Being chronically online is so out

Privacy is the new luxury

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The pandemic gave rise to a culture of being extremely online to fill the void of missed, IRL experiences. It was never meant to replace them, but rather to act as a temporary solution. But what it did was normalize virtual settings and prioritize them over in-person connections. 

And while virtual increased accessibility and access to experiences we wouldn’t otherwise have (like remote-first work), it’s also hurt us in our ability to make and sustain IRL connections. 

Our entire world has gone digital. Instead of interpreting body language, we’re interpreting the use of emojis, capitalization, and punctuation (Can someone please tell me why we now associate a “.” at the end of a text as passive-aggressive?!). 

We don’t know how to meet people in the wild or hold conversations that aren’t over text, Snapchat, or Instagram DMs. Our choices in hobbies, clothing, and interests are influenced by the parasocial relationships we have with people we’ve never met, rather than with friends and family who know us best. We feel compelled to document and post every moment, thought, and feeling in an attempt to please the algorithm and go viral. 

However, we’re starting to see the pendulum shift the other way towards digital minimalism. 

In other words, being hyper-connected is so out. 

Those who practice digital minimalism are more intentional with the role that technology plays in their lives, from the content they consume to the platforms they choose to be on and what they choose to post. Technology (physical and digital) is chosen to support one’s values and goals, and the rest is left behind. 

It means swapping your smartphone for a “dumbphone,” seeking analog and offline hobbies, and intentionally curating your feed, choosing how you allow others to experience you. 

If being chronically online is the status quo, digital minimalism is the counterculture. Digital minimalism is about setting boundaries, rebelling against the “always on” mentality, and reclaiming control of our digital presence. And in some cases, leaving it behind altogether. 

I. The self-esteem crisis

Have you noticed that middle schoolers aren’t ugly anymore? There’s no more awkward “ugly duckling” phase, a rite of passage into adolescence. Instead, we have 14-year-olds who act, dress, and look like 24-year-olds. They shop at Sephora. They wear the same styles of clothing and brand labels that post-grads wear. If you looked at their room and their possessions, you’d think you’d walk into a twentysomething’s apartment.

And social media is to blame. 

Millennials grew up ugly because we didn’t have social media. We didn’t have to worry about the constant scrutiny, comparison, and FOMO. There was no such thing as “influencers.” The only “media” we had were magazines and catalogs, and the closest we could get to seeing what was trending was what celebrities wore. 

We were free to explore our hobbies, passions, and interests without having to validate whether they were “cool” or not. We had time to learn who we were and develop the essence of who that was without being influenced by any outside forces. 

However, as we’ve become increasingly immersed in social media, it’s taken a toll on our self-esteem. 

Social media puts pressure on us to constantly perfect our appearance, forcing us to invest in clothing, makeup, skincare, and cosmetic procedures. 

Moreover, it’s hard not to feel constantly behind when we see our friends, family, and peers reach milestones and accomplishments that we aspire to achieve. 

At its core, social media is a giant likability and popularity contest. And all of it is aesthetically driven. If you don’t have the right look or content, good luck amassing a following. 

We use it to measure our worth. How many followers we have. How many likes/views/comments/shares we get on a post. We delete content that “flops.” We let comments from trolls affect our mental health. We tie every post to an outcome, whether it's for virality or a sale. 

No wonder we’re overstimulated and burned out. 

In response, more people are trading in their smartphones for a flip phone, also known as a “dumbphone.” In 2024, a consumer report found that 28 percent of Gen Z and 26 percent of Millennials were interested in acquiring a dumbphone.

So much so that “Barbie phone” is trending on TikTok, and there are rumors of the Blackberry and the Sidekick making a comeback (Sidenote: If that happens, I will 100% be ditching my iPhone). 

On a wider scale, the dumbphone is a reflection of the dissatisfaction and burnout from social media platforms. 

And even for those not considering the switch, we’re starting to put more boundaries around our usage of these apps—going on “social media fasts,” setting screen time limits, or deleting apps from our phones entirely (Personally, I have my social apps grayed out from 8 pm - 8 am during the week and completely over the weekends). 

When we’re offline, we can channel that energy elsewhere. 

Disconnecting from social media, whether temporarily or permanently, can help us reconnect with the truest version of ourselves, knowing that trends are not influencing us, but rather our genuine interests.  

