released immediately, thus providing a reason to expect a constant source of instant gratification. This unpredictable, random delivery of a reward is backed with cognitive psychological research that proves it “to quickly and strongly reinforce behavior” (Bosker). In other words, self-restraint is easily overridden when an awaiting like or post is tied to a deeper social value. We will always want more likes, followers, and overall societal validation — a sad, but entirely taken advantage of truth.
Knowing the deep neurological power of likes and other instantaneous notifications, one must also question why are the little numbered circles on the app are stark red. Vox’s video “It’s not you. Phones are designed to be addicting” similarly asks: why are push notifications not a calm, light blue or pastel green? Once again, it points back to carefully calculated research that tracks eye movement, discovering heightened sensitivity to bright red (Vox).³
Each like, tag, and comment is thus psychologically designed as an invitation to return to the app — all actions initiated by users, making the system fully self-sufficient. As Harris puts it simply, companies “‘stand back watching as a billion people run around like chickens with their heads cut off, responding to each other and feeling indebted to each other’” (Bosker). In this chaotic metaphor, the fundamental truth is clear: the self-inflicted dilemma of social media addiction must be repurposed into a greater reckoning with the morality of its design. If psychologically-based human triggers are embedded into the social media user experience, at what point does it become unethical?
Understanding the power of each of these neurological triggers enables us to realize how little agency is left for the individual. Despite our many differences, humans are wired with the same foundational desires. If studies with researchers like Fogg are done to pinpoint these common links, exploit them, and disseminate them throughout the industry, it is no surprise that we are all struggling with the same issue.
It is important to note that social media, despite its astounding success, has only been around this conniving industry for twenty years. The video essay from Vox illustrates how these companies have taken notes from a longtime successful player: casinos. The pull handle of a slot machine represents the complete uncertainty of potentially massive earnings, or a disappointing failure. Similarly, the “pull to refresh” feature represents the thrilling unpredictability of what posts will arise. Despite the fact that the feed updates instantly, constantly pulling to refresh creates an illusion of control for the user in dictating this uncertainty (Vox). Had the refresh feature not existed, the user would feel less of a personal stake in their experience and thus visit less. Dissecting this small but integral part of the user experience reveals how internalized these features are, adding to the enigmatic, inexplicable allure of the platform. Contextualizing this perspective with Radzvilavicius’s argument reminds us of the broader scale: each person’s interiorized social media struggle is triggered by these same features, meticulously designed to subtly grip your attention.
The Instagram interrogation continues: what about infinite scrolling? For the longest time, the Instagram home feed represented an endless stream of entertainment, pulling posts that date back years in order to avoid a user getting bored and leaving the platform. Upon being criticized for being too much of an “addictive” platform, they instituted a “You’re All Caught Up” message when someone reaches the end of their feed. Problem solved, right? Well, think back to Evelyn: when there was nothing new to see, she ventured over to the “Explore” page deliberately designed for that very purpose — another reason to stay on the app.
The form of artificial-intelligence-generated content has vastly varied across different social media platforms, each racing to finetune their algorithm and capture another minute of the user’s attention. The industry leader of this technique is Tik Tok, a short-form video app that bases the user experience heavily on its AI-generated “For You” page. By curating a stream of content that does not require the user to follow anyone and has no concrete end, it effectively encourages an infinite amount of time spent on the app. For most users describing their experience on the platform, that appears to be the case, wondering where their time mysteriously evaporated. Importantly, Tik Tok is a competitor in the attention-grabbing entertainment industry where any technique to keep a user on a platform is highly sought after. It is no surprise that in August 2020, Instagram launched Reels, its own Tik Tok alternative. This lengthens the user experience even further, enabling an effortless transfer from the static photos of the “Explore” page to the enticing, endless stream of short-form video content.
Social media addiction is thus less the fault of its users and more so the intentional trap of its designers, meticulously formulating an abusive experience. While users have some agency in determining how long they use the app, each ounce of individual responsibility is deliberately scrutinized by the designers to “coax” us back into the app. This realization can be both concerning and comforting. The creation of this self-perpetuating mechanism of enrapturing, personalized entertainment can reasonably foster feelings of helplessness. On the other hand, it shifts the blame away from Evelyn’s “addiction” and points towards greater questions of how much we have allowed these companies to get away with. When former company executives like Harris leave the company out of ethical concerns for its future, there is reason to be alarmed.
Equipping oneself with this realization breaks down the elusive barrier of self-isolating addiction and rallying together to create meaningful change. It also calls attention to one of Harris’ solutions in requiring a code of conduct, or “Hippocratic oath for software designers” (Bosker). If there are established boundaries of ethical design, the developments of social media addiction can be limited and actively monitored.
We must continuously arm ourselves with this knowledge of intent to criticize the programmers hiding behind their screens. We must value Radzvilavicius’s position to spark conversations about why social media abuse has become a societal norm. We must remember that human existence spanned long before the invention of social media, so there is no reason for it to hold such an intense grip on our lives.
At what point will it become clear that it is time to reclaim our own digital agency? With every minute wasted, the algorithm knows us a bit better, holds our attention a minute longer, and makes the company that much stronger. Maybe if the designers of Instagram had taken their own Hippocratic oath, Evelyn wouldn’t be so trapped in the first place.
[1]: Radzvilavičius, Arunas L. “No, You’re Not Addicted to Social Media.” Undark Magazine, 30 Sept. 2019, www.undark.org/2019/06/13/social-media-norms/.
[2]: Bosker, Bianca. “What Will Break People’s Addictions to Their Phones?” The Atlantic, Atlantic Media Company, 6 Jan. 2017, www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2016/11/the-binge-breaker/501122/.
[3]: “It’s Not You. Phones Are Designed to Be Addicting.” YouTube, Vox, 23 Feb. 2018, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NUMa0QkPzns.
