For many people, using AI chatbots is incredible at first. It makes them feel productive, confident, maybe even smarter. But later, there’s a hangover. Perhaps there are problems with their memory, or certain skills, like writing or coding, don’t seem to be as sharp as they once were. Maybe they feel like they can’t solve problems or make decisions or remember facts as well as they could before they had the help of AI. 

Susette Brooks, a marketing director living in Philadelphia, said she started using AI tools reluctantly but ultimately relented. She let AI write some of her emails, which lightened her workload, but then the dulling effects sank in. “I felt my writing and thinking decline as it was happening,” said Brooks, who has an MFA in nonfiction writing. “I had a harder time recalling information and synthesizing ideas.”

When you use external tools to reduce the cognitive effort required to do a task, you’re doing something called cognitive offloading. If you’ve ever used a calculator to do a math problem or used a calendar to remember an appointment, you’ve engaged in cognitive offloading. Tools like Claude and ChatGPT can do math problems and remember your appointments, but they can also write your term papers or create your work presentations. This is cognitive offloading at a scale we’ve never seen before.

Cognitive offloading isn’t necessarily bad. It’s actually what makes it possible for humans to be so productive. But as you outsource more and more cognitive tasks, you can start to become forgetful or see certain skills, like writing, start to decline. 

There’s a term for this: de-skilling. This is an old economics term that has emerged as a bit of a buzzword used to describe the perceived downward spiral of competency that’s accompanied the proliferation of AI tools. And it certainly sounds bad, especially if you’re a novice who needs to build skills. De-skilling can affect your critical thinking, your writing abilities, and your creative process. It can also affect your recall, as relying too heavily on AI tools can make it harder to remember things. 

Young people, at least, are worried about the long-term consequences of frictionless thinking. A recent survey by Gallup and researchers from the University of Pennsylvania found that 68 percent of Gen Z adults in the United States are concerned that offloading too many cognitive tasks is robbing them of important skill-building. About the same percentage of those surveyed worry that AI discourages them from critical thinking and social learning. Some 37 percent of US adults under 30 say that AI will have a negative effect on them personally, according to a Pew Research Center study published in June. And yet, more than half of Gen Z Americans use AI on a weekly basis. 

The paradox of AI is that, even if we feel like using these tools is bad for us, saving time and avoiding the friction of thinking is too tempting. We’re hardwired to seek out the path of least resistance, according to Daniel Willingham, a psychology professor at the University of Virginia, because cognitive activity is so taxing, and may or may not get you to the right solution. Memory, on the other hand, is efficient and effective — you know that something worked in the past, and it will work again.

“Our mind is really set up to save you from having to think,” Willingham told me. “Thinking is what you do when you’re in trouble.”

The good news is that experts say it’s possible to use AI in a way that helps you save time and protects your cognitive abilities instead of diminishing them. Here’s their advice.

It’s not your imagination — too much AI use can erode your skills over time

Derek Salyers, a content creator in Ohio, started using AI to get more done, faster. But over time, two things happened. First, the work got worse. “A lot of what I was putting out became AI slop, for lack of a better term,” Salyers told me. And then, his brain got worse, too. 

“When you get used to the AI making the decision, you stop pausing to actually think about things,” Salyers said. “And if you were never really present with it, you don’t remember it later. I wasn’t forgetting things because my memory got worse; I was forgetting because I was never really thinking in the first place.”

This effect is showing up in classrooms, too. One study of nearly 1,000 high school students found that those using ChatGPT scored 48 percent higher on a math test than their peers who didn’t have access to the AI tool. But when they were tested again without the chatbot, their scores were 17 percent lower than the students in the control group who had never had ChatGPT access. Similarly, researchers at the University of California Irvine looked at longitudinal data from online tests starting in 2015, and found that students spent less time and performed better on the text-based questions after the introduction of ChatGPT. (ChatGPT is very good at helping with text-based questions.) But when those students were later given offline tests, without the ability to use AI help, they performed worse. 

All of these students, it appears, were offloading the cognitive work to AI, which provided short-term gains. But in the long term, their thinking skills suffered.

Your basic cognitive abilities, like your working memory and selective attention, are quite resilient.

Evan Risko is a psychology professor at the University of Waterloo in Canada who co-authored the foundational paper on cognitive offloading a decade ago. He recently told me there’s not a lot of research into what’s going on in our brains when we’re cognitive offloading, but scientists are gaining a pretty clear picture of the pros and cons of doing it. The advantages vary depending on the task, but in general, cognitive offloading allows us to extend our imperfect memory systems, which you’ve probably done if you’ve ever set a reminder for yourself. The downside, Risko said, comes in offloading mental processes that are important. “Then we risk compromising our cognitive performance,” he said.

Your basic cognitive abilities, like your working memory and selective attention, are quite resilient. But as Risko and his colleagues explained in a paper this year — bluntly titled “Is AI making us stupid?” — other skills, like doing arithmetic and flying planes, are learned behaviors. You first have to acquire them and then, in order to retain them, you have to practice. AI use can compromise both the acquisition and retention of these skills — and people might not even realize this is happening to them, because AI makes them believe they’re more capable than they really are.

“People may have difficulty realizing that their skills are decaying or that they are failing to learn when using AI tools because the output and their performance with AI is at a high level,” said Brooke Macnamara, a psychology professor at Purdue University who co-authored the “Is AI making us stupid?” paper. “They may not realize that if the AI tool were unavailable how low their independent performance might be.”

Be intentional about the tasks you use AI for

The most important step to preserving your cognitive performance is to ask yourself if you should be using AI for a given task at all.

“Just because AI is a tool that’s available to us and it can accomplish a lot of tasks for us, it doesn’t mean that we should always use it,” Anjali Singh, a human-AI interaction researcher at the University of Texas at Austin, told me. Writing, for example, is something that a lot of people are now using AI for. But offloading that work means that you lose out on the independent thinking and reasoning that goes into expressing your thoughts. You also miss the chance to improve your writing skills if you don’t actually write. 

“We keep outsourcing these kinds of skills to AI over time and do not engage in those activities ourselves, then the de-skilling occurs,” Singh told me. “And that is I think probably one of the main reasons people could be feeling that they’re getting dumber as they’re using AI over time.”

“We are not getting these moments to reflect.”

Anjali Singh, Univeristy of Texas

It might seem counterintuitive, but it’s actually best to use AI for things you’re already pretty good at, the tasks you’re fully capable of performing yourself. A recent working paper by MIT economist David Autor and his colleagues (note: Several of them work for Google, who funded the study) describes how giving AI tools to 133 patent lawyers and then taking away those tools led to different outcomes, depending on the lawyers’ level of experience. All lawyers saw performance gains while using the AI tools, but those gains disappeared for the younger lawyers when the tools went away. Experienced lawyers, however, performed better afterward than their counterparts who never had access to AI tools. 

A similar effect showed up in a recent experiment by Middlebury College researchers. In the first session, more than 200 undergraduates learned about an unfamiliar topic and then wrote an analytical essay, some with the help of an off-the-shelf AI tool. They performed a similar test a week later, except this time none of the students had access to AI. The students who had AI access improved across the board, but what’s telling is that there appeared to be two types of AI users: augmentation users, who used AI to improve their work, and automation users, who just had AI do the work for them. The augmentation group performed better than everyone.

“Using AI to deepen or develop one’s own thinking on or understanding of a topic, rather than letting AI do all of the thinking, seems like the best way to use these tools,” Lauren Richmond, a cognitive science professor at Stony Brook University in New York, told me.

Tell your chatbot to treat you like a student

If you, like me, have ever fallen down a rabbit hole while trying to understand the geopolitical nuances that led to the outbreak of World War I and ended up staring blankly at a mountain of text feeling more confused than when you started, you know that using AI to learn doesn’t always go as planned. You may have also had the experience of writing prompts or asking questions and then receiving a long, overly detailed response. That can initially seem satisfying, but it’s often too much text to digest at once, so maybe you ask another question — and get back another wall of text. 

Older ways of accessing information, like reading books or even using Google to do research, happened more slowly, and that gave us time to process the information, Singh from UT Austin said. But that’s gone now. “We are not getting these moments to reflect,” she said.

If you find yourself drowning in content, that’s also a sign that you’re probably not expert enough in the material, or you’re not being intentional enough about your approach. 

It starts in the settings. Here, you should explain that you’re trying to build skills, not offload them, and instruct the AI to challenge you and engage with you. If you’re using ChatGPT, you can plug in custom instructions by going into the personalization tools. Claude has similar options called Instructions for Claude. 

If you’re explicitly trying to learn something new, you might also try some of the tools these companies have designed for this. OpenAI has study mode in ChatGPT. Anthropic offers Claude for Education. Google has Gemini for Students. Instead of simply providing answers, these tools act more like tutors, by asking questions, working through problems, and encouraging you to come up with solutions on your own.

Slow down and embrace friction

Something that’s both tempting and dangerous about AI is how fast it can do work. Vibe coding an app can take minutes, rather than days of manual coding. That’s very appealing if you have too much on your plate and want to get through it all quickly.

“The workload was so heavy and crazy, you have no time to think,” Joei Chen, a former brand director at a tech company, told me. “So you just throw stuff into AI and say, ‘What do you think?’”

At the same time, creating more code does not necessarily lead to more finished software, according to a recent Wharton School study. That increased productivity also doesn’t necessarily lead to happier workers. And the faster you move, the more critical thinking you’re going to offload. “Your boss asks you, ‘What does Claude think of this?’” Chen said, so AI “inadvertently becomes the final boss.”

Slowing down and forcing yourself to do more critical thinking is an easy way to hold onto some agency — not to mention some brain power. One easy way to do this is to make your interactions with AI more collaborative than transactional. For example, if you are going to use AI to help you write something, ask for five options of a draft instead of one, and then read each of them yourself and decide which is the best.

“Ask for feedback, hints, examples, explanations, advice, practice questions.”

Evan Risko, University of Waterloo

“Just the simple act of comparing things stimulates a great deal of the critical thinking processes that we kind of care about,” said Advait Sarkar, an AI researcher at the University of Cambridge, “and has beneficial effects for things like developing your judgment, your own awareness of what you don’t already know, and stimulating your recall.”

The word that came up again and again as I talked to experts about how to use AI without getting dumber was metacognition, or thinking about thinking. A lot of AI users let metacognition take a back seat to whatever content is flowing freely from a chatbot. And it can happen fast. 

While letting AI do all of the thinking for you is tempting, Matt Beane, an associate professor at the University of California Santa Barbara and author of The Skill Code: How to Save Human Ability in an Age of Intelligent Machines, told me that approaching AI this way “is your worst enemy.” To counteract this, you have to introduce more friction.

“You must be very aggressive about how you experiment with it,” Beane said. Risko, the cognitive offloading expert, echoed this advice. “Ask for feedback, hints, examples, explanations, advice, practice questions,” he said.

The best test for judging whether you’re offloading too much thinking to AI and the technology is chipping away at your skillset: Stop using AI and use your brain, and see what happens. You don’t have to stop forever, but you should, for example, spend a day writing emails without AI’s help to see if you’re as fluent as you used to be. Or revert to using Google for research and confirm that you can still find facts without a chatbot finding them for you. Build an app with your own code and see if it flows naturally. 

You might be troubled to find that AI made you worse at something. But you’re not actually dumber than you were before, and you can rebuild your lost skills the old-fashioned way: read, write, do arithmetic. If something requires thinking, go ahead and think.

There’s a lot to be anxious about as AI agents and bots get more integrated into every aspect of our lives. Meta, which recently agreed to pay over $17 billion to settle a lawsuit related to harming kids, now wants you to hand over all your online accounts to an inexplicably cute “agent” named Muse that might give a stranger your home address. OpenAI just introduced little blobs called Dots that can supposedly automate routine tasks, like planning dinner and ordering it from your favorite neighborhood spot. AI companies don’t just want you to talk to their chatbots; they want their agents to be an indispensable part of your daily routine.

As a parent, however, I think that perhaps the worst thing AI could do is be my kid’s friend. 

AI companions have been around longer than ChatGPT, and they’re growing in popularity with young users. More than half of teens have interacted with AI companions at least a few times a month, and one in three decided to talk about a serious issue with AI companions instead of real people, according to a Common Sense Media survey conducted last year. In certain groups and situations, a chatbot could offer some benefit — a lifeline for, say, LGBTQ youth who don’t have any in-person support networks, one study found. But even so, there are important caveats and risks.

Meanwhile, other experts are telling parents never to let their kids access AI companions, warning them that these chatbots have a history of offering dangerous advice and engaging in sexualized conversations. Sixteen-year-old Adam Raine died by suicide last April after developing a relationship and discussing his plans with ChatGPT.

If you have kids, these are horrifying stories to hear. It’s reasonable to wonder how widespread the issues are, and who they are affecting most. As of right now, the majority of younger kids aren’t using AI for companionship (phew!). But for those who are, where do the issues arise? And how do they go from using ChatGPT for help with their homework to opening up to it about their problems to preferring it to their human friends? 

Some answers are starting to emerge from research. 

For even young adolescents, there’s a direct link between AI companion use and mental health issues, according to a new study by researchers at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Their paper, which is still under review, is the first longitudinal study in the US that has looked at the bidirectional association between AI companionship in adolescents and mental health issues, according to one of the researchers. It charted AI use among 2,300 middle schoolers and found that about one in five used AI for emotional companionship. Those who used AI more reported higher levels of loneliness.

“It’s not just that the lonely kids are using AI, and they’re otherwise unharmed,” said Anne Maheux, an assistant professor of psychology and neuroscience at UNC Chapel Hill and the lead author on the study. “It is that using AI comes first, and middle school students are increasing their sense of loneliness following the use of AI.”

I recently spoke to Maheux about her research and the role of technology in young people’s lives. We discussed how much parents and teachers know about what is going on, what kids get out of human relationships that AI can’t provide, and whether she’d let a child under her care use an AI chatbot. While she said there is a lot to be scared of right now, there is some evidence that, when designed with the intention of promoting child learning and development and under the supervision of a caring adult, AI can offer some benefits, and, ultimately, she’s optimistic that we can design a better future for kids. 

The conversation below has been lightly edited for length and clarity.

How do so many kids end up with an AI companion? Do kids start using AI for homework help and end up in an emotional relationship with the technology? 

