Doomscrolling until you forget what time it is, frying your brain so deeply that you cannot watch YouTube videos without speeding them up to 2x, procrastinating until the very last minute: being chronically online certainly has its downsides.
All this coming from some red-pill gym bro trying to promote the hustle lifestyle. I hate having them on my fyp. Preaching discipline and dedication while posting thirst traps daily. Who are you to tell me not to use social media when you yourself are on it every single day? Not that what he was saying wasn’t true, but excessive use of anything is harmful. Social media is no exception.
But I wouldn’t know.
I am not chronically online.
When I downloaded TikTok for my not particularly tech-savvy dad, he would continuously send me the cutest animal edits, the ones with chaotic cats and adorable puppies. Every day, he would send me another video, and afterwards I would have to talk him out of adopting a puppy in our newly created TikTok chat while he stood in the kitchen cooking lentil soup. His constant spamming of the same content started to get on my nerves. But at least we finally had something to talk about. We did eventually get two cats.
It was I who persuaded my best friend to join TikTok. Before that, we would not spend hours chatting on WhatsApp. No, it felt impersonal to us. We would call each other and talk about our problems on the phone. We would tell each other about life events the other had never experienced, and even though we could not always come up with solutions on the spot, venting helped. Having someone who listens helped.
Yesterday, he sent me a video in our TikTok chat, a fan edit from Heated Rivalry, a show about two closeted gay hockey players whose fan edits have been all over my fyp. I haven’t seen the show, but I have seen it. He did not leave a message. We react in memes, not words.
2025 began for me with anxiety. The Trump administration, in its infinite wisdom, decided to impose a nationwide ban on TikTok for reasons I am sure they do not even know, or for that matter understand. I was anxious and afraid. I don’t know why. Was I affected physically? No, I’m German. Was the ban coming my way? As I said, I’m German. Then tell me why my fyp did not seem to understand that I am German.
But I was affected. Every day I watch them. Every day I listen to them. And my every day was about to change. My fyp knew it as well as I. It would not be the same if 70% of the content I consumed was no longer being produced. Yes, I can safely say: I was afraid.
My fyp was filled with hundreds of tearful goodbye videos, heartfelt last words, and chaotic, funny confessions. The world could be ending, and who would be there? Gen Z, turning the apocalypse into the funniest meme. That’s how my generation copes.
My mom called one evening. I didn’t pick up the phone. I don’t usually answer right away, especially not at that time of day. She’s not very demure, not very mindful, and I was busy. Your Honour, I wouldn’t stop listening to Doechii’s song DENIAL IS A RIVER. I usually call her back the next day. I didn’t.
I work at a somewhat conservative company. I once suggested doing the “marketing girl” trend that was circulating everywhere. I, the marketing girl, would have made the funniest remake out of it. They took my idea as a joke and didn’t even give it a thought. I know they’re not getting it. It’s not clocking to them that I’m standing on business, is it? It was the first time I wanted to quit and work somewhere that actually understood how social media works.
I had to take a sick day on a Monday. It wasn’t ideal because I had a very important jour fixe with my colleagues that day. My head was killing me. I spent the entire weekend watching videos of Punch the Monkey. I had to see every video, every picture, every angle, every action, every hot take, every reaction, every stitch, every comment, every gif, every meme, and every update. I had to see it all. He is my Roman Empire, and I am an emotional wreck. I still bawl my eyes out just thinking about him.
There was a time when I had to study for an exam, and my favourite show released a new season. I was determined not to start watching it because I know myself. I am an avid binge-watcher. Instead of studying, I would have spent the entire day and night watching one episode after another. So, I didn’t. But let me tell you something, …
let me tell you something. It was my last day before the exam, and I still had a lot to learn. I took what I call a “brain recharge break”, and there they were, the fan edits of the newest season. I had read the book, so I wasn’t really concerned about spoilers. It really speaks to those fans to watch, plan, edit, and publish such incredible fan edits.
Who says you cannot watch two hours of fan edits and people’s opinions of your favourite show and still score an A in your exam? No harm, no foul. I may or may not have had anxiety and slept terribly that night, but still, I passed.
One of my cats went missing one day. They had a habit of going outside and coming home every twenty to thirty minutes, just to check if we were still there or to drink water. That day, my cat was gone for four hours straight. I was certain that something terrible must have happened for her not to return by then. I was crying and hysterically searching for her around the neighbourhood.
No, I was not playing on my phone; I was taking care of business, searching up “cat missing, what to do” videos. A vet on Instagram suggested shaking a box of their favourite treats loudly while calling their name. It had worked for my neighbour’s cat. But not for mine.
She had been sleeping in my sister’s wardrobe the entire time.
We were sitting at the dinner table. It was Christmas. My grandfather was talking to my sister-in-law about the younger generation’s obsession with their phones and how she, pregnant, should never become one of those parents who allow unsupervised phone use, especially on social media. His hot take is that social media is a dangerous space, stunting growth, and that the content is in poor taste. But how would he know? I’m going to hold his hand when I tell him that all he does is sit in front of the TV, either watching propaganda news or brainrot reality shows. So he’s not exactly the person who should be giving her advice, let alone judging social media.
And still, he went on and on, making my blood boil. I was sitting on the opposite side of the table, too far away to join the conversation, but I listened to every argument he made, cataloguing my responses and waiting for the gift exchange to finally confront him about his nonsense. I couldn’t find an opening, though, and while eating dessert afterwards, I realised he wouldn’t even understand what I was trying to say, the hypocrite that he is.
A day after our Christmas dinner, my aunt came by for tea. She came into my room, sitting next to my bookshelves. I will never forget how I once visited her home when I was little. My cousin and I went into her office to grab some pens, and that’s when I saw her bookshelves. I was so overwhelmed by the sheer number of books that I totally forgot why we had gone into her office in the first place.
Since then, we have talked about them endlessly, especially about the great impact BookTok has on the book industry and contemporary literature. I was going on about my newest additions when she interrupted me. She was very concerned and asked if something was the matter. I wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but she explained that I hadn’t said a word at Christmas dinner. She noticed that there was something on my mind, but I assured her that it was nothing and that my mind was just preoccupied. She was not entirely convinced. I guess I really hadn’t been present that evening.
Her Christmas gift to me was Dr. Anna Lembke’s Dopamine Nation.
My mom called the other day again. Then she sent a message. I saw it but swiped it away. I did send her a TikTok an hour later. She wants to go on an Ayurveda retreat with me. Says I could use the break, a fresh start. I declined. The thought of being offline just feels like I’m losing the plot.
But that doesn’t mean I’m chronically online.
Text: S. Sahin
Bild 1: Screenshot der iPhone-Funktion „App-Limit“, erstellt von S. Sahin am 13.02.2026.
Bild 2: Screenshot der iPhone-Funktion „App-Limit“, erstellt von S. Sahin am 13.02.2026.