In 2024, using social media felt worse than ever

It’s never been more exhausting to be online than in 2024. While it’s been clear for some time that monetization has shifted social media into a different beast, this year in particular felt like a tipping point. Faced with the endless streams of content that’s formulated to trap viewers’ gazes, shoppable ads at every turn, AI and the unrelenting opinions of strangers, it struck me recently that despite my habitual use of these apps, I’m not actually having fun on any of them anymore.

Take Instagram. I open the app and I’m greeted by an ad for bidets. I start scrolling. Between each of the first three posts at the top of my feed is a different ad: lingerie, squat-friendly jorts, shoes from a brand selling items that appear to be dropshipped from AliExpress at a markup. Then, thankfully, two memes back to back. I fire off the funny one to five of my friends in a way that feels obligatory. After that, another ad, then a bunch of seemingly off-target Reels from accounts I don’t even follow. Minutes pass before I encounter a post by someone I know in real life. Oh yeah, it’s time to turn off suggested posts again, something I have to do every 30 days or my feed will be filled with random crap.

But before I get a chance to do that, I’m distracted by a Reel of a cat watching The Grinch. Then by a Reel of a guy with a tiny chihuahua in his coat pocket. Curiosity gets the better of me and I open the comments, where people are angrily writing that the dog must be suffocating. Oh no. I scroll to the next Reel, a video I’ve seen several times before of a rooster marching around in a pair of pants. Below, everyone’s fighting about whether it’s cruel to put pants on a chicken. Is it? Next, a video of a girl doing her makeup, where men are commenting that this should be considered catfishing. Deep sigh. I realize 30 minutes have somehow passed and I close Instagram, now in a worse mood than when I opened it. I’ll compulsively return in an hour or so, rinse and repeat.

It’s not just an Instagram problem. On TikTok (which may or may not get shut down in the US very soon), the For You page has me figured out pretty well contentwise and the presence of toxic commenters is minimal, but every other post is either sponsored or hawking a product from the TikTok Shop. And it’s too easy to get sucked into the perpetual scroll. I often avoid opening the app at all just because I know I’ll end up getting trapped there for longer than I want to, watching videos about nothing made by people I don’t know and never will. But it still happens more frequently than I’d like to admit.

These days, it feels like every gathering place on the internet is so crowded with content that’s competing for — and successfully grabbing — our attention or trying to sell us something that there’s barely any room for the “social” element of social media. Instead, we’re pushed into separate corners to stare at the glowing boxes in our hands alone.

Fittingly, Oxford announced at the end of November that its Word of the Year for 2024 is “brain rot,” a term that expresses the supposed consequence of countless hours spent on the internet consuming stupid stuff. Just as fitting, Australia’s Macquarie Dictionary chose “enshittification,” which describes how the platforms and products we love get ruined over time as the companies behind them chase profits. (It was also The American Dialect Society’s 2023 Word of the Year). Social media platforms were in theory designed around ideas of friendship and connection, but what’s playing out on them today couldn’t feel further from genuine human interaction.

Facebook — if you even have an account still — might be where you’d go if you really wanted to see updates from family and other people you know IRL, but its UI has become so cluttered with recommended Reels and products that it feels unusable. Twitter, where it was once fun to keep up with live discourse around major events or fandom happenings, no longer exists, and X, its new form under Elon Musk, is filled with bots and political propaganda.

On the other hand, Threads, an offshoot of Instagram and Meta’s answer to Twitter/X, took off this year and it quickly became a hotspot for copy-paste engagement bait, a problem so bad that Adam Mosseri has publicly acknowledged it. The Threads team has apparently been “working to get it under control,” but I still can’t scroll through my For You feed without seeing a dozen posts that are either just regurgitated memes being passed off as original thoughts, or questions to the masses that are crafted with the intention of stirring the pot. The same feed is otherwise dominated by viral videos that are ripped off from other creators without credit and pop culture commentary that almost always devolves into sex- and genderism. I often step away from Threads feeling the need to go scream in a field.

Threads doesn’t have DMs, meaning all conversations take place in public. It finally gave users the ability to create custom feeds around searchable topics in November, but those topic pages are generally still riddled with bait-style posts, just more subject-specific versions. That’s meant so far that it’s been pretty hard to find communities to authentically connect with. It all feels so impersonal.

It doesn’t help that Threads’ Following feed currently isn’t the default view and there’s no way to change that (though Threads recently began testing the option). And at the end of the day, its 275 million or so monthly active users doesn’t include all that many people I actually know, especially outside of the media industry. The same goes for fediverse social networks like Mastodon and Bluesky, which are far less populated but have a cliquier feel. Visiting those platforms feels like walking into a room full of people who all know each other really well, and realizing you’re the odd one out. But at least Bluesky nor Mastodon aren’t poorly veiled shopping experiences. (Threads isn’t at the moment, either, but ads are reportedly coming).

Maybe it all comes down to burnout in the era of excessive consumption, but lately I’ve found myself wishing for a place on the internet that feels both inviting and human. I’m sure I’m not alone. In recent years, we’ve seen alternative social apps pop up like BeReal, Hive and the Myspace-reminiscent entrants SpaceHey and noplace, all aiming to bring character and interpersonal connection back into social media. But none have quite cracked the code for lasting mainstream adoption. Discord and even Reddit to some extent address the same person-to-person need, yet they share more in common with proto social media chatrooms and forums than with the sites that sprung up during the social heyday.

Meanwhile, Meta is increasingly pushing AI across its apps. Just this summer we got the chatbot-maker, AI Studio, which Meta touted not only as a way for users to create AI characters, but for “creators to build an AI as an extension of themselves to reach more fans.” Rather than talk to your real friends or make new ones around a common interest, you can deepen your parasocial relationship with celebrities, influencers and fictional characters by chatting with the AI versions of them. Or, pick from several AI girlfriends you can now find in the menu of your DMs. We’ve completely lost the plot, I fear.

I’ve started dipping back into Tumblr here and there, if only to see a less chaotic, more curated feed and relish in the reminder of how fun customization can be. A few friends have mentioned that they’ve been doing the same. But given the platform’s past policy upheavals and its current AI partnerships, it’s not exactly an online oasis either. As if on cue, I was recently served a mock Tumblr poster during my evening scroll that felt uncannily apt: “we didn’t get better. the rest of the internet just got worse.”