At a high level, AI companions — in our darkest vision of what that might look like — would be a kid calling an AI chatbot their best friend. That phenomenon is still quite rare. There are certainly plenty of kids who are experiencing that, but it’s not to say that it’s all kids or even most kids. I think that’s good news. 

But it’s also true that the line between opening up AI to ask a question about your homework and a full-blown AI companionship relationship involves a lot of gray areas. There’s evidence, mostly preliminary and anecdotal evidence, to suggest that very few people open up to AI with the primary initial goal of developing an intimate friendship or relationship. 

Most people open it out of a curiosity, sense of novelty, or seeking an answer to a question that’s very pragmatic. Then that can potentially evolve into something more akin to seeking personal advice or help making a decision or help making sense of one’s recent experiences with other humans. And that can potentially evolve to something that’s a bit more emotional.

What did your latest study on adolescents, AI companions, and mental health reveal?

Some kids seek out AI for certain purposes in different ways than other kids. For some kids, AI companionship is particularly attractive, especially the kids who maybe don’t have close friends or social networks in their offline life and who are already lonely. 

It’s a chicken-and-egg problem. Is it that these kids are seeking out AI companions or is it that having an AI companion is exacerbating those potential vulnerabilities or exacerbating risk for mental health problems? What we found is that interacting with an AI companion in a way that’s akin to emotional intimacy among middle school students is longitudinally associated with increases over time in loneliness. So the kids who are seeking out these companions, who are presumably already lonely, are also experiencing an increase in loneliness over time. 

There is this potential directionality question that we’re starting to answer here: It’s not just that the lonely kids are using AI, and they’re otherwise unharmed. It is that using AI comes first, and middle school students are increasing their sense of loneliness following the use of AI. In other words, middle school students using AI for emotional intimacy and companionship developed greater loneliness over time.

Do you have a sense of how often these kids are using the chatbots? 

In our sample — so again, these are US middle school kids — about 15 to 20 percent say that they’re using it at least a few times a week for any purpose. We don’t have specific rates of use for companionship because the questions that we asked were just not framed in a frequency measure, but more in how emotionally intimate they felt with the chatbot.

What else could have been causing that loneliness?

There are almost definitely many causes, and I think that our data suggests that AI companionship may be one cause. It certainly isn’t definitive. Obviously, I have to say that. I’m a scientist and trying to be hesitant about these things, but the reality is that whether or not AI use causes loneliness in this particular case, there are definitely other things that are also causing loneliness. 

That could be a myriad of things about the kid, maybe they have a lot of social anxiety, maybe they struggle with social skills, maybe the kid has had struggles in their family life and doesn’t have a strong sense of connection and belonging at home. It could be structural things. The kid just doesn’t have enough access to appropriate resources. So certainly there’s other things that are at play here, and typically technology use is one of many factors that can influence a kid’s mental health. 

And how much do you think that parents and teachers know about what’s going on, and how well-equipped do you think they are to intervene or to just be more involved in how these kids are using this technology? 

It’s a very slippery technology. The way kids are using it has changed rapidly in just the last year or two years. I would expect that parents, teachers, people who care about kids are probably struggling with the rapidity of change. But it’s also true that all the things that we have known for a long time about supporting kids and helping them thrive, those things are still true and they’ll be true with whatever technology comes after AI that kids are exploring. 

Those things include being curious, asking kids questions about their lived experiences online and offline, having conversations with kids so that they can understand the implications of different technology use. They can understand how, for example, AI is embedded within a broader system of social and political and economic factors, including the fact that many companies are trying to exploit kids’ attention in order to make money, which many kids are quite interested to hear about. 

Supporting kids also means providing a warm and supportive space for them to learn, to make mistakes, to be kids in the offline world, to have the frictionful, challenging, awkward conversations and first dates and all of the things that parents are sometimes trying to protect kids from by providing a safe container for them to explore those things. All of that can also provide avenues for kids to learn what they need to learn and develop — all the resources for a long life of thriving, even in the context of AI or other new technologies. 

What do kids learn from having these kinds of conversations with other humans that they can’t get from AI? 

Kids need to engage with other people, period. That’s true for all of us. We’re an incredibly social species. Simply being around other people and talking to strangers, let alone having strong social bonds, is really good for us. And all those things are uniquely important during adolescence, when kids have this neurobiological sensitivity to social information and reward. That’s when kids learn how to engage in conversation, they learn how to maintain eye contact, how to read body language, how to read emotions and perceive the world from the lens of someone else, to take their perspective. That’s not to mention other things, like being a member of one’s culture, what is valued, and what is expected. All of that is learned in the context of other human social relationships or relationships with broader social groups that a kid might be a member of. 

AI obviously can’t and never will be able to offer some of those things. It can’t actually experience empathy or care. It can’t engage in a true mutual human relationship. It may be able to simulate some of those things, and there’s some evidence that it can serve as a source of social practice. It can help kids work through the potential for difficult conversations and then serve as a bridge to engaging with other people. But there are aspects of AI that just simply can never replace the core sacred aspects of humans. 

Can you be more specific? What is it about human relationships that can’t AI simulate?

The way that AI systems are currently designed, which is not an inherent feature, but is a design choice, is to be sycophantic, highly agreeable, anthropomorphized, and all of those things can lead to kids developing expectations or understandings of interactive relationships that are actually fundamentally at odds with a normal human relationship. Some of the most consistent things that I’ve seen in the educated hypotheses on this topic and also in the emerging empirical research is that people need the friction that comes with human relationships. 

Human relationships are just hard and messy, and they’re also really beautiful. They’re what make so much of human life valuable and worth living. And with AI that’s always agreeable, that’s always available, that has no needs of its own, that can’t care or be cared for, it just doesn’t serve the same context to help kids learn things like conflict resolution or negotiation, being pro-social or caring for someone else who has needs. So many of those aspects that can feel uncomfortable in the moment, dealing with another person or a person who’s not responding right away, those things are actually important in the building blocks of developing the skills and capacities to be a functioning and thriving person in the social adult world. 

This is a problem with AI in general, isn’t it? It makes things effortless, but if you choose this path of least resistance, you’ll avoid the friction that causes you to learn and develop and build skills you need to exist in the world. 

Absolutely. And I think that all these things are connected too. AI offers this effortless, frictionless solution to our day-to-day problems, whether they’re social problems, whether they’re problems doing our homework, and those immediate solutions feel really good in the moment, so they’re quite tempting to keep coming back to. But there’s this real possibility that in the long term, that erodes our capacity for not only social relationships or cognitive skills, but just a general ability to withstand the momentary day-to-day distress of being a person living a normal life. And so I think every domain of human psychology comes together at that point, whether it’s social, emotional, mental health, or cognitive. 

Do you think that there are interventions that legislators could make or even that tech companies could make that would improve outcomes for kids, maybe make them a little less lonely? 

There are a million specific design changes that I would recommend. I think at a very minimum, AI systems can afford a pretty phenomenal amount of access to information, but there’s been no benefits that I’ve seen of them acting as friends. Kids need other human friends, full stop. Designing systems that are intended to exploit kids’ vulnerability or sensitivity to human social information and relationships, I think, is bad for kids. 

At the federal level, it seems that regulation is not coming, but at the state level, there have been many state regulations intended to protect kids, intended to create safer systems, to put in guardrails, to modulate different aspects of the models, the design, the user interface. These things could potentially make a real difference, I think.

What do you recommend parents do with regard to AI and their kids? Should they let them use chatbots? 

In short, no. But I am not a parent, and it’s much easier to dole out advice than it is to enact it. Parenting decisions about technology are not one-size-fits-all. Kids, parents, family dynamics, technology, and the context in which it is used differ, and in so many cases are personal choices (parents must weigh various potential opportunities and risks). Decades of research indicate what conditions a child needs to thrive. Extremely minimal research addresses the effects of AI on youth, and what we have so far suggests that the risks outweigh the benefits. 

I would not give a child under my care AI chatbots of any kind to use without me or another trusted adult present. I would talk to them openly about AI and its risks and benefits, but to me AI, like all technology, should be a tool used to promote human thriving, and when the evidence is unclear or suggestive of harms, I think it’s best not to experiment on kids. Currently, the off-the-shelf AI chatbots most kids are using appears more likely to undermine well-being for vulnerable users, especially children. 

Well, as a father of two daughters, I’m definitely terrified of what’s to come in the next few years. 

There’s a lot to be scared of, but there’s a lot to be hopeful of too. I think that everyone wants kids to thrive. Some of us are under different incentives, and some of those incentives might be perverse. But most of us are working really hard to design a better world for kids. 

In 1995, gender studies researcher Judy Chu found herself chauffeuring around her 13-year-old brother and his friend. The boys’ curiosity got the better of them, and they asked what she was learning: adolescent girls’ development, she told them. 

One of the boys looked at her and said, “‘You should study boys. You can start with me,’” Chu recalled. So she did. That fall, she spoke to 13-year-old boys from home for her clinical interviewing class.

In the years since, Chu has researched boys between the ages 12 and 18 — their wishes, their desires, what they wanted from their friendships and romantic relationships — and discovered some felt largely unknown. There was a gap between what the world expected of them — the stoic, strong, independent stereotypes that have persisted for centuries — and how they saw themselves, but had internalized so many messages for so long that they felt like they had no choice but to accept this version of masculinity. Chu theorized that these beliefs must have taken root during their childhood, and she later published a book on the subject.

When toddlers enter school, she discovered, they begin learning the rules of boyhood. “Regardless of what their parents had encouraged or enabled at home, they were learning that at school, if you wanted to be seen as and treated as one of the boys and you wanted to be with the boys, you wanted to play with the boys, be friends with the boys, there were rules you had to follow,” Chu said. “It was kind of like a microcosm of our society, which is if you want people to see you as and treat you as a quote unquote real boy or real man, you need to prove yourself.”

Since Chu’s work on the subject, American culture has changed to address gender inequities — the ones that negatively affect girls. As a part of this movement, girls were empowered to be more autonomous and pursue careers and financial independence to build a life beyond marriage and childrearing. (Though it should be said, women still trail men in earnings, outpace them in household responsibilities, and have higher rates of anxiety, depression, and PTSD.) 

But boys are still stuck in place. 

Across the country, lawmakers have promoted policies and legislation aimed at helping men reach their potential. In California, Gov. Gavin Newsom signed a 2025 executive order outlining education, career, and mental health initiatives targeting men. Maryland Gov. Wes Moore created the state’s Young Men and Boys Initiative, focusing on men’s health, employment, and community connections. But these programs are reactive, attempting to disrupt decades of socialization. At the same time, the rise of the manosphere and misogynist online spaces and increasingly right-leaning voting trends among men signal a cohort of young men at a turning point.

Recent studies have found that boys are less likely to graduate high school on time compared to girls — that gap is even bigger for Black and Hispanic boys — and fewer young men obtain bachelor’s degrees compared to their female peers. And as fewer men graduate from college, fewer participate in the labor force, too. The suicide rate among men is nearly four times higher than that of women. While men and women report similar rates of loneliness and number of friends, men are less likely to turn to their social networks for support. Out of the over 750,000 jobs created since Donald Trump took office in 2025, men have gained none of them. 

So what will it take to help men get unstuck? If we are truly committed to ending the male loneliness crisis, to tackling suicide and gun violence — society has the power to change things for the next generation, experts said. Rather than aiming to reach men after the constraining masculine worldviews have already taken root, we can prevent them from warping boys’ sense of self in the first place: To help men, we must change how boys are raised. 

Reject the myth of the “real boy” 

In 2023, psychologist Michael Reichert conducted a nationally representative survey of more than 2,000 American men, asking them questions about their lives, relationships, internet habits, and sources of social support. One finding was particularly staggering: two-thirds of young men between the ages of 18 and 23 felt like no one really knew them well. (In a follow-up report two years later, in which women were also surveyed, equal percentages of men and women — about 50 percent — said they were not truly known.)

The conclusion Reichert came to, he told Vox, was “boyhood is failing at the most important task.” American society is producing young adults who feel like they’re on their own, “a tragic outcome of a boyhood that’s not preparing our males for a resilient life in a world where things are harder, more complicated,” said Reichert, the executive director of the Center for the Study of Boys’ and Girls’ Lives at the University of Pennsylvania.

Because the idea of what a man looks like and how a man behaves is so ingrained, boys are taught to conform from an early age, experts said. From their earliest years, as evidenced in Chu’s work, boys are taught to adhere to stereotypical gender norms reinforced through comments like “boys don’t cry,” “toughen up,” and “don’t be a girl.” 

“It starts with mothers having a fear of turning their son into a mama’s boy, so they push them away at young ages — 3 and 4 years old. Go play with your dad, go play with your older male siblings,” Joseph Derrick Nelson, an associate professor in the department of educational studies at Swarthmore College, told Vox. Fathers, for their part, tend to emphasize self-defense, goal pursuit, and overcoming adversity with their sons, Reichert said. Black boys in particular are perceived as older and less innocent than their white counterparts, only pushing them further toward rigid gender roles, Nelson said. If they don’t conform, they may be teased by other boys.

A large part of proving yourself as a “real boy” means rejecting anything deemed feminine, including emotional vulnerability and relationships. As babies and young children, boys and girls are equally emotionally expressive, but by the time they start school, boys show fewer emotions and use less emotional language. When boys are taught that showing their feelings or forging deep friendships is girly, they stop prioritizing those relationships. That shift happens during the teen years, when boys go from reporting having best friends with whom they can share their deepest secrets, to feeling like they’ve drifted apart from these very connections by the end of high school. And it’s not for lack of desire, Chu said, or some inherent biological difference: Boys have simply learned not to show their need for affection, to hide their sadness, to not be tender. 

A new paradigm for raising boys, experts said, begins with how masculinity is first presented at home and in school. 

To encourage boys to be better in touch with their emotions means adults should not pit masculinity against femininity, Christopher Reigeluth, an associate professor at Oregon Health and Science University, told Vox. This goes beyond simply telling boys not to conceal their feelings, but making clear that confiding these feelings in a friend and fostering platonic connections isn’t girly: it’s a universal human need. 

In schools, specialized emotional education in curricula can help boys express their emotions and embrace vulnerability. 

Simply talk to them 

One of the easiest ways to do this is to allow and encourage boys to engage in an activity traditionally seen as more feminine: talking.

Reichert, the psychologist, has led an emotional literacy program in a boys’ school for over 30 years. In that time, he’s seen the sentiment among students shift from skepticism to genuine interest. “It has become, by 2026, the most popular program in the school,” Reichert said, due to an increased cultural awareness of emotional health. In the group, students discuss their daily stressors and hardships, and they learn that letting their peers see them for who they are — connecting with them — benefits their well-being. 

