You remember the sound. That screeching, rhythmic digital seizure of a 56k modem trying to handshake with a server somewhere in Virginia. It was loud. It was annoying. But there was a time when that noise was the sound of permission. It meant you were leaving the "real world" and entering something else entirely.
Today, you’re always "on." Your pocket vibrates with a Slack message at 9:00 PM. Your fridge wants to update its firmware. The internet isn't a place we go anymore; it’s the air we breathe. It's invisible. It's seamless. And honestly? It’s kinda exhausting. There is a growing, collective realization that while we gained "user experience," we lost the soul of the digital frontier. We traded the weird, clunky, and human-centric web for a series of polished, algorithmic Skinner boxes designed to keep us scrolling until our eyes bleed.
The Era of "Digital Friction"
Everything used to be harder. You couldn't just "stream" a movie. You had to wait. If you wanted to see a trailer for the new Matrix sequel, you started the download, went and made a sandwich, maybe took a nap, and hoped nobody picked up the landline phone in the other room. If they did? Connection dropped. 40% complete. Game over.
This was "digital friction."
Engineers at companies like Google and Meta have spent the last two decades trying to kill friction. They want the gap between "I want this" and "I have this" to be zero. On paper, that’s great. In practice, it turned the internet into a giant, frictionless slide leading directly into a pit of doomscrolling. When there’s no resistance, there’s no intentionality. We don’t decide to use the internet anymore; we just find ourselves there, blinking at a TikTok feed thirty minutes after we meant to check the weather.
Back in the day—and I mean the late 90s through the mid-2000s—the internet was a destination. You sat in a specific chair. You turned on a specific machine. You had a plan. Because getting online was an ordeal, you made it count. You visited specific forums. You checked your favorite webcomics (shoutout to Homestar Runner). You engaged with people you actually knew, or at least people who shared your very specific, very niche interests.
Why the Chronological Feed Was Better (Actually)
Algorithms are the biggest thieves of our time. They think they know what we want. They’re usually wrong, but they’re wrong in a way that keeps us engaged. But there was a time when your feed—whether it was LiveJournal, MySpace, or early Facebook—was just a list of what happened, in the order it happened.
There was a natural "end" to the internet back then. You’d scroll down, see the post from your cousin that you saw yesterday, and you’d stop. You were done. The internet was "over" for the day.
Now, the feed is infinite. It’s a "For You" page that never sleeps. This shift from chronological to algorithmic didn't just change what we see; it changed how we feel. According to a 2021 study published in Technology, Mind, and Behavior, the lack of "stopping cues" in social media design is a primary driver of digital compulsive behavior. We stay on longer not because we're enjoying it, but because we haven't been told to stop.
The Death of the Personal Web
Remember Geocities? It was ugly. It was filled with "Under Construction" GIFs and neon green text on purple backgrounds. It was a disaster of UI design.
But it was ours.
Every page was a specific expression of a human being’s weird hobby. If someone loved 18th-century porcelain cats, they built a shrine to it. They didn't start a "Porcelain Cat" subreddit where they had to follow 42 different rules and get moderated by a stranger. They just built a site.
Corporate consolidation has turned the web into four or five "giant islands" where we all live. We’ve traded the wild, overgrown forest of the early web for a neatly manicured, gated suburban community. It’s safer, sure. The CSS is better. But it’s also sterile. When every profile page looks exactly the same, your personality is forced into a template. You aren't a person; you're a data point.
The Psychology of "Always On"
We weren't built for this. Human brains didn't evolve to handle the social pressures of 3,000 "friends" or the constant dopamine hits of notification badges.
Sociologist Sherry Turkle, a professor at MIT and author of Alone Together, has spent decades researching how our devices change us. She argues that we’ve lost the "sacred space" of solitude. But there was a time when, if you were waiting for a bus, you just... waited. You looked at the trees. You people-watched. You thought. Now, those "interstitial moments" are filled with the internet. We never give our brains a chance to enter the "Default Mode Network"—that state of mind where creativity and self-reflection actually happen.
