Scroll Fatigue and the Quest for Real-Life Likes

Remember when hanging out meant, well, hanging out—pizza boxes on the coffee table, someone’s dog stealing a slice, and nobody saying, “Wait, let me get a pic for the ’Gram”? Yeah, me too.

A few months back, I’m at dinner when a buddy leans over his dumplings and thanks me—thanks me—for quitting Instagram.

“I hit 5,000 followers,” he explains, “and then I saw someone else at 500-thousand. Suddenly my hobby felt like competitive downhill skiing in flip-flops. So I bailed.”

Apparently we are a social-media Scared Straight program. Who knew?

Here’s the truth: if you’re a suburban dad posting taco shots for sport, Instagram is optional. If you’re trying to rally investors, pitch projects, or spark a movement (hi, that’s me), social media is basically oxygen—only with more trolls.

But let’s be honest: the apps can turn your brain into pixel mush. Jules Terpak, who studies digital culture, says all those “micro check-ins” trick us into thinking we’ve caught up with friends when, spoiler alert, we haven’t. Meta claims we each have three close friends but secretly want fifteen. I’m thinking three sounds like a big Saturday already.

Meanwhile, many folks end up in parasocial limbo—bonding with influencers they’ll never meet, re-watching stories instead of grabbing coffee with an actual human. Even I get blindsided in real life: “Wow, Daniel—you’re taller and nicer than your posts!” (Apologies for typing like a grumpy garden gnome, I guess.)

Platform breakdown?

1. X (fka Twitter): Feels like a family reunion where everyone’s had too much espresso.
2. Bluesky: The chill cousin who only speaks in inside jokes.
3. Instagram: Great for photos, terrible for self-esteem.
4. TikTok: My gateway to Gen-Z, dance moves sold separately.

Yes, I have help—one brave staffer who filters the chaos so I can sneak off for nature walks and remember trees exist in 3-D. I’m firmly on Team “Let’s delay social media for the kids,” because childhood should involve grass stains, not comment sections.

Still, humanity craves face time (the lowercase kind). Case in point: a no-phones party in Manhattan drew 700 revelers eager to live in the moment—no swipe required. Concerts are packed, farmers markets feel like Coachella, and suddenly everyone’s talking about pickleball like it just split the atom. Turns out our dopamine wants in-person upgrades.

I’m hopelessly online and cautiously optimistic. If the chance to unplug appears, grab it like the last slice of pepperoni. And if you see me posting less, it’s because I’m testing the theory that real conversations beat comment threads every single time.

Parting thought: Screens glow, but people shine. Let’s meet where the light is brighter—and compare notes next time, when we’re a little less scrolled-out and a lot more dialed-in.