Before joining Reichert’s peer counseling group, high school senior Chris Burnetta expressed his emotions on the field. “You’re almost allowed to be emotional when you’re playing sports, and you’re not allowed to be emotional when you’re not,” Burnetta, 18, told Vox. In middle school, he attended a co-ed school and found himself performing aspects of masculinity to impress his female classmates. But once he met older classmates who he respected and wanted to emulate, he discovered many of them attended the counseling group and encouraged him to go, too. “I don’t want to speak for everyone, but I think for guys in general, looking up at people above you gives you a big impression and a big influence on how you want to live your life and what you want to be like,” he said. 

Seeing his peers so enthusiastically discuss their struggles and triumphs helps foster maturity and gives him permission to show his emotions, Burnetta said, an outlet he never had before.

Adolescence, a time when many behavioral health patterns are forged or discarded, is the time to engrain healthy social habits in boys — and for parents to be explicit, Matt Englar-Carlson, a professor of counseling and the director of the Center for Boys and Men at California State University Fullerton, told Vox. Now is the time to have dedicated phone-free time as a family, to give them opportunities to share how they’re feeling without fixing their problems, to listen to them even when they’re frustrating you. When his own son was younger, Englar-Carlson thought he knew all the tricks: showing empathy, trying to help. “Me doing that with him actually was making him feel worse, I think,” he said. Instead, Englar-Carlson took a lighter touch. He would acknowledge when his son was upset, but wouldn’t press a conversation. Whenever his son was ready to talk, he was available.

One easy way to do this? Talk to them when you’re driving. As my colleague Rachel Miller previously reported, not having to make direct eye contact can make it a little easier for kids to be vulnerable. 

And if you’re a man, make sure you’re leading by example: Be willing to share your own moments of embarrassment, disappointment, and sadness, so they know it’s okay for them to do the same.  

Help them foster non-romantic intimacy 

While in school, boys have ample avenues for connection through classes and sports, even if they aren’t interacting with others on a deeper level. It’s when they lose access to these organized outlets for socialization in adulthood that they slide into isolation or start looking to their romantic partners to fulfill all of their social needs. 

The idea that emotional intimacy is reserved for your significant other is how society gets to a point where 15 percent of men say they don’t have any close friends. Those without a partner are even more adrift: Men are less satisfied being single than their female counterparts. “We teach boys to not ask for help…figure it out on their own,” Nelson said. “I don’t know why we’re surprised when they become adult men and struggle with building relationships and close and connected communities, because all they’ve been taught, even since they were young children, was about figuring it out on their own and denying emotions, suppressing emotions, that then leaves you not in relationship and quite lonely.”

In the absence of in-person friendships, digital spaces provide an attractive alternative. While not altogether negative, some online forums — interactive video games, sports gambling, the manosphere — enable young men to further retreat from society. While pursuing community, boys may find their way to adult-centric spaces, which can be rife with misogynistic and patriarchal messages, feeding the belief that the only way to advance is through hyperconsumption, materialism, looksmaxxing, and dominating women, Nelson said. “They’re quarantining themselves to their rooms and their tech devices and these online communities where they play video games, they gamble on sports, and they have conversations with other boys and young men online about somehow feeling disadvantaged as men in our society,” he said.

Burnetta, the high school senior, said he and many of his classmates’ feeds are populated with “super masculine” content that sometimes pokes fun at men who open up about their feelings, which can further add to the stereotype that men should not be emotional. 

Even if boys don’t necessarily agree with these sentiments, they often don’t have other alternatives online. “I don’t think a lot of boys go on to YouTube…and say, ‘I really want to find the most misogynistic content I can find. That’s what I’m looking for,’” said Englar-Carlson, the director of the Center for Boys and Men. They may have simply wanted to watch a video about sports but were fed an ad for betting and then fell down the rabbit hole. Because traditional masculinity content is often fed to boys via their social media feeds, a brief introduction to these themes only leads to more. 

By young adulthood, they will have a fairly concrete idea of what’s expected of them as a man. In a 2017 study, young men largely agreed that the cornerstones of masculinity are self-sufficiency, toughness, physical attractiveness, being a financial provider, heterosexuality, hypersexuality, aggression, and control. Notably, they said they feel external pressure from family, friends, and society to meet these ideals.

If adults start with the understanding that boys are emotional and they have the same social needs as girls, they can encourage them to make friends before they learn otherwise. 

Teachers can recognize the signs of loneliness in young boys (resisting authority, talking back, and challenging boundaries) and use it as an opportunity to connect with their students instead of reprimanding them — because when they feel heard, their behavior softens. “What are these behaviors communicating to me from this boy about a met or unmet need, and how can I be responsive to it in my classroom? How can I help them facilitate close and connected friendships with not only their peers, but also with me as their teacher, like a primary adult in their lives?” Nelson said. When young boys simply get kicked out of class, they might fall behind and internalize a “bad boy” persona, he said, a cycle that enforces stereotypes and comes at the cost of their education. 

The story of masculinity online and from political leaders is that men must be protectors, high earners, and muscular and strong, and when boys fail to meet that standard (which they inevitably do because they are children), they are made to feel inadequate. “They’re struggling in school, they’re having a difficult time finding work, but everything about what they’re learning about to live in America is about the dream, the aspirations, acquiring, hitting these life milestones,” Nelson said.

Demonstrate an alternative masculinity

But for some young men, the most impactful interventions take place while they’re young. Growing up, Michael Dean looked to his father and his friends’ fathers for how to be a man. These men often spoke of the importance of providing for a family, being decisive, and being a stable force. Dean thought everyone was raised with these values and had similar upbringings until he reached high school and joined Reichert’s peer counseling program.

His junior year, one of Dean’s teammates on the football team suggested that some of the young men check out the group to discuss any problems at school, issues with parents, friends, or partners. Dean was frustrated with his performance on the field and decided to attend. Hearing from his classmates — their grief, their struggles — helped give him perspective. He also learned how to be an emotional outlet for the people he loves, including his younger brother. 

“I never felt that I had to be some kind of way or be some kind of man based on traditional values of being that strong, tough guy and to keep persevering through. I could definitely see that through my dad, and I did have that belief for a little while as I was in middle school and in the beginning of high school,” Dean, now 21, told Vox. “I learned that that’s not necessarily what it means to be a man, and I can make my own judgment through my own experiences and listening to other people to help me figure out what it means in my own belief to be a man.”

For Dean, learning how to be a man began when he was a child, but his path to adulthood was punctuated by formative adults — his mother, Reichert, and yes, even his dad — who fostered a safe environment to be vulnerable and emotional. Now, when he’s lonely, he knows he can call his family, friends, or his girlfriend for support. These are the outlets experts hope men feel empowered to call upon.

“If we’re really going to make a bigger difference with having healthier men who have connected friendships, who are emotionally expressive and connected in their friendships,” Reigeluth said, “it’s got to start with boys.”

Sifting through my pile, I feel the crisp edges of the glossy, technicolor marker that was previously nestled in the dirt of a bonnie green bell sweet pepper plant I bought from the farmers market this summer. I feel a pristine black-and-white receipt for one order of steamed dumplings and one dumpling soup; a thick bundle of political mailers; a Hadestown program that is gently shriveled from the torrential downpour on the night I saw it; a cellophane mailing envelope with Japanese postage. It’s garbage; it’s art supplies; it’s memories; and it’s all mine for the taking for use in my junk journal. 

A junk journal is a collaged scrapbook that you fill with literal scraps, the ephemera of your everyday life: business cards, ticket stubs, fliers, price tags, labels, product packaging, mail, printed photos (you remember those, right?), stickers…anything, really. The basic idea is that these items can be rescued from the garbage or recycling bin and turned into a physical, visual record of a given moment in time. That it’s made from trash is key; the abundant, inexpensive materials mean that junk journaling has a really low barrier to entry, which reduces the pressure and ultimately infuses it with a fun, feral energy that is perfect for 2026.   

So many slow-moving existential threats have accelerated and consolidated this year: climate change, inflation, war, surveillance, the erosion of free speech, oligarchs operating with impunity, the institutional collapse of both the humanities and science. At the same time, we live in an increasingly remote, digitized world, where we constantly have to question our reality thanks to AI, and where most everyone feels like their brain is a little broken. There are a lot of possible solutions to these interconnected crises, but experts agree that most involve being in the physical world. And your little pile of stuff is undeniably concrete. 

Girija Kaimal, a professor and the chair of the Creative Arts Therapies Department at Drexel University, said that junk journaling can help us feel hopeful — which is important when you’re mired in digital malaise and existential dread. “Everything is getting more expensive or more difficult, or AI is going to take away all your jobs, and oh, these are all the diseases coming at you. It can really give you a sense of helplessness,” Kaimal told me. But generative acts, where you make something out of nothing, can help you push through that despair and remind you of your own agency. 

“Even the smallest act of creating is sending a signal to your brain: Hey, I got this…” she said.

“I can bring a little beauty and meaning into this world,” Kaimal said. “I’m not this helpless pawn being tossed around by powerful forces. I mean, in a way I am, but I have something to give to this world.” 

As a longtime diarist, former scrapbooker, and big fan of this new iteration of it, I’m all in favor — and the experts I spoke to all agree that it’s a hobby that is really well suited to this particular moment. So if you need a creative outlet or just want something to do with your hands that’s not scrolling through AI slop, here’s why you should give junk journaling a try. 

The barrier to entry is incredibly low (and incredibly cheap)

Every form of entertainment, novelty, and inspiration right now is so, so expensive: concerts, live theater, movies, sports, travel, dinners out…the list goes on and on. Hobbies have gotten pricey too. Joann’s went under at the same time that tariffs started driving up the cost of yarn, art supplies, and so many other consumer goods. This is a real problem when it comes to both creative stimulation and human connection; a 2025 survey of 688 young people in Scotland found that cost was a significant barrier to engaging with a hobby for nearly half of respondents. That’s not good! 

But even folks who can afford to spend $300 on a beginner ceramics class might still prefer to have the option to do something creatively stimulating for free. That’s why a hobby that anyone can cobble together from the garbage pile is so thrilling. (And many of us are already hanging onto the basic materials for sentimental reasons, hoping to do…something…meaningful with it all…someday. Instead of letting it collect dust in a drawer for years, you can give it a more permanent home!) You don’t even need to buy a journal to get started; you can use whatever notebook you have lying around (including your current daily planner!), or tear half the pages out of an old book (to create more room for everything you’re going to put in it) and use that as your base. 

While some people’s junk journals include supplies they purchased specifically for it (i.e., the $30 “junk journaling kits” that craft retailers have started pushing), I strongly encourage you to resist the urge to shop, as I think this hobby works best when it’s done using stuff you already have or naturally acquire in your everyday life. Buying a bunch of preselected supplies adds pressure — because once you’ve invested money in something, there’s a desire to not just do it, but to do it right. It also turns the junk journal from a creation that’s really authentic and personal, akin to a diary, to something more curated and outward-facing; when you start with materials designed (often with faux-nostalgia undertones!) by someone else, you remove a fundamental bit of yourself from the process. It shifts from being personal, messy, and maybe even a little ugly, a place where you can make “mistakes” and change your mind, and becomes more about having a coherent aesthetic. That’s something to be very wary of in a moment in which every experience feels like fodder for social media. When you have an audience in mind, the blank page starts to feel like a subpoena instead of an invitation, leading to a paralysis that makes it harder to get started and more difficult to enjoy the process. 

So not only is junk journaling a hobby that can be affordable, I’d argue it’s one that should be. The less cash you spend on supplies and the more you rely on a pile of detritus, the better off you’ll be. Speaking of which… 

Junk journaling is a beautiful invitation to turn trash into art 

Back in July, the air in New York City was thick with haze due to wildfires in Canada; it was dangerous to be outside, but I didn’t really want to go out anyway, thanks to the concurrent heat emergency we were dealing with. Meanwhile, more than 2.3 million acres across the state of Oregon burned between mid-July and mid-August, which also happened to be the hottest month ever recorded in the United States. At the same time, Europe was boiling. Nearly 3,000 people died in England’s heat waves in May and June. 

While we need major systemic change to stop the progress of climate change, it’s hard to read all of this news and not feel a moral obligation to do something, or at least not directly contribute to the problem. Knowing that penguins are dying certainly makes me want to reduce my own consumption — and that includes trying to curb the amount of new hobby supplies I’m buying. Junk journaling dovetails perfectly with this. 

And just on a creative level, there’s real value in the whole “turning trash into treasure” thing. Having limited resources is a really helpful starting point for imaginative thinking. Looking at a pile of garbage and being able to see art (or even just something lightly coherent) is really energizing and exciting, especially when you’ve been feeling bored and a little stuck. I’ve found that looking for items for my junk journal has helped me notice color, shape, texture, and artistry more in my everyday life, which ultimately makes me feel more connected and creative. 

The trash element of junk journaling meets the demands of our current moment: “There’s a huge shift, and I kind of love it, towards being sustainable,” Kaimal said. “Everybody is talking about AI, this, that, but the new generation is really thinking about the environmental cost.” 

My friend Ryan Swedenborg recently got her MFA in Studio Art from Maine College of Art & Design, where she focused on sculpture. She wrote her thesis on assemblage (kind of a 3-D version of a junk journal), arguing that it’s not just an art form, but that it’s a way of navigating complex systems — “just trying to stay alive while living with others,” as she put it. She said that instead of trying to master something, assemblage is an iterative way of working with what is already around you — “I mean, that’s how you stay alive,” she said. 

Creative practices like assemblage and collage tend to flourish in times of instability, Ryan said; the irreverent and absurdist Dada movement was a direct response to World War I, machine culture, and mass media. The neo-Dada movement immediately followed World War II, and, like the earlier version, heavily featured collage. After 9/11, assemblage surged again, often as a direct response to the attacks. “I feel like, especially in New York…people [were] just literally taking these objects that live within the streets and building something new,” Ryan said. 

Consciously or not, people want to feel a sense of control when it feels like the world is falling apart, and junk journaling is a very literal way of picking up the pieces. 

Junk journaling is something creative to do with your hands

If you want to be on your phone less (and who among us doesn’t want that?), it’s important to find something else to fill your time. And a low-stakes project that’s both creative and tactile is a great alternative. (It’s also something that a lot of people are gathering to do together in person — Google your city plus “junk journaling events” to see what’s going on near you — which is a really fun bonus if you’re looking to get out and meet people.)