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Instead, we are constantly reacting. Reacting to an email. Reacting to a tweet. Reacting to a notification that someone you haven't spoken to in ten years just "liked" a photo of your lunch. It’s a state of continuous partial attention. It's exhausting, and it's making us miserable.
The "Dead Internet" Theory and the Rise of AI
It’s getting weirder, too. Have you noticed how much of the internet feels... fake lately?
There’s a conspiracy theory—the "Dead Internet Theory"—which suggests that most of the web is now just bots talking to other bots. While the extreme version of the theory (that all humans have been replaced) is obviously nonsense, the core sentiment feels true. A huge portion of web traffic is non-human.
With the explosion of generative AI, this is only getting worse. We are being flooded with "slop"—AI-generated articles, AI-generated images, and AI-generated comments designed to juice SEO and ad revenue. But there was a time when you knew, with 100% certainty, that the person on the other end of a chat room was a human. They might have been a weirdo, but they were a real weirdo.
Now, you have to guess. Is this a helpful person on Reddit, or a bot trying to sell me a VPN? Is this a real photo of a beach, or a prompt-engineered hallucination? This erosion of trust is the final nail in the coffin of the "Old Internet." When you can't trust that you're interacting with a human, the "social" part of social media dies.
How to Find That Feeling Again
You can't go back to 1998. You shouldn't want to—the medical advice was worse and the video quality was terrible. But you can reclaim the feeling of that era. You can bring back the friction.
It starts with intentionality. Most of us use our phones like we're on autopilot. We reach for them before we're even fully awake. To break that cycle, you have to build walls.
- The "Check-In" Method. Instead of having notifications on, turn them all off. Every single one. Even messages. Set specific times during the day when you "go to the internet." This recreates the feeling of the internet being a destination rather than a background radiation.
- Use "Dumb" Tools. If you’re writing, use a dedicated word processor or even a typewriter. If you’re listening to music, buy a record player or an old iPod. By separating the function from the "everything machine" (your phone), you eliminate the temptation to wander off into the digital weeds.
- Seek Out Small Communities. Get off the giant platforms. Find a Discord, a niche forum, or a Mastodon instance where the user count is in the hundreds, not the millions. These places feel like the old web—people talking to people because they actually care about the topic.
- Physicality Matters. Read a physical book. Print out photos. Write a letter. The internet is ephemeral; physical objects have weight. They don't update. They don't track your data. They just exist.
We used to use the internet to enhance our lives. Now, it feels like our lives are just a way to feed the internet content. But there was a time when the balance was different. We were in charge. The screen was a window we chose to look through, not a leash we were tied to.
If you feel burnt out, it’s not because you’re "old" or "behind the times." It’s because the modern web is designed to burn you out. It’s designed to extract your attention and sell it to the highest bidder. Recognizing that is the first step toward getting your brain back.
Actionable Steps to De-Digitize Your Life
- Delete the "Infinite" Apps: If an app has an infinite scroll (TikTok, Instagram, Twitter), delete it from your phone. Only access it via a desktop computer. This adds a massive amount of friction that will naturally limit your usage.
- Set a "Digital Sunset": Pick a time—say, 8:00 PM. After that time, no screens. Read, talk to your family, or just stare at a wall. The first few nights will be boring. That boredom is your brain recovering.
- Audit Your Subscriptions: Are you paying for "convenience" that is actually just clutter? Cancel the newsletters you don't read. Unfollow the "influencers" who make you feel inadequate.
- Rediscover the "Search" Web: Instead of letting an algorithm feed you content, go look for it. Use a search engine to find a blog about a specific topic. Bookmark it. Check it once a week. Be the pilot, not the passenger.
The internet is a tool. A powerful, incredible, world-changing tool. But like any tool, if you don't know how to use it, it ends up using you. It’s time to go back to the way things were—not the technology, but the mindset. Be slow. Be intentional. Be human.
Next Steps for You:
Check your phone's "Screen Time" report right now. Don't judge yourself, just look at the numbers. Pick the app that has the most time spent and commit to using it only on a laptop for the next seven days. Notice how your anxiety levels shift when you aren't carrying that specific distraction in your pocket.