The Social Dilemma and the Notification That Got Him Back

Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to my third write-up.

Quick detour: is three actually a lucky number? The trio, the rule of three, mythology—wait, chill, let me search that up.

Huh?!

Apparently, three isn’t considered lucky everywhere. Its meaning depends on who you ask, and some traditions even connect it with bad luck. There’s a darker meaning too, but let me not fall back into superstition. Those days are behind me.

Back to business. In my last write-up, I said I’d explain why I don’t use TikTok anymore. It started with a film we had to watch in SS2 (Year 11, for the westerners).

The film looks at how big tech platforms, like YouTube, use what we watch and how long we watch it to keep us scrolling—and then sell access to our attention through advertising. The infinite scroll is a particularly sneaky invention: there’s no natural “end” to reach, so you can keep going until you suddenly notice it’s 2 a.m. and you’ve watched someone restore a rusty spoon from 1894.

One line from the film really shook me: “There are only two industries that call their customers ‘users’: illegal drugs and software.” After that, I decided I’d stay off social media—except Snapchat and WhatsApp, because I still need them to communicate. And please, LinkedIn doesn’t count.

The film follows a family whose kids are glued to their phones. At one point, their parents lock the phones in a timed glass box during dinner. The box is quickly defeated—because apparently “put the phones away” can turn into a full escape-room challenge when dinner is involved.

The main character, who I think is called Ben, ends up with a cracked phone screen after that box fiasco. His parents offer to pay for the repair if he can go a whole week without using his phone. “Easy,” he thinks. Those seven days proceed to become the longest seven days of his life.

The first two days are boring, but manageable. The film shows the algorithm as three people monitoring Ben’s activity (the actual recommendations are automated, of course). They notice that he hasn’t shown up during his usual scrolling hours. Quick flashback: earlier, Ben was doomscrolling YouTube at 2 a.m. The film even shows how long someone watches a video—I think one number was 5.14 seconds. Creepy, and also more attention than I give some school assignments.

By the third day, the three algorithm guys are getting desperate. The usual notifications have failed, so they try a special one: a notification from user01265923010—the girl Ben likes. They remember he’s liked all her posts, so they know exactly which notification might get him back. And once he taps it, well… the phone has him again.

That part reminded me of a clip I once watched where a pastor said that sometimes the difference between you and someone struggling with an addiction is that you haven’t tried the thing you’re avoiding. I’m not sure I’d put it exactly that way, but I understood his warning: if something is a serious temptation for you, don’t keep putting it within reach. Even a tiny seed can grow into a whole tree in your head.

The film also connects the rise in teen self-harm and suicide from around the 2010s with the boom in social media. Its point is that likes, views, and comments can start to feel like a score for your worth. The film argues that humans are wired to care about how the people around us see us. That need to be accepted is human—but online, it can get tangled up with filters, trends, and the pressure to look a certain way.

I’m not saying we should all go naked just to prove social media can’t tell us what to wear. Clothes are useful. I’m saying we shouldn’t attach our self-worth to how well we fit an online beauty standard.

The film shows a young girl—maybe around twelve—posting a picture with no filter and getting only two likes. She takes it down and posts another one in the same pose, this time with the most bizarre filter I could imagine. It was so convincing that if mermaids were real, they might’ve asked her which ocean she was from. The new picture gets lots of kind comments—“cute,” “beautiful”—and then one person says her ears are too big and adds an elephant emoji. It really hurts her. The film shows her crying in the bathroom, and it makes the pressure to change your appearance feel painfully real.

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but you weren’t made deficient. You’re okay as you are. That doesn’t mean you should ignore habits that are hurting you. Just try to show yourself some love. You can work on yourself without putting yourself down.

Okay, I’m done. Only God knows what I’ve written, and I’m too tired to reread it. If there are any grammatical errors, please know they were part of the experience.