First, creativity is really, really good for your physical and mental health. According to a review of various scholarly studies of the topic published in the Journal of Creativity in 2024, art and other creative acts help with emotional regulation, reduce stress, and build self-esteem; they can also help you build community and cope with grief, chronic illness, pain, and loneliness. Journaling, too, is great for your mental health; a 2022 meta-analysis showed it helps with anxiety and PTSD, and another study found it “reduces intrusive and avoidant thoughts about negative events and improves working memory.”

The way you use your fingers to sort through, arrange, cut, layer, and paste the materials can also serve as a balm for your weary brain, said Mark Paterson, a sociologist at the University of Pittsburgh who studies touch (and all five senses) in history and philosophy, as well as material culture and consumption. “We are manipulating machines. That is what we do. Everything from picking fruit, grabbing a branch of a tree and swinging in our early history, and so on. But also the feel of a typewriter, the tactile feel of a typewriter — all these things were part of the absolute background buzz of everyday life,” Paterson told me. “And it’s so strange in such a short time that it’s just become absent really, really quickly. And so things like scrapbooks, notebooks, that type of thing, are bringing us back to something which is a little bit more considered.” 

Since talking to Paterson — and after reading my colleague Sara Herschander’s deep dive on how humans are losing our sense of touch — I’ve been focused on finding ways to consciously engage with my sense of touch every single day. And in combining this with other creative acts, I’ve found a really satisfying alternative to scrolling that I genuinely look forward to every day. 

Kaimal, the creative arts therapies professor, said that having these tactile, creative experiences is good for our brains and our sense of self. “To me, doing things with your hands, using your hand-eye coordination, the sensory aspects…the choices you are making, all those reinforce a sense of confidence and a sense of valuing yourself like, ‘Hey, my vision really matters. I have something to say and do in this world that nobody else is saying or doing.’ And to me, having that space is a big part of creating a sort of mental respite.”

A junk journal is proof of something real

I’ve always been drawn to keeping diaries and scrapbooks, for reasons I can’t fully articulate. 

But this deep, often-inexplicable desire isn’t unique; it spans cultures and millennia. “I think there’s a very human, timeless urge to just be like, ‘I was here.’ You think of archeologists digging up graffiti in Pompeii or other locations around the world where someone just wants to say, ‘I am a person, I existed, I am in this context, and I’m going to anchor myself to the physical,’” Mallory Furnier, a special collections and archives librarian at California State University Northridge, told me. “I think there’s a need to feel remembered.” 

In more recent history, this desire took the form of things like commonplace books, yearbooks, and slam books. But in the past decade, we’ve taken this urge to social media, which feels the same, but just isn’t; Furnier said posting online is often more about status, about performance — I went to this event, I hung out with these friends. We all kind of agree that the things we see on social media aren’t real.

A junk journal, on the other hand, offers you literal, tangible proof that your experiences were real, along with an authenticity you simply don’t get when you’re posting for an audience. Technically, you could still lie or obfuscate reality in your junk journal, as 58-year-old Jane Hemmer did in The Onion’s “Local Woman’s Life Looks Bearable In Scrapbook,” but you probably won’t! So collecting and arranging your ephemera in this way serves as a nice antidote to the cozenage of both Instagram and AI slop, and the way that we now all have to constantly question our very reality. 

Paterson, the sociologist, told me that humans have long seen a connection between our sense of touch and the idea of deeper truth and understanding; he pointed to noli me tangere, which comes from a scene in the New Testament in which Christ’s followers reach out to try and touch his wounds following his resurrection to confirm that he’s real. Shuffling through your pile of ephemera isn’t quite the same as rooting around in your buddy’s stitches, but it’s an instinctive, almost unconscious way that we validate what’s true nonetheless. 

A junk journal is a way to make meaning out of your life, whether you use it to record things that are positive, negative, or neutral. “To track your life every day and to document it is to be more intentional about your personal narrative,” Furnier said. “Otherwise, you’re just going through life as a robot and not really making sense and making meaning and celebrating your little wins every day, processing what didn’t go well.” Furnier added that collaging takes this to an even deeper level because you’re deciding what to keep and how to position it. She told me that when scrapbooks are too old and fragile to handle, archivists sometimes have to disassemble them to preserve the individual elements, but they always take photos and scans before they do to keep a record of the original arrangement: “There is this meaning-making of juxtaposing different objects from different places together. There’s an authorship and a reimagining of these disparate, seemingly unconnected items that happen in a scrapbook when they’re brought together like that.”

My friend Ryan said that the ability to create a document that feels somewhat permanent in a moment of upheaval is a big part of what makes this such an appealing medium. “It is like an archival process,” she said. “You are putting a time and a place when you’re making these pieces, because you’re using objects that exist today. So it’s putting a timestamp on it. … Things that are seen as mundane in the moment really get to become part of the record. And I think that’s really exciting, especially as we look back at the lineage of assemblage and we can see how that played out.” 

While you might get into junk journaling with future history in mind, you could also come at it from the opposite perspective, and try it precisely because things feel so unstable. “Today, with so much uncertainty in the world, I’m not sure that people — young people especially — imagine a scenario in which their story and their labor survives intact, unsullied for generations,” Danille Christensen, a professor at Virginia Tech who studies scrapbooks, folklore, and material culture, told me in an email. “Maybe an ethic of noticing and reusing or incorporating small incidents and things — ‘making beauty from ashes’ (to modify a phrase from Isaiah) — is the kind of hope that people can muster right now.” 

A junk journal is a way of creating something that is yours and yours alone

Americans are awash in mass-produced crap: Influencers are constantly peddling fast fashion; gadgets and products we don’t need and that are destined to end up in landfills; furniture and other home decor that is both cheaply made and weirdly expensive. While pushing back on this can be hard, my junk journal has served as a really nice reminder that it’s possible to resist the commodification of everything and just make whatever we want, using whatever we have, simply because it feels good. In that sense, it can be another version of craftivism, which has been popular for generations and is currently having a renaissance.

Paterson drew a connection between junk journaling and bricolage, a French term that generally is used to mean “DIY project,” but has come to be associated with mixed media and using whatever materials you have on hand. “It’s this idea of an everyday art, of making do, of coping. So it’s not simply about the arts, but it’s actually about coping with everyday life and so on…” he said. “Maybe commenting on mass consumption and trying to do something about that.” He said that remixing widely available items, turning them into something new and personally meaningful isn’t a trend; in fact, it’s something that tends to cycle in and out of the culture as people discover it — and perhaps remember their need for it — anew. You see this in things like ripped jeans, punk, or, more recently, appliquéd or embroidered Trader Joe’s bags (another current project of mine). “Consumption is not just passive, but it can be a very creative act,” he said. The junk journal, then, is “an artistic statement. It’s very much ours. And maybe it means nothing to anybody else. Maybe it actually just looks just like a little junk, clearly. But of course it’s deeply meaningful for the person who puts it together.” 

Furnier, the archivist, pointed out that as our lives have become more digital, they’ve also been commodified and sold back to us — you post a picture from the theater and then start getting Broadway-related ads. A nice memory that’s related to your identity and your relationships has been turned into a marketing opportunity. “It’s almost like we’re reclaiming our data by making it physical,” Furnier said. “And there’s something that feels almost radical and liberating with the idea that you can create something and you can share it in person or you can keep it for yourself, and you’re not going to get a targeted ad.” 

When ownership writ large feels very out of reach and every moment in our lives is a new opportunity for both consumption and for performance, you can still have agency in this very small way. The fact that it doesn’t require you to enrich a billionaire in the process makes it even more appealing. “It’s no great mystery in many ways, especially with the acceleration and the frictionlessness of everyday life and the goal-orientedness…we need these speed bumps, these forms of friction to slow us down,” Paterson said. “And so I can see junk journaling as one of the most accessible ways of slowing the world down and making it slightly more one’s own.” 

Lisa Marie Wilson matched with a man on a dating app who claimed to be 5-foot-10 and to live on the beach. Only one of those facts turned out to be true. When she showed up to the date, Wilson observed that she and her date were the same height — and she isn’t 5-foot-10. She wasn’t planning to mention it, but her date did: “He told me I wasn’t really 5-foot-9,” Wilson, a 51-year-old author, told Vox.

Even though he accused her of lying about her height before he even said hello, Wilson told Vox she still gave the man the benefit of the doubt. But as they continued on with their planned walk along the beach, Wilson sensed her date was suspicious of her. “The whole time it was like he was an investigative reporter asking me questions, but kind of like if you were interviewing someone you didn’t like,” she said. 

By the end of the date, Wilson was sure she didn’t want to see this guy again, so she turned down his offer to give her a massage and left. She couldn’t get past his accusatory comment about her height. “I was like, ‘I’m not a liar,’” Wilson said. “But I think he was — because he obviously wasn’t as tall as he was saying he was.” (To add insult to injury, Wilson’s date emailed her the next day breaking things off with her.)

If you’ve been on a date recently, the phrase “love is a battlefield” might seem a fitting descriptor for the sordid state of romantic affairs. 

According to this year’s Kinsey Institute Singles in America Survey, the percentage of singles with a “checklist” of what they’re looking for in a partner rose from 25 percent in 2021 to 34 percent in 2026. Dating has also become even more partisan this year, another survey found: A date’s political affiliation, especially if it conflicts with their own, is a major dealbreaker. This year, traditional gender roles and values have made a return, hardening some people’s idea of what romance looks like — a dynamic where a woman is pursued by a man with an absurdly strong jaw — and warping the expectations that women have of men and vice versa. Daters are also increasingly using AI to chat with matches on apps and bots’ infiltration of dating apps might have you questioning who you’re even chatting with in the first place. 

It stands to reason that we’ve forgotten how to be human — and some of the basic rules of human decency — in our love lives. Relationship experts, historians, and critics agreed: Dating feels different now.

TikTok has only added fuel to the fire. A popular outlet for singles to share their gripes, the platform has given rise to new dating vernacular — rosters, breadcrumbing, goblintimacy. These new dynamics seeped into the dates themselves, with people openly antagonistic and confrontational from the jump. 

Experts say that if your goal is to find love, or even just have a night of fun, assuming the worst of others — as so many seem to do right now — isn’t an effective strategy. “If you’re eternally suspicious, that tends to be a boundary to attraction,” Paul Eastwick, a psychology professor at the University of California Davis and author of Bonded by Evolution: The New Science of Love and Connection, told Vox. 

The consequence of such hostility in dating is less tolerance — for ordinary friction, for learning lessons, for romance itself. So, what’s a single in 2026 to do?

The problem with dating right now

Most of modern dating followed a predictable pattern: Two singles met at church or at school or at work or at a party hosted by a mutual friend or through family. They might continue to see each other in social settings, gradually growing accustomed to one another’s personality, quirks, interests, until one person (usually the man, if they were straight) asked out the other on a date. Because they had mutual friends or coworkers in common, there was someone to vouch for them, to give some context to their life. 

Since the early 2010s, the most popular way to meet a potential romantic partner has been through online dating. App users are exposed to swaths of people they might not have ordinarily met without having to leave the comfort of their homes, meaning they are going on dates with virtual strangers. The sussing-out phase — where your perception of a person grows from simply “hot woman” to “Amy, the funny blonde from my dodgeball team” — has been condensed or eliminated altogether. “It’s not like, I got to know this person naturally,” Eastwick, also the co-host of the podcast Love Factually, said. “When somebody is a stranger, it’s maybe a little easier to come in with whatever negative assumptions you’ve gleaned from these online spaces.”

Life as a whole in the US has become more combative and tense in the past decade, from political polarization to increasingly rude behavior. At work, our labor and time is extracted until we’re laid off; at home, we’re suspicious of our neighbors. And dating is inherently vulnerable, rife with rejection and negative consequences. 

Dating apps have played a huge role in this dramatic shift in tenor. While effective at connecting users with multiple eligible singles, apps don’t encourage slow-burn connections, which is how humans have historically grown attracted to one another. And when a date goes awry, terrible tales can be mined for engagement online, where commenters are quick to validate a unique experience as universal, often reinforcing gendered stereotypes, like “all men are toxic” and “all women are shallow.”  

People have historically commiserated over their romantic lives as a way of bonding: Think of men in bars with their buddies bemoaning the old ball and chain, women lamenting their husbands not shouldering their share of household labor. During the feminist movement of the 1970s, women gathered to validate each other’s experiences and consider political responses to sexist issues, according to Rebecca Davis, a professor of history and women and gender studies at the University of Delaware. Social media now fulfills many of the same functions as these in-person conversations, Davis told Vox; people can take to TikTok or Reddit to share their frustrating or traumatic experiences, and comment sections are populated with others sharing their own similar stories. But unlike in the relatively private spaces of the past, these gripes now spread from individual to individual with little context, follow-up questions, or nuance.

Instead, posts beget more posts. Algorithms reward extreme content and creators may embellish details to encourage engagement. Whether intentionally or not, TikToks about how coffee dates signify low effort and Reddit threads parroting misogynist language perpetuate harmful stereotypes. “People are good at finding a reason to externalize the difficulty of dating,” the writer Asa Seresin told Vox. It’s much easier to assume the people you date are altogether bad than it is to assess your own actions.

In a viral essay published in 2019, Seresin gave the outward disdain with heterosexuality a name: heteropessimism. Since then, dating culture has only gotten more dismal, he said, in large part due to a national regression toward conservative views of gender and sexuality. The overturning of Roe v. Wade, contentious debates over transgender rights, and a generation of young men who believe a woman should obey her husband have become a dark cloud over the world of romance.

Some of these more traditional beliefs have filtered into 33-year-old Brittni Kristine’s dating life. After only a few weeks of dating, a man Kristine had met on an app asked her to be exclusive, but his actions suggested he wasn’t fully invested. Whenever Kristine inquired about their plans for the week, the guy would get irritated. “His defense mechanism was essentially like, ‘Well, I didn’t tell you I wasn’t seeing you next week, so why would you assume?’” Kristine told Vox.

Over the course of the month they dated, Kristine and the man got into multiple arguments of this nature until she’d grown exasperated with his stonewalling. His antagonism, Kristine suspected, stemmed from a puritanical view of sex and romance, where casually dating is seen as a moral failure. “I’ve had so many people tell me, ‘If I go on a first date with you and I find out that you have gone on another date in the past two weeks, basically I would never talk to you again because you’re promiscuous,’” she said.