II. Privacy as a luxury

It’s no longer cool to be chronically online. Being offline is now perceived as a luxury in a world where everyone is perpetually plugged in.

The coolest people now are the ones who rarely post on social media, and when they do, it’s a pretty big deal. Posts are reserved for major announcements and life updates, rather than random photo dumps. 

But this shift isn't just about posting less — it's about shifting where and how people interact with you online.

It’s a shift from “look at everything I’m doing” to “you can only see what I allow you to see.”

Being more intentional with your online presence signals exclusivity and control. It creates this idea of curation, where our online presence is treated like an invite-only club, with limited access. Think Close Friends on Instagram. 

It’s easy for us to amass friends and followers on social media. Family friends. High school classmates. Co-workers. And unless we do a cleanse, we hang onto these friends and followers forever. Curation allows us to select who sees the updates. 

And most of the time, it’s our close circle of maybe 25, 50, 100 people who cut (if we have that many). It allows us to broadcast our news to our world, not the world at large. 

Second to this is the need for more human experiences. 

In a world that is slowly being dominated by AI and slop culture, where nearly everything is artificially generated, we’re looking to our communities and seeking out IRL experiences. 

Which brings us to the Intimacy Economy. 

III. The Intimacy Economy 

The Attention Economy is out, and The Intimacy Economy is in. 

The Intimacy Economy is defined as “market systems where personal and emotional data are exchanged for customized experiences catering to individual emotional and psychological needs.”

As we curate our digital world, we’re focusing more on the quality of our connections rather than the quantity. We’re striving to build smaller, yet more engaged, communities over large, distant ones. 

Large, splashy events are being replaced with intimate dinners. Social channels are being replaced with private member communities and Substack newsletters.

Creators and brands are developing new platforms to connect with and engage their fans and communities. 

The shift is from attention to intention. 

Where megaplatforms can flatten our online experience and reward content that appeals to the algorithm, smaller communities create more opportunities for enriched experiences and access to higher-quality content. It’s a return to what true “social media” should be—engagement, community, and authenticity. 

The Intimacy Economy enables us to create spaces around subcultures and nuanced interests, bringing together like-minded people. It gives us a chance not only to meet new people online, but also in real life. 

IV. Personal over performative 

Back in the old days, social media was meant as a tool for documentation, to share things with our friends, and just to create for the sake of being creative. We created to express our personalities, not to rank in the results, sell to a customer, or promote something. We never asked our followers to “like and subscribe.”

However, creators and brands soon discovered that social media could be used as a distribution tool. Then, as a content channel to create native content. It became less “social” and more “media.”

There is no more “social” in social media; our friends and followers barely get to see our content. Instead, it’s become “recommendation” media, with our feeds constantly filled with content the algorithm thinks we’ll like. 

Hence, the pressure to create content that performs. 

Digital minimalism seeks to make content feel more personal again. Our digital spaces are shifting back to becoming deeply personal spaces that are less about performance and more about personality, where we don’t have to compete with others for attention and likes. We’re seeing this in the shift from aesthetic grids to candid photo dumps.

Moreover, we’re breaking up with Big Tech and turning back to platforms like Tumblr, Pinterest, and Cosmos, where users can focus more on curation over creation. Platforms like Tumblr are fascinating to Gen Z because they focus less on algorithms and recommended content, and more on creating an online space tailored to your personality and interests. 

According to data shared by Tumblr with Business Insider, in 2025, 50% of Tumblr's active monthly users are Gen Zers, and 60% of new users signing up are also Gen Zers.

Whether it’s Tumblr or another platform, digital minimalists are seeking out alternative platforms, spaces, and communities for creation, connection, and expression. It why we’ve seen a rise in private membership communities and an increase in long-form content over short-form video content.

As technology becomes increasingly pervasive in our lives, it’s no surprise that our relationship with it is evolving. Digital minimalism enables us to preserve our humanity and establish a clear distinction between our physical and digital selves. The only question is: Is it enough to change it for good?

Alexa Phillips is a writer, brand & content strategist, and multi-passionate creative. She is the founder of Bright Eyes Creative, a Seattle-based brand consultancy and media company that helps founder-led brands and creatives design content-driven brand experiences and media.