At the height of lockdowns in 2021, a kind of bargain was struck. We surrendered to endless scrolling and Zoom calls not because we wanted to, but because virus anxieties and isolation forced our hand. It was temporary, we told ourselves. We learned terms like 'doomscrolling' and 'Zoom fatigue' with the grim humor of prisoners counting days on a cell wall.

New Ofcom data confirms we were kidding ourselves. UK adults now spend four and a half hours online daily, 31 minutes more than during the pandemic's peak. Like lab rats still pushing a pleasure lever after the food dispenser breaks, we've normalized behaviors born of crisis. The question isn't why this happened, but why we're so bad at admitting what it's doing to us.

Children provide the most honest language here. Those aged 8 17 describe overconsumption of TikTok dances and Snapchat streaks as causing 'brain rot.' Perfect phrasing. Organic decay. The kind of thing you'd notice if mold grew on your cortex. Yet eight in ten kids claim they're 'happy' with their usage levels. Cognitive dissonance starts early.

Adults fare worse. Only a third believe the internet benefits society, down 7% since 2024. Ask about their personal habits though, and suddenly they're digital Marie Antoinettes. Three quarters insist being online 'broadens their worldview.' Sure. Nothing expands horizons like doomscrolling Twitter arguments while ignoring your partner. We mistake proximity to information for actual understanding.

This reveals our central delusion, we externalize tech's harms while internalizing its benefits. That Netflix drama showing toxic online misogyny? Obviously damaging. Those three hours you spent watching ASMR soap carving videos to relax? Essential self care. Porn site age checks mandated by the Online Safety Act? Government overreach. Using VPNs to dodge those same checks? Just practical problem solving. Use doubled to 1.4 million daily users post regulation.

Three fresh angles emerge beyond the obvious screen time worries. First, the 'brain rot' phenomenon represents a new generational vocabulary for digital exhaustion. Compare this to previous epochs. Boomers still talk about 'vegging out' before TV. Millennials coined 'Netflix and chill.' Gen Z now weaponizes clinical terminology to describe social media hangovers. Our metaphors evolve as the damage becomes harder to ignore.

Second, the VPN surge discloses a fascinating regulatory truth. Brits happily accept restaurant ID checks, casino entry rules, and airport security. Apply similar verification to OnlyFans or Pornhub though, and suddenly millions become digital Houdinis. This isn't principled civil liberties activism. It's convenience trumping collective safety. A perfect microcosm of internet governance failures worldwide.

Lastly, historical context illuminates our selective amnesia. In the 1950s, parents fretted about television rotting children's brains. In the 2000s, gaming addiction made headlines. Today, we pathologize TikTok. Each wave combined genuine concern with generational panic. None fully accounted for how technologies reshape human interaction and cognition. We're Marie Curies handling radium, dazzled by the glow and slow to notice the burns.

The mental gymnastics around ASMR epitomize our conflicted relationship with screens. Sixty nine percent of teens use online tools for wellbeing. Over half cite ASMR specifically. Fair enough. Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response videos can relax. No judgment from someone who occasionally watches paint drying streams. But we must ask why intangible digital stimuli increasingly mediate basic human functions like breathing slowly or focusing attention. Ancient civilizations meditated in forests. Modern teens whisper at microphones.

Perhaps the bleakest finding emerges from nighttime usage data. Up to a quarter of children's time on YouTube, Snapchat, TikTok, and WhatsApp happens between 9 PM and 5 AM. Imagine Victorian factory inspectors finding eight year olds operating looms at 3 AM. There would be parliamentary inquiries and protest marches. Now? Curated algorithm nightmares replace Dickensian child labor, glow lighting hollow eyed kids scrolling until dawn.

Solutions remain elusive because incentives are misaligned. Social platforms profit from engagement, not wellbeing. Users demand frictionless access while complaining about toxicity. Regulators play whack a mole with VPNs and age checks. Psychologist Dr Aric Sigman is right that time online matters less than what it displaces.

What’s displaced isn't just outdoor play or family dinners. It’s boredom. Quiet. Self reflection. The mental spaces where we process existence. We've filled those gaps with dopamine slot machines disguised as apps.

Post pandemic recovery focused on reopening pubs and offices. Maybe it's time for digital rehab. Not abstinence. Moderation. Rediscovering that life offline contains textures no VR headset can replicate. I typed this on a laptop while ignoring a sunset. Do as I say, not as I do.