These off-putting experiences fuel heteropessimism. A key aspect of heteropessimism, the pervasive embarrassment with which some young women express being attracted to men, only adds to a cycle of shame that makes people feel guilty for who they’re attracted to, Davis said. This has led some to internalize the idea that queer relationships are easier or more ideal. “When women talk about division of labor…it makes sense that there’s a longing for a relationship where the gender division of labor isn’t at play,” Seresin said. “I actually do think that is one way in which queer relationships are a lot easier, but I wouldn’t say that overall queer relationships are easier.”

Negative stereotypes and preemptive defensiveness plague queer relationships, too, Seresin said. “A lot of gay men also say, ‘I wish I wasn’t into men,’ and will blame a culture of very casual intimacy on being unable to find a boyfriend,” Seresin said. “A lot of lesbians will blame there not being enough queer women out there or enough of their type.”

The result is a population of singles, regardless of who they’re attracted to, walking into dating scenarios with strangers who they might already be suspicious of.  

Dating with walls up

As soon as his date walked through the coffee shop doors recently, Alex Alberti told Vox he sensed an air of negativity. “Literally from the jump, he kind of felt on the defensive and a little bit guarded from just buying coffee,” the 35-year-old education researcher said. Even a change of scenery on their walk around a nearby lake did not help matters. Alberti remembered his date venting about his dating troubles: how shallow and rude and awful the men were. About halfway through the get-together, Alberti decided there would not be another.

It was clear to Alberti that his date was letting past negative experiences color his current one. But instead of protecting him, drawing attention to bad behavior only pushed Alberti away. “I think people believe that if they can just beat the bad thing to the punch by calling it out, they’re going to make themselves safer,” he said. “When someone approaches a first date being highly skeptical and highly guarded and even a little bit combative, they think that it’s going to serve as a helpful filter.”

When you approach other people with distrust and ire instead of openness and curiosity, forging genuine connections turns into a monumental undertaking. People tend to like folks they feel comfortable opening up to, and the gradual revelations and bits of your interior life you show each other are what foster attraction. Fearing someone will weaponize your vulnerability against you turns dating into a surface-level endeavor at best, or, at worst, a contentious battle no one can possibly win.

The walls people put up are meant to be protective: You can’t hurt me if I never let you in to begin with. And the youngest prospective daters are dating even less in 2026: One recent study found that more than half of single young adults, ages 22 to 35, said past breakups made them more reluctant to pursue new relationships. Those are just the ones who’ve had previous romantic experiences. A Pew Research Center survey found that about a third of singles who have never married have never been in a committed romantic relationship to begin with.

When daters lack experience and are primed to see the worst in each other, the very normal aspects of courtship — negotiating boundaries, establishing trust, navigating conflict — are seen as dealbreakers. “There’s a growing discomfort with the normal friction, that if you say or do the wrong thing, it’s cringe, it’s disqualifiable; there’s no appetite for any kind of misstep,” Daniel Cox, the director of the Survey Center on American Life and author of Generation Uncoupled: America’s New Gender Divide and the Crisis of Human Connection, told Vox.

This is an impossibly high bar to clear and runs contrary to how many relationships form, Eastwick, the psychology professor, said. Most people’s affection for another person grows the more they get to know them. But if you’re meeting a stranger from an app who you assume has nefarious intentions, that first date isn’t likely to turn into a second.

Letting your guard down

Trauma and past negative experiences, both your own and others, can be a helpful teacher, a useful framework for what to avoid, and what lessons could be gleaned from pain. But it can also be distorting, Seresin, the writer, said. One bad relationship or date doesn’t mean all future relationships and dates with a similar type of person will be doomed. “It’s almost like if you’ve had a bad experience and you want to protect yourself, that’s almost morally good,” Seresin said.

Instead of focusing on avoiding any bad feelings (an impossible task), singles should question their own assumptions and operate from a place of curiosity. Resist the urge to cast judgment based on what little you know of someone. Even couples who have been married for decades can still discover new things about their partner. “It’s very easy to think, ‘I know exactly how this person thinks. I know what they want. I know how they’re trying to manipulate me,’” Seresin said.

The process of getting to know someone is a risk. All relationships come with potential disappointment; there will always be a person who ghosts or makes a bad joke or minimizes your accomplishments. But it doesn’t mean that person represents all men or all women, that they’re the enemy, that these connections are inherently toxic or not worth pursuing in the first place. 

To find love, we have to turn down the instinct to protect ourselves and open ourselves to the possibility that the person across the table might also be a flawed human who’s been hurt before. And they might want the same thing, too.

Why do I cry when I see a donkey? 

It’s completely involuntary. As if my heart’s defenses are swept aside by a giant wave of compassion and I’m left unnerved by the intensity of love that I feel: raw and a little foreign.

I wonder about this because I’m not a big animal guy. There’s no desire in me to own a pet; I’m allergic to cats and I will actively do what I can to avoid meeting your dog. (Sorry! It’s the nonconsensual licking! The crotch jumping! No thank you.) And yet, there I’ll be: leaning over a fence, arm outstretched to let the donkey nuzzle my open hand, feeling a sudden and desperate sadness. 

It’s happened so often that I wonder if these encounters point to something precious. The tears suggest that there’s a mismatch between the way I’ve been taught to understand animals as separate from myself and the connection that actually exists between us. Our paradigm of anthropocentrism distinguishes us from the natural world and puts us on a pedestal of worthiness, forcing us to look at the whole of nature as somehow less real than we are. Each animal and plant, the land and the water, the very air we breathe — all are resources for us to use rather than beings to be in relationship with. 

But the donkeys keep disrupting that notion.

Even if those sad Eeyore-like eyes don’t make you emotional, you have probably experienced some version of it. For many pet owners (and notice how that language of ownership emphasizes the idea of separation!), it may be a creeping uncertainty about the validity of the love that they feel for their pet. You might ask yourself, “Am I crazy to love an animal this much? Is this feeling of mutual friendship and understanding actually real?” 

This week, dear friends of mine had to put down their dog. Like most dog owners, they understood their pup to be a part of their family. And so the intensity of their grief — and the heavy burden of having to decide whether the time had come to say goodbye — opened up not just emotional questions, but spiritual ones, too. Is it wrong to euthanize a family member you love? What happens to a dog when it dies? Does your dog have a soul? 

Your deep connection to your animal companion might also make you question your relationship to and understanding of other animals: How is it that my beloved has a soul, but a pig or a cow or a bird does not? To kill one animal but to love another demands significant mental gymnastics. The modernist, mechanistic view of the world where humans are separate and death is the end doesn’t hold true to my experience. And so perhaps it is wise to look at spiritual traditions that affirm the ways the animate and inanimate are connected.

What religious tradition can teach us about the souls of animals

The idea that animals are not equal to humans is rooted in a dominant refrain in Christian theology — which David Clough, chair in theology and applied sciences at the University of Aberdeen in Scotland, says has done great disservice to animals. Significant church figures like Thomas Aquinas and the philosopher René Descartes have argued that animals don’t have an immortal soul. Other doctrines like predestination (where some people are chosen for salvation and others are damned) have further broken the world into separate spheres. This stratification of significance, where humans sit above everything — from the stones and stars to the pets we share our homes with — has led to a paradigm where we’ve been able to desecrate the natural world and continue to practice cruel factory farming, killing hundreds of millions of animals every day.

But this particular Christian worldview isn’t the only way to think about a spirituality of animals. 

Indeed, says Clough, in the first centuries of Christian life, theologians like Irenaeus and Origen imagined a very different ordering of the world. Rather than envisioning a judgment that separates us, these early thinkers believed God would regather the whole of creation in what Clough calls “a comprehensive redemption.” Here, because God created the world, all of life will one day be regathered together, including the pets we love and the places we live. At the end of time, the thinking went, all of life will be embodied once again, but free from pain and suffering.

Maybe that’s what I long for when I see those donkeys: a union of all living things, free from pain and suffering. 

David Haberman, professor emeritus at Indiana University who studies South Asian religious traditions, tells me that a Hindu worldview sees humans and animals as inherently connected. He points to the concept of Ātman, which dates back thousands of years: “Some translate it as soul, some translate it as self, some translate it as the ultimate essence. I think all those work in various ways, but the notion is that it’s shared amongst all beings,” he says.

This worldview enables us to see “the self present in all beings and all beings in the self. … So whatever happens to a human happens to a dog, whatever happens to a dog happens to a human.” Haberman says that this ontology establishes a “deep connection between all things and a recognition that it’s the same essence.” So, whether canine or human, individual souls are described in the Bhagavad Gita as “eternal, immortal, and ageless. It is not destroyed when the body is destroyed.” 

Other spiritual practitioners are of the same mind. Susan Allen is a medium who specializes in communicating with pets that have died. It wasn’t a career she was planning on, but her intuitive and sensitive nature has meant many grieving dog owners seek her out when their pup passes away. Allen believes animals have a continuation of consciousness that transcends death.

“The body leaves and dies,” she says, “but the soul stays with us.” Allen says she senses messages and emotional states that pets want to share with their former owners — usually feelings of gratitude and love, a message that is especially consoling for those who had to make the decision to end the pet’s life amidst increased suffering. Though there is great sadness when a pet dies, it is, Allen says, “the consequences of living with so much love.”

Maybe that’s what holds me back from welcoming an animal into my home. Sure, there is the hair that gets everywhere and the picking up of poop and the need for walks at all hours of the day — but I suspect there’s a big part of me that recoils from the inevitability of grief that loving an animal so deeply will lead to. I became a vegetarian when I left home and started to cook my own meals and found it difficult to put a knife through the flesh of a chicken or a fish. That decision seemed to open a window into seeing the truth of our interconnectedness. 

Perhaps that’s what so many traditions try to help us realize: that we are part of one another. All living things are inherently bound together. Separation is an illusion that fuels harm. “At its best, a relationship with a companion animal is a sort of anticipation of a sort of redeemed future where humans and other animals will live peaceably together,” Clough says. “A companion animal relationship could be a small anticipation of that sort of restored mutuality of relationship.”

Haberman agrees. “It doesn’t have to stop with dogs,” he says. Though we may start by loving a pet, we must embrace an “ever expanding circle of love.” When we embrace our interconnectedness, we embrace something sacred. The love that exists between a human and their animal can be a bridge to a redemptive love for all living things; for every animal; for the very fullness of life itself.

The weather forecast might still be screaming “summer,” but the calendar betrays the truth: The holidays are going to be here before you know it. What’s usually billed as a jolly time of year can inspire dread — all the planning, all the spending, all the gathering can be exhausting, especially if you have a large family. Of course you’d like to put that off for as long as possible, right? Surely these conversations can wait until after Halloween.

But waiting too long can actually make the holidays more stressful — and can put undue stress on the women in your life, who often shoulder the burden of organizing and planning. One lollygagger who delays in committing to a plan can prevent the rest of the family from booking flights or buying necessary supplies. What can seem like an annoying text from your sister reminding you to RSVP for Thanksgiving in early October only adds to her mental load in planning a dinner for 20 people.

“There can be an enormous amount of invisible labor involved in making the holiday magic happen, and that labor falls disproportionately on women and caregivers,” Jamila E. Holcomb, a licensed marriage and family therapist and associate teaching professor at Florida State University, told Vox. “If one person is coordinating everyone’s flights, planning meals, buying gifts, arranging childcare, communicating schedules, and managing family conflict, this can cause significant stress. It also makes one person responsible for everyone else’s experience, which is an unequal division of labor.”

The pressure to plan the “perfect” holiday isn’t merely logistical. In our hyper-connected and visible culture, people may feel pressured to orchestrate a high-stakes production that somehow is meaningful, memorable, and Instagram-worthy. In other words, planning for the holidays can be its own form of labor these days. To help make the whole ordeal more manageable for everyone — not just the hosts or Type A family members — five experts offered their advice on sharing responsibilities and actually enjoying the season.

Getting ahead of this coordination can help minimize the stress on everyone in a few months. So even though end-of-year celebrations might be the furthest thing from your mind, the ideal time to start planning them is, I’m sorry to say, right now. Here’s why early fall is the ideal time to start bugging the family group chat about the holidays.

Planning early will save you money

Prices on many goods, from flights to groceries, have increased over the last year. Getting ahead of these purchases before holiday crunch time can help you secure the best price and budget. While there’s no exact date for when to find the cheapest flights, travelers shouldn’t wait to book their tickets believing the price of gas will come down, travel expert Katy Nastro told Vox. In general, Nastro suggested locking in domestic travel between three and seven months ahead of time and between four and 10 months before international flights. “If you can get everything set… by the end of September for Thanksgiving, you’re going to be in a better place than most people,” Nastro said.

The same goes for rental cars: reserve them now. Unlike flights, you don’t need to pay for them in advance, so you can always cancel the reservation if your plans change. Nastro recommends the platform AutoSlash, which aggregates prices from multiple rental companies. “With rental cars, there’s only so much inventory and you want to even make sure that you have that option if you need it,” she said.

Early fall is also a great time to start shopping for presents, especially if you’re on a tight budget or coordinating a group gift with multiple people. Content creator and actor Rachel Ann Thomas and her eight siblings begin brainstorming ideas for their parents’ holiday gift in September or October every year. When holiday and event planner Lance “Mr. Christmas” Devereux decided to buy his loved ones matching Christmas pajamas, he started tracking down everyone’s sizes and placed the order before November. The earlier you nail down your shopping list, the sooner you can start looking for sales and slowly making purchases to save your bank account in December and avoid the stress of paying express shipping on last-minute gifts.

You need time to create new traditions and to split the labor of creating them

The holidays tend to be a period of nostalgia, and some families may heavily rely on time-honored traditions. But if you’ve outgrown them or just want to try something different, now is the best time to determine what would be meaningful, fun, and low-stress. Maybe that’s changing the location of a celebration from a grandparent’s home to a cousin’s; maybe that’s going on a fabulous vacation. The sooner you start thinking about it (and then commit to it), the easier everything else will be.

Holcomb, the therapist, suggested asking your loved ones now what they want the holiday to feel like, what traditions or events matter most, and what they realistically have the capacity for. You can also ask if there’s anything new or different they’d like to incorporate this year. Then you can come up with a game plan for how to share planning responsibilities. “Our cultural expectations around the holidays can make it easy to confuse a ‘successful’ holiday with a highly productive one,” Holcomb said. “Making time to ask these questions is especially important because we can disrupt traditional relational patterns and roles that we have taken for granted as normal.”

Both Holcomb and Thomas recommend creating a shared calendar or spreadsheet to keep track of logistics and divide responsibilities. In Thomas’s family, it’s called the Thomas Christmas Itinerary, and her mother starts it every September. “It basically lays out what the itinerary is for the whole Christmas time,” Thomas said. “What activities we’re doing, when we’re going over to grandparents’ houses, even down to what our dinner menus are.”

A spreadsheet can also be helpful for assigning and delegating tasks so that one person doesn’t end up managing everything by default as things come together at the last minute. So once you’ve committed to a general plan with your family, start breaking things down further — and proactively ask people to take ownership of different events and tasks (e.g., choosing a movie to take all the kids to see together, buying the snacks, and figuring out who is driving everyone). “If you’re hosting, you don’t have to simultaneously be the chef, activities director, chauffeur, mediator, and person responsible for everyone’s enjoyment,” Holcomb said.

Advance planning allows for the downtime everyone craves

When you are able to take a broad view of the holidays without the time crunch, you can be more deliberate with the itinerary and build in breaks. Events can be planned with intention, not obligation, and you’ll be able to zoom out and see that your calendar is getting overloaded before you’re completely underwater. “Another priority should be adding rest into the schedule before you need it,” Emily Barry, the senior vice president of holiday planning at online stationery and art marketplace Minted, told Vox. “Protect mornings or evenings when nothing is planned. Give yourself permission to stay inside instead of attending another event.”

“Don’t try to make the schedule perfect — make it meaningful,” Barry said. “Pick the one or two moments that are most important for everyone to be together, and build the rest of the holiday around those anchors.”

Slow planning over the course of a month or two ultimately makes it easier to offer flexibility to family members who may have traveled a considerable distance, have young kids, or are juggling multiple celebrations, Barry said — and to be realistic about what you personally can handle. “The goal is to spend meaningful time together, not create an itinerary that everyone has to execute perfectly,” she said.

There’s a funny game I’ve been playing with my three-year-old iPhone lately. The objective is to drain my battery as often as possible to degrade its health enough that Apple Care covers the replacement. A new battery would make my phone feel brand new — or at least new enough to avoid buying the latest iPhone, which isn’t really any better than my old-timer. 

I can’t play this game forever. In a few years, I expect Apple to stop supporting my model, as it has with countless other geriatric devices, in a tradition that’s become derisively and even conspiratorially known as planned obsolescence. At that point, the new iPhone will probably cost hundreds of dollars more than mine did a few years ago, thanks in part to a global memory shortage that’s driving up the cost of gadgets and arguably making them worse. Apple raised the prices of iPhones by $100 this year, and not just the latest models either. Last year’s models got a price hike, too. As with so many other consumer goods right now, we’re spending more to get less. 

“It just doesn’t feel that revolutionary anymore,” said Lee Vinsel, a professor at Virginia Tech and the co-author of The Innovation Delusion: How Our Obsession With the New Has Disrupted the Work That Matters Most. “When a technology settles down and you’re being asked to pay more for it and it doesn’t feel like you’re getting that much more, it’s frustrating.”

This isn’t the first time in recent history that American consumers have been faced with the degradation of an expensive item they’ve come to rely on. In the 1970s, the American automotive industry went through what’s become known as the Malaise Era. During a decade-long period, from about 1973 to 1983, a cascade of external factors, including rising oil prices and new safety and emissions regulations, upended Detroit’s deeply ingrained tradition of building big, beautiful, and very inefficient cars. What American consumers got instead were models like the Ford Pinto that cost more and underperformed. Ultimately, this embarrassing decade changed the way Americans bought cars (less Chrysler, more Toyota; fewer muscle cars, more minivans). 

I’m not saying the iPhone is the same as the Pinto. (For starters, your phone isn’t bursting into flames upon impact.) However, there is something to the idea that the iPhone — and possibly the consumer tech industry in general — is suffering through its own age of malaise. External factors are forcing companies like Apple to break away from a longstanding bargain with its customers, one that promised significantly better products at or below the same price point. Instead, we’re getting mediocre new devices that cost more. 

What’s happening with Apple now, and what happened to American cars during the Malaise Era brings to mind another term, too: enshittification. 

Coined in 2022 by the science fiction novelist Cory Doctorow, the term specifically refers to tech platforms that degrade products and squeeze profits out of users; Doctorow writes, “Here is how platforms die: first, they are good to their users; then they abuse their users to make things better for their business customers; finally, they abuse those business customers to claw back all the value for themselves. Then, they die.”

I think the crappy cars of the 1970s can teach us a lot about enshittification. First, that it’s not unprecedented for everything to get worse and cost more, especially in a world where wars lead to oil shock or AI bubbles lead to product shortages. And second, that these episodes offer people like you and me an opportunity. They represent a chance to do something different, to escape the product cycle any given company has looped you into. 

Enshittification is a great excuse to be a more empowered consumer. 

The global memory crisis isn’t ending any time soon

The rapid buildout of AI data centers has put computer memory in high demand, and there are basically only three companies that make the stuff: Micron, SK Hynix, and Samsung Electronics. As early as last August, there were warnings that everything from cars to smartphones would rise in price, and that’s exactly what’s happened. Apple has raised prices on its gadgets by as much as 29 percent. Samsung and Google have done the same for their devices. 

Memory manufacturers have known since the pandemic that they needed to build more capacity, but they pulled back on those plans after consumer demand slowed down a couple years ago. That was right around the same time that investors started pouring billions into the AI industry, and demand for memory surged as data centers needed massive amounts of it to keep ChatGPT and Claude alive.

All of the companies are doing fine in this crisis. The memory manufacturers are posting eye-popping profits. Meanwhile, the market intelligence firm IDC predicts that global shipments of smartphones will fall nearly 17 percent this year, but the total market value will increase by more than 6 percent. How? Higher prices, of course. 

“Forget the prices most of us were used to paying for any consumer electronics,” Francisco Jeronimo, vice president for data and analytics at IDC, told me. “Even when the crisis gets better, prices will come down, but not to the same price level that we saw a year ago.”

The memory crisis is not getting better tomorrow, either. Jeronimo said that “there’s no light at the end of the tunnel,” although IDC expects that the situation might start to improve by early 2028. Tarun Pathak, a research director at the market intelligence firm Counterpoint, told me this is not a one-year problem, but it’s not a decade-long crisis either. Until the shortage ends, however, you can expect innovation to slow, at least somewhat, and for prices to keep climbing.

What the Malaise Era reveals about enshittification

My dad is not a car guy, but when I was growing up, he liked trading cars. The worst one that ever graced our driveway was a 1978 Lincoln Continental, a land yacht that weighed nearly 5,000 pounds. We nicknamed it “The Grey Ghost” because it was often dead. Once, on a family vacation, we couldn’t turn it off for two days for fear that it wouldn’t start back up and we’d have no way home. Cars like this defined the Malaise Era.

Many automotive historians place the beginning of this period at 1973 for a few reasons. That was the year that OPEC issued an oil embargo on the United States, leading to fuel shortages and spiraling gas prices. Suddenly, the gas-guzzling muscle cars of the 1960s didn’t look as appealing as something smaller and more efficient, like the Volkswagen Beetle, for instance. 

This was also around the same time that car manufacturers were making big changes to their models in order to comply with the 1970 Clean Air Act, which called for the industry to reduce emissions in new automobiles by 90 percent over five years. This challenge led to underpowered and less reliable engines. Detroit, after all, had designed its whole manufacturing process around gas-guzzling muscle cars. Congress then enacted the Corporate Average Fuel Economy (CAFE) standards in 1975, requiring cars to be even more efficient. (The One Big Beautiful Bill Act of 2025 eliminated the penalties for violating these regulations.)

“There was a whole host of cars that appeared on the scene that were anything but desired by the public,” said John Heitmann, a professor emeritus at the University of Dayton, who studies the history of the automobile. “It’s epitomized by cars like the Chevy Vega, Ford Pinto, of course, which actually I think was a better car than it’s ever given credit for.”

Rising fuel costs and new regulations in the 1970s, not to mention double-digit inflation, contributed to higher prices for those cars, too. Adding insult to injury and partly driven by new safety standards, automotive design also took a weird turn during this period, leading to huge bumpers, fake wood paneling, and vinyl roofs. 

“In a nutshell, that was the Malaise Era and it marked, some would say, the end of the love affair with the car,” Heitmann added.

What really stands out to me about this period, however, is the fact that consumers pushed back against the idea of spending more money to buy worse cars — and actually came out ahead. German and especially Japanese carmakers, who had anticipated the new regulations, made great cars throughout the 1970s, and American consumers started to consider foreign-made vehicles. By the 1980s, these companies had gained a strong foothold in the US. 

In other words, a decade of crappy American cars turned loyal Ford customers into Toyota drivers. And while it’s hard to imagine that a few more years of lackluster devices will turn Apple fans into Android users (especially because all devices are getting more expensive), it’s clear that waning enthusiasm for the annual iPhone upgrade is shaking up the industry. I’m not just talking about the $2,000 foldable iPhone, either. 

Our version of progress: Buy refurbished and keep repairing

A key difference between buying a car in the ’70s and ’80s and buying a new phone today relates to switching costs. If you wanted to ditch your boat-like Lincoln, you could just buy or lease a Toyota Camry and drive away. If you’re sick of boring iPhones and want to try a Google Pixel, however, you’re looking at a big headache that involves moving your data from one platform to another and learning a new operating system.

Apple has made it difficult to leave its ecosystem, sure. But much like car drivers in the ’70s, we do have options, and buying a new iPhone every two years isn’t inevitable. 

The secondary market for smartphones is thriving, and refurbished devices are practically as good as the new ones. You can buy a refurbished iPhone 15 Pro, which is the phone I use and love, for about $550. The price of a new iPhone 18 Pro is more than double that, and as far as I can tell, the main differences between the two models are a new chip and some marginal camera upgrades. And while Apple might argue that AI features in its current iOS require more processing power, you would also have to be a power AI user to really care about that.

Meanwhile, all kinds of gadgets are also getting easier to fix thanks to new right-to-repair legislation being enacted across the country. Similar laws in the European Union, which went into effect this year, also aim to “create a system that favours repairing a product over purchasing a new one.” Such an ambitious raft of regulations could even reshape how manufacturers design their products worldwide. Apple devices are already becoming more repairable ahead of EU battery regulations that are set to go into effect next year.

I find myself wondering if regulations like these will reshape the consumer tech industry the way that environmental regulations transformed the auto industry half a century ago. Again, cars and phones are very different machines, but they’re each essential to millions of people’s lives. 

“People treat their cars like precious objects and we worry about them,” said Kyle Wiens, co-founder and CEO of iFixit. “We need to start thinking about electronics as something that we’re going to baby and treat carefully and preserve as long as we can.”

Let me tell you, taking care of your things and keeping them for a while is fun in the same way I imagine tending to your classic car was once fun. While I have stayed in the Apple ecosystem, I haven’t bought a new Apple product in years. My phone, once I finally get that battery replaced, will last a couple more years. My Apple Watch, which I bought refurbished, will get a new battery and a new life soon too. Now if we could only figure out a way to make batteries last longer, these devices could last as long as classic cars. 

We’re making this story accessible to all readers as a public service. Support our journalism by becoming a member today.

I don’t know about you, but whenever I go to see my primary care doctor, my mental health isn’t usually at the top of my list of things to talk about. But it should be. In fact, experts say that all of us could benefit from more candid conversations with our doctors about our mental health.

(This story discusses mental health issues and suicide. If you or someone you know is struggling or in crisis, help is available. You are not alone. You can call the national 988 hotline for support.)

For years, the United States has been trying to figure out “parity” for mental health care — to have it treated and paid for like any other medical need, not something that is carved out and separate. A big part of that has been pushing primary care doctors and OB/GYNs to do more screenings, to make your mental state a part of your well-being that you discuss with your doctor the same as your blood pressure or any physical ailment.

But that is easier said than done. A lot of people may not even realize that their depression or anxiety or stress is something they should talk about with their primary care doctor. Others might fear being judged, and for good reason — national policymakers warn there continues to be a stigma toward mental health conditions among doctors.

About one in three Americans say they have never been asked about their mental health by a doctor, which is unsettling considering that the nation has been going through a collective mental health crisis for several years. Men are significantly less likely to be asked about their mental health than women — perhaps a reflection of a culture that expects men to “tough it out” when it comes to their feelings. But those attitudes come with a price: Men are diagnosed with depression at half the rate as women, but die by suicide much more frequently.

Much of the burden for starting these conversations should fall on your doctor to be more curious and accommodating during annual exams. But you don’t have to wait to be asked to bring it up. Regularly talking to your provider about your mental health is the best way to get ahead of any problems and get treated if you need to be. In honor of Suicide Prevention Month, I reached out to a handful of doctors who have studied why it’s sometimes so hard for patients and doctors to talk about depression, anxiety, and stress — and learned some novel strategies for how you can take charge, push through any stigma, and start having more honest talks with your doctor about your state of mind. Here’s what you should know.

Know the relevant symptoms before you talk to your doctor

One of the tricky things about depression or any serious mental health problem is that it isn’t always easy to identify when you’re the one experiencing it. “Patients need to recognize their distress…as potentially emanating from depression,” Dr. Richard Kravitz, a general medicine professor at UC Davis who has studied depression screening in primary care, told me.

There is a checklist of sorts that you can go through on your own to understand whether you’re just having a tough couple of days or there’s something more serious at work, said Dr. Maria Garcia, an internal medicine physician at UC San Francisco. You might be feeling down or unmotivated or have a lack of energy, or be more agitated, angry, or irritable than usual. Sometimes there are less obvious signs, like trouble with money or problems at work. 

“If you’re not getting enjoyment from your normal hobbies or talking to the people that you would normally really enjoy talking to, if you find yourself isolating from people that you normally really enjoy spending time with, I think those are certainly triggers,” she said. Consider the duration of your symptoms, too: “If it’s every day for a couple of weeks, that definitely isn’t normal.”

And oftentimes, depression symptoms can mirror symptoms of other ailments or problems, like a lack of sleep, low appetite, or physical aches and pains. This is one reason why it is so important to talk with your doctor about it, Garcia said. Is that fatigue a result of depression — or is it a problem with your thyroid? Your primary care physician is best positioned to help you figure that out. One of the benefits of a long-term relationship with a physician is that they may be able to help you recognize symptoms of depression even if they aren’t obvious to you.

It’s hard to be that self-aware; I’m certainly not all the time. But the more you pay attention to your mood and how it’s affecting your life, the more you can tell your doctor about what’s really going on. You don’t have to know all the fancy clinical terms, said Paul Duberstein, a clinical psychologist and professor of health behavior, society, and policy at the Rutgers School of Public Health. “The language that people are most comfortable using are words like stress or frustrated or impatient or something like that,” Duberstein told me. “Those are the kinds of things we really do want to incentivize and encourage people to talk to their doctors about.”

How to bring up your mental health with your doctor

Okay, you feel like something might be off and you have a doctor’s appointment coming up. What do you do?

You might not have to do anything. These days, you are likely to be given a depression screening by your physician’s office before you ever arrive (usually as part of your pre-visit paperwork). Garcia said it’s important to be honest and to be thorough when answering those questions, as that will tell your doctor that your mental health should be a focus for your upcoming visit.

But if you aren’t proactively screened for depression and you have some of the symptoms described above or you just have a hunch that something might be wrong, try to alert your doctor in advance that your mental health is something you want to talk about. If that’s not possible, tell your doctor early on in the appointment that your mental state is something you want to discuss. Garcia said that, rightly or wrongly, doctors can sometimes be reluctant to dive deep into a discussion about mental health late into a visit; they only have so much time with individual patients, and they might balk at trying to squeeze in a mental health discussion at the end. The conversation is more likely to be productive if you proactively start it before your physician is sidetracked with your blood sugar. 

During this conversation, you can ask for a depression screening outright. Doctors have become adept at recognizing code words; if you say your mood has been off, they may pick up the signal that you may be experiencing mental health struggles. But there is a good argument for being very direct about how you’re feeling, Kravitz said.

“My advice…is just simply to say to the doctor, ‘I’ve been feeling down’ or ‘I’ve been feeling irritable’ or ‘I’ve been losing sleep’ or ‘Something’s wrong and I don’t know what it is. Do you think it might be depression?’ Just ask,” Kravitz said. If you aren’t sure if it’s a mental or physical issue, tell them that. Activate your doctor’s curiosity, Kravitz told me. Get them invested in figuring out what’s going on with you.

Once the conversation starts, your doctor is likely to ask how long you have been experiencing symptoms and how they are affecting your day-to-day function. When that happens, you should be as thorough and truthful as possible.

“Is it affecting your ability to take care of your family? Is it affecting your ability to go to work, get up in the morning, cook dinner, get out of the house, go grocery shopping?” Garcia said. “Those things are really helpful because then we can tailor the treatments for the amount of functional impairment.”

Talk to your doctor about your sleep, too, Duberstein said. Not only is it an important indicator of your physical health, but it will also tell your doctor something about your mental well-being. And it doesn’t require any special emotional vocabulary: You probably know if you’re sleeping well or not.

“If you think about major depression as a collection of, say, nine symptoms and you ask, ‘Well, what symptoms appear first? Is it the depressed mood? Or the difficulty concentrating?’ The first thing that appears typically is sleep,” Duberstein told me. “Disrupted sleep is something that I think people do feel comfortable talking with their doctor about.”

How to talk to your doctor about a treatment plan

If you have a productive conversation with your doctor and they recognize symptoms of depression, they’ll want to establish a treatment plan. This has historically been another barrier to honest conversations between doctors and patients about mental health: Patients don’t want to be prescribed antidepressants or referred to therapy, so they don’t bring it up.

But ignoring your symptoms is, of course, not the solution. Instead, use your appointment as an opportunity to ask all of your questions to make sure that you are fully comfortable with the doctor’s proposed treatment plan and can get on the road to better mental health.

Many Americans have doubts about antidepressants, which have been egged on by high-profile figures like US Health Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. If you’re hesitant to take meds, you should tell your provider about the things that you’ve heard that give you pause, the negative experiences people have shared, or whatever major questions or concerns you have. They can help you understand the very real trade-offs that come with taking an antidepressant, Kravitz said. Your doctor can also debunk some of the misconceptions that make people hesitant to take these drugs even when they are struggling.

“The duration of therapy sometimes surprises people. But no, it doesn’t mean that you’ll have to be on it forever. No, most people don’t have serious withdrawal symptoms. Those can usually be managed by careful tapering if necessary and so on,” Kravitz said. He said you can ask your doctor outright: “What can I expect to happen over time? How long will I need to be on this?” 

If you’d rather not go on medication immediately, that’s totally valid. Your doctor may instead be able to help you find a therapist with a referral, Duberstein said. Therapists have historically been hard to find in the US — but one positive outcome of the pandemic was the proliferation of online mental health services.

“I think it’s important for the public to know that one of the major barriers to getting into psychotherapy or even seeing a therapist — like getting into your car, driving, finding a bus, finding a subway, whatever — that those barriers are gone,” he told me. “Because you could see a therapist online now in all 50 states.”

The goal is that you leave your doctor’s office feeling heard and feeling on-board with the approach, even if you still have some trepidation (which is very common). And if you don’t feel comfortable talking to your doctor about these issues, that may be a sign you need to find a new provider whom you feel you can trust with those sensitive discussions, Duberstein said.

The point is, your doctor should be your ally in pursuing whatever treatment you need for whatever ails for your mental health. Nobody has to go through it alone.

Mingaile Kieraite remembers what it felt like observing those close to her become parents. As family members shared updates on their pregnancies and friends dragged her to kid-friendly events, she began to feel isolated, as if she wasn’t being let into an exclusive club.

But Kieraite, 33, had already decided she didn’t want to join the club. From a young age, Kieraite never had an intense, or even middling, desire to have kids. She’d helped raise her cousin, a responsibility that was foisted upon her, and found the experience challenging. Now with more control over her circumstances, she considered what she really wanted. And it wasn’t children.

But at some point in her 20s, she had a confounding experience. The hosts of some of her favorite podcasts and YouTube channels announced they were having babies, and instead of parasocial excitement or even apathy, Kieraite was caught off guard by what she felt — a little sad, jealous even. She started to wonder if she should follow suit. 

As a thought experiment, Kieraite tried to imagine what being a parent would be like. Her mind immediately went to the good parts — feeling useful, having company — not the early mornings or the ultimate sacrifice of free time. “But that’s not how it works,” Kieraite told Vox. She was still adamant in her choice not to have children, but she felt a sense of loss for an experience she will never have. 

“How is it,” Kieraite said, “that I grieve something I don’t want to have?”

Whether it’s the choice of having kids or some other path not taken — a job offer you turned down, that person you never quite got the courage to ask out — the finality of major life decisions is wrought with a complicated and very relatable sense of grief. Not quite regret, the tension between who you are and what you could have been can dredge up feelings of self-doubt. What if? can give way to Did I make the right choice? Accepting who you are now means letting go of who you could have been. 

The number of American adults who don’t want kids is growing — 47 percent of non-parents under 50 say they’re unlikely to have children, up from 37 percent in 2018 — but they’re running headlong into an increasingly pro-family culture and political sphere. While alternative family structures are becoming more common, most people say they want children. And remaining childfree — intentionally choosing not to become a parent — remains relatively niche. Women between the ages of 30 to 50 who don’t have children are among the minority. Only around 20 percent of adults in their 50s and 60s do not have kids. Cultural messaging and social rituals surrounding marriage and child-rearing — weddings, baby showers — reinforce the idea that having kids is the norm, and a milestone worth celebrating. Bucking those trends can inspire a deep sense of FOMO, or even profound loss.

Like Kierate, childfree people may be surprised by their emotions. After all, they’ve made a deliberate choice. But they still experience a loss: a life they don’t get to live, a future they need to relinquish, even if it wasn’t what they wanted in the first place. Rather than signaling regret, this grief is often rooted in a desire to be seen and to be included. And there are ways to navigate these thorny, undiscussed emotions.

Unrecognized and alienated

Though there are more adults who don’t want kids than ever before, a stigma remains. People who choose to not have children, particularly women, are seen by society (and, at one time, the pope) as selfish, callous, lonely, and potentially regretful. “We do have that natural expectation of people to have children or families in traditional ways,” Brittany Stankhe, an assistant professor in the department of social work at East Tennessee State University, told Vox. 

In a culture that values parenthood, childfree people can feel alienated or carry shame, even if they know not having kids is the right choice. Their extended family might not understand why their loved one chose to be childfree — they can’t afford to have kids, are concerned about the future, or simply don’t want to — and thus not see it as a legitimate choice. They might also be excluded from family-centered get-togethers. “Maybe you really don’t want to be part of all these kid events,” Bella DePaulo, the author of Single At Heart: The Power, Freedom, and Heart-Filling Joy of Single Life, told Vox. “But it’s still another way in which you’re getting the message that you don’t really count, or you don’t count the way people who are parents count.”

When a baby is born, the parents’ wider community traditionally hosts baby showers, provides material support in the form of gifts and childcare, and recognizes they have entered a new life phase. “Choosing not to have children usually has no corresponding ritual,” licensed psychotherapist Annie Wright told Vox. “No one gathers to celebrate the life you’ve deliberately built or the clarity and pain it took to choose it. So many people can feel so deeply confident in their decision and still feel sad it isn’t witnessed or celebrated or understood in the same way.”

Holly, a 46-year-old who asked Vox not to publish her last name so she could speak freely about her friendships, didn’t feel that her multiple advanced degrees were sufficiently celebrated by loved ones compared to her friends’ pregnancies. “I got a couple congratulations, but it’s like, freaking do something for me,” Holly told Vox. “Give me a cake. I want to pick colors for something, and all those little novelty things I appreciate and enjoy that don’t really come from many other things other than having a baby.” She sees the glorification of traditional milestones as only furthering the stereotype that women are only worthy if they get married and have children.

Though Holly and her husband don’t want kids, there is some part of her that wishes she did. Holly was reminded of a recent shopping trip where she held her friend’s toddler in her lap while her friend went to the bathroom. She was struck by the warm smiles she received from strangers and felt a sense of sorrow. “No one will ever look at me like that for any reason, no matter what I do,” she said. 

A different kind of grief

For about a 10-year period starting in her mid-20s, many people in Jennifer Chalmers’s life were having kids. Though she’s never wavered in her decision not to have children, she did suspect her friends were experiencing something she wasn’t. “You start thinking, ‘I’m the only one who’s not doing that. Have I chosen the wrong path?’” Chalmers, 61, told Vox. But once her friends moved out of the child-rearing phase of their lives, that existential question abated. 

Chalmers’s experience is among the many documented examples of childfree people who live full and happy lives. According to research, childfree adults do not experience any more regret than parents, and they also report high life satisfaction. Instead of mourning a path not taken, childfree people “might be grieving an identity or a set of rituals or a particular relationship to adulthood, or their imagined place in a future family,” Wright said.

Letting go of these theoretical roles can be difficult because they aren’t necessarily losses. Society has an easier time recognizing the grief of people who want to have kids but, for one reason or another, are unable to. The sadness associated with choosing a somewhat unique path is less concrete. Nearly four decades ago, Kenneth J. Doka, a senior vice president of the Hospice Foundation of America, coined the term disenfranchised grief to describe the sorrow people feel when their loss isn’t acknowledged by society — perhaps the death of a pet or neighbor. “If you want to talk about it, if you want to explore that choice, if you want to process your grief, there’s nobody for the most part who does,” Doka told Vox. Mourning a life you didn’t even want can be a form of disenfranchised grief, Doka said, since you made a conscious choice to be childfree.

Another experience, known as ambiguous loss, developed by therapist Pauline Boss in the 1970s, refers to the grief associated with absences without closure, like a breakup. “Boss’s work on ambiguous loss centered on the soldiers lost in battle,” Wright said. “But her work helps us understand losses that don’t have a clean ending or a clearly recognized object.” Grieving a potential future can be a form of ambiguous loss, too, she said.

But how to process a loss of something you never had — and never wanted? Something that lacks boundaries and closure? According to Doka, admitting to yourself the existence of a loss is helpful, as is communicating that pain to someone who will acknowledge it as such. “Saying, ‘I made a choice. There were things I liked about that choice. I had a good life because of that choice, but now there are some aspects of that choice that I do in fact regret,’” he said. Wright said to consider that the decision not to have kids — all decisions, really — have costs. There will always be a life you didn’t get to have.

As I enter my mid-30s, that alternative life is becoming ever clearer. Like Chalmers in her 20s, I’m at the point where many of my peers are having kids or solidifying their decisions not to. Since my teenage years, when for a school project I was tasked with caring for a baby doll programmed with software enabling it to cry and fuss, I understood the limits of my maternal instincts. Namely, that I had none.

Still, I wonder if my life will have meaning, if having children is the most worthy way to leave a legacy. I’m reminded that my choices reverberate every time my mother sends me a video of a baby doing something silly with the comment “This is why you have kids.” 

But it isn’t a good enough reason to have kids. When I’m saddled with doubt, I open my eyes to the world around me: the privilege of laying in bed on weekends, the thrill of a spontaneous evening with friends, the ultimate blessing of silence. I don’t need to reimagine myself as anyone else, because my life is exactly how I always imagined it. I can lose myself for hours in a run, spend an afternoon reading by the pool, keep my house tidy. These simple pleasures would be made more difficult for me with the presence of a small human.

Nicola Marchant, a 37-year-old who is similarly questioning her purpose in life if she doesn’t have kids, copes with these feelings by confiding in other friends who don’t plan on having children and engaging with childfree content on Reddit and TikTok. Hearing from older people who don’t have kids that their lives aren’t empty and devoid of meaning brings her solace. “It’s content like this that shakes me out of my spiraling and makes me laugh and realize I’m not alone in these doubts and fears,” Marchant told Vox in an email. “My advice to others would be to do the same, surround yourself with voices that feel the same as yours, speak to older people you know without kids; if you don’t know any, find some online.”

Regardless of what you call it — disenfranchised grief, ambiguous loss — the feelings are real. Moving through a world that still values and recognizes traditional family structures can be exclusionary. But there is freedom in embracing the life you do have, even if it isn’t celebrated in the same way. It doesn’t make it wrong.

“I actually don’t think the goal is to stop feeling anything complicated,” Wright, the therapist, said. “It’s to make room for the grief without allowing it to erase the meaning and fullness of the childfree life you chose.”

A horror story of sorts is unfolding in the United States. It goes like this: AI has made it so effortless to access information, and short-form video has made it so easy to entertain ourselves, that nobody reads anymore. 

If you’re familiar with this tale, it’s possible, ironically, that you read about it. A viral Atlantic story from earlier this summer put a chilling headline on trend: “The End of Reading Is Here.” Teachers and professors, the magazine reported, don’t even bother assigning entire books to their students, because excerpts are good enough to prepare for standardized texts. The piece said we’re living in a “postliterate era.”

This is a cultural crisis, yes — but for a lot of us, it’s a personal one. We’re all short on time, and we’d like to read more, but the ascendancy of attention-stealing tech companies has made it feel like we have less of it.

“Reading was and is a crime of opportunity,” said Leah Price, a professor of modern book history at Oxford and the author of What We Talk About When We Talk About Books. “The limiting factor isn’t reading matter, but reading time.”

Losing the reading habit is especially bad because it’s a healthy practice in a world obsessed with self-improvement. Studies suggest that reading is an astonishingly good mental exercise, as well as a very accessible one. Reading, especially leisure reading, can improve your language skills. It exposes you to new knowledge and ideas. Reading can help relieve stress, anxiety, and insomnia. It can make you more empathetic and combat cognitive decline. Reading is absolutely great for kids. Reading, perhaps above all, also happens to be fun.

There are, I’m happy to say, some bright spots in this story — and some helpful news.

There’s evidence that reading isn’t over. It’s just changing. A 2025 Pew study found that the number of Americans who say they read books has remained roughly the same in recent years, although the way that they read them is changing. The vast majority of books read in the United States are print, but a growing number of people are reading e-books and listening to audiobooks. The number of print books sold is actually growing on the backs of the science fiction and self-help genres. The number of e-books and audiobooks borrowed from their local libraries, meanwhile, topped 820 million last year, a new record. There’s no shortage of books to read. And it’s never been easier to access any book you want in your preferred format.

The other bit of good news is useful to you: Reading is like a muscle. Even if you feel like your ability to pore over a book has atrophied, that muscle is still there, ready for exercise. The more you do read, the more your vocabulary improves, the more you learn, and the more you’re able to put new information in context. In other words, the more you read, the better you get at it. And probably as a result, the less appealing algorithmic feeds become. 

It’s one of those personal habits that extends beyond your own life, too. Becoming a better reader is good for American society. The nation’s founders believed that an informed citizenry was necessary to preserve democracy — and to prevent tyranny. A nation of people passively flipping through 10-second videos on a smartphone or bedrotting with a streaming show can be informed in a sense. You might want to be a better American. 

The big question, then, is: How does one become a better reader in an era that increasingly appears to be postliterate? Actually, there are some interesting insights — and ironically, some technology — that can help.

Reduce friction

One thing that keeps a lot of people from reading is simply friction. Reading can be hard — or at least effortful — for a lot of different reasons. 

For me, I hit friction every time I pick up all 1,300 dense pages of The Power Broker by Robert Caro. It’s the weight of a doorstop in my hands, as I struggle with the context of mid-century New York bureaucratic history, ultimately unsure if I’ll live long enough to reach the end of the book. Reading is full of friction, and finding ways to reduce friction is one way to read better.

Technology is good at this. Just take the growth in e-book popularity as proof. Whereas people over 65 have historically read more than young people, more than 40 percent of young people have read an e-book in the past year, according to an April Pew study. You can’t blame them. Once you get used to the lack of pages and paper, e-readers are incredibly convenient. The classic Kindle Paperwhite is more portable than a doorstop, and you can keep an entire library on something the size of a side plate. It’s even waterproof, or at least more waterproof than paper. More advanced devices, like the Kobo Libre Colour, offer color e-ink displays and the ability to scribble on the page.

What turned me into a Kindle enthusiast is the existence of Libby, an app that lets you check out e-books from your local library. From the comfort of the New York City subway, I can find, borrow, and download just about any book I’d ever want and start reading it in a matter of seconds. You might call this a frictionless experience. The raw simplicity of the device also means that I can’t easily navigate away from the book to check my email or start doomscrolling. 

Audiobooks open up another avenue: the ability to read a book while doing something else, like chores or driving. You might disagree on whether listening to an audiobook counts as “reading,” but there’s evidence that people can comprehend and retain information from audiobooks equally as well as they can from printed material. Audiobooks can even make difficult language more accessible for more readers. 

There are drawbacks, too. Audiobooks force you to listen at the speed of the narrator, although you can probably speed it up or slow it down in increments. And it’s difficult to go back and review the text or to skip ahead, which is also true for e-books. This spatial component of reading is something that printed books will always have going for them. Rereading text can improve comprehension, and the spatial nature of books makes it easier to find certain passages. Just think about that effortless feeling of flipping back toward the beginning of a book for that really juicy section. That’s not easy to do on a Kindle or with an e-book.

There’s an interesting paradox here: In order to become a better reader, you need to reduce enough friction that you read more. But you also need to preserve certain kinds of friction that help you fully appreciate what you’re reading.

Embrace useful friction

There’s a good reason your teachers and professors assigned hard books when you were in school. “Learning only happens when there is some cognitive friction, if you’re actually grappling with the ideas,” said Daniel Willingham, a psychology professor at the University of Virginia. 

Reading difficult text, scribbling notes in the margins, rereading the difficult text, taking breaks to think about it — this friction-full process leads to deeper comprehension. Certain inconveniences that come with reading print books, including turning physical pages and navigating the spatial elements of the object, invite you to do the mental work that promotes learning. Screens, with their lack of friction, may actually make it harder to comprehend what you’re reading.

The advantage of print is small but meaningful. A 2018 meta-analysis of nearly two decades’ worth of studies showed that paper-based reading had a slight advantage to screen-based reading when it came to comprehension, especially when dealing with informational texts, rather than narratives. Another meta-analysis published a year later suggested that readers were more efficient when reading on paper and, interestingly, seemed to have a more accurate awareness of how well they understood the text. In other words, when you read on your phone, you might think you’re absorbing more than you actually are.

There are other drawbacks to reading on screens. Scrolling alone is bad for comprehension, according to yet another meta-analysis, because it basically forces us to lose our place on the page. There’s also been research into how reading on screens demands more of our cognitive resources than reading on paper, perhaps because the technology requires the reader to process more information, leaving them with a little less gas in the tank to actually comprehend the text. But again, plenty of studies show that the difference in how well we comprehend information by reading on screens versus print is small. 

What’s perhaps more meaningful are the vibes we bring when we approach a medium. We’ve been trained to read on screens a certain way, according to Naomi Baron, a professor emerita of linguistics at American University. From the early days of Google, screens became places where we searched and scanned for information, quickly clicking through to the next page in pursuit of an answer. That’s a far cry from the millennia-old tradition of poring over printed manuscripts.

“We got used to thinking a digital device is that which one doesn’t concentrate on,” Baron said. “One keeps moving like a shark. … Print is a medium that encourages stopping.”

It turns out two things can be true. Indeed, keeping a smartphone next to you while you’re trying to read a book is an invitation to distraction. You may also feel like your attention span is already shredded, probably thanks to your smartphone. You just have to be more intentional about your attention and harness your focus. Taking breaks can help restore your attention stamina, especially if you do so in nature. Try reading a book for a few minutes every day, and you’ll soon find that you can read for longer. The next thing you know, you’ll have read a book.  

Let’s not lose the plot here

Some people read to learn. Others read because their job demands it. The luckiest of us read for fun. Some people read to escape or to imagine. And depending on your purpose, you might choose a different approach or device to stuff that text into your brain.

If you’re simply trying to become a better reader, it doesn’t matter how you do it.

You should keep reading, again, because reading more makes you better at reading. If you’re trying to learn, printed books can facilitate that, but you can also learn quite a bit by listening to an audiobook. If a Kindle and a library card can unlock all the hard sci-fi and fantasy your eyes could ever consume, go for it and enjoy. 

Part of what keeps some people from reading, I have to imagine, is the preconception that reading needs to be difficult to be rewarding. And as many teachers and professors will point out to you, navigating your mind through the difficult text can be especially rewarding, since that friction leads to better comprehension and learning. Still, you don’t need to read everything like you’re trying to get a good grade.

“There are no rules about leisure reading,” Willingham told me. “You can peek at the end. If you’re not enjoying a book, drop it. You can do whatever you want. The whole point is for you to have fun.”

You should read material that feels magnetic to you, that keeps you coming back for more. If reading is going to have any chance of competing with TikTok, it needs to be interesting and compelling, regardless of how literary or sophisticated you might think reading needs to be. You should read books, longform articles, and blog posts on whatever medium makes sense in that moment — and whatever medium makes it easy to keep reading.

That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try to read the big difficult, doorstopper-sized classics, though, if that’s important to you. Just think twice about using AI to summarize what you’re reading. It’s tempting to ask ChatGPT why Anna Karenina is a classic — I just did, and ChatGPT says “psychological realism, moral complexity, continuing relevance” — but it’s not fun. 

Using AI as a reading partner may help initial understanding of reading material, but old habits like note-taking better promote engagement and long-term comprehension. Pia Kreijkes, senior researcher at Cambridge University Press & Assessment and author of a study on this topic published earlier this year, is worried about young people leaning on AI to do more of the cognitive lifting that reading requires.

“Given that children are already on a trajectory of declining reading frequency and enjoyment, and that reading skills are also declining, we should be very concerned about this,” Kreijkes said. “The more we use AI to reduce our reading effort, the more likely reading skills are to decline.”

After all, if the kids stop reading, there’s not a whole lot of hope for future generations to be readers of books. If we let technology remove too much friction from our pursuit of knowledge, we will lose the plot entirely and slide into the postliterate horror so many people are currently afraid of, AI-dominated dystopia and all. When you put it that way, though, this is also a great premise for a sci-fi novel.

Over the years, Julianne Holt-Lunstad has fielded many requests from startups looking for her help. These entrepreneurs came to the Brigham Young University professor with the well-meaning goal of “solving” loneliness; they believed their app or company could help consumers build genuine connections, and wanted Holt-Lunstad’s opinion on this feature or that business tactic. 

Across the pond, University College London professor Noreena Hertz was getting the same calls. They wanted her to join their boards, to advise them, to give their proof of concept a stamp of approval. 

“Of the many startups who’ve approached me, and it’s probably about 50 or 60 in the space,” Hertz told Vox, “there hasn’t been one where I felt convinced by their business model.”

That CEOs and founders were clamoring to pick the brains of these two women is entirely predictable — their work may have been the basis on which these startups were founded. Holt-Lunstad is among the most cited academics who study loneliness and social connection. The commonly repeated stat that loneliness is equivalent to smoking 15 cigarettes a day? That came from her research. She was the lead science editor on the Surgeon General’s 2023 advisory on loneliness and isolation. As for Hertz, in her 2020 book The Lonely Century: How to Restore Human Connection in a World That’s Pulling Apart, she coined the phrase “loneliness economy,” at the time, a fledgling market of niche services, like friends for rent and professional cuddling.

In the years since Hertz gave it a name, the loneliness economy has only ballooned. As public attention to loneliness has mounted — despite the fact that research doesn’t consistently show whether a loneliness epidemic exists in the first place — the market stepped in to offer solutions. No longer are the lonely limited to joining a running club, they can now rent friends and cuddlers. They can hire a coach to help vanquish loneliness and build a community. (One charges $3,000 for a three-month program.) They can attend a $1,000 weekend-long summer camp to make friends (with the option to pay in installments via Klarna). They can buy a $250 pendant that listens to their every word and can communicate back via voice or text. They can join a coworking space meant to quell loneliness with a nearly $300 a month price tag. They can enroll in a bootcamp for how to be less shy, hop in a group travel excursion with other solo venturers, download an app where AI pairs you with other strangers for activities. Loneliness is no longer a societal issue with mental and physical costs and structural solutions but one businesses hope consumers can buy their way out of.

But is it possible to disrupt the slow burn that is making a friend? To outsource the intimacies of friendship to AI? To put a price tag on human connection? 

“I would caution developers to really critically evaluate their business model and the barriers to who they’re actually reaching,” Holt-Lunstad told Vox. “Think about ways that [connection] can occur organically without monetizing it.”

The cottage industry of loneliness services is just another example of capitalism wrapping its tentacles around human desire. But in most cases, the cost of the app, or product, or experience is going to be much higher than the possibility of eliminating loneliness.

One person’s loneliness is another’s business opportunity

Since the early 2000s when Harvard political scientist Robert Putnam warned of the decline of civic and social spaces in his seminal work Bowling Alone, we have witnessed the “privatization of community,” according to Sam Pressler, a fellow at the Harvard Human Flourishing Program who studies community, connection, and class. Gathering spaces shifted away from places of worship and union halls to boutique fitness centers and private, members-only clubs. “There was already this dynamic in place where you could, at a premium level, sell people on community,” Pressler said.

The pandemic pushed the loneliness economy into overdrive. Widespread social isolation enabled researchers to study perceived levels of loneliness during lockdowns. Media coverage of loneliness outlined its harms. Although Vivek Murthy, the US surgeon general during the Obama and Biden administrations, first referred to loneliness as a “health epidemic” in 2017, his 2023 report opened the door for other iterations: the male loneliness epidemic, the Gen Z well-being slump, a worsening midlife crisis. Over the past five years, search interest in the loneliness epidemic grew over 600 percent.

Naturally, the startup world began to see a business opportunity, Pressler said. WeWork founder Adam Neumann launched a new residential real estate company with a goal of “solving loneliness” and $350 million in funding from Andreessen Horowitz. The app 222, which uses AI to pair strangers for group activities based on personality-based questions, raised $10 million in funding. “You then get this anchor within startup land that really has an approach of solve customers’ problems and pain points, in that loneliness is a customer problem or pain point to be solved, through productized market solutions,” Pressler said.

Brian Choi had heard of the male loneliness epidemic, but luckily didn’t feel like he fell into that category. He grew up in the Los Angeles area, where he still lives, and has plenty of friends, but he signed up for 222 several years ago as a way to supplement his social life and meet people who might be interested in activities his existing friends aren’t.

“Dance, for me, means a lot,” the 34-year-old video game character artist, told Vox. “For my best friends, hard to sell them on that. So 222 is a good angle on sharing that experience with other people who are presumably also open to dance.”

But most of the platform’s events, Choi found, were centered around dinner and drinks, which didn’t appeal to him. If there was a meetup with an interactive element, like brunch and a pottery class, he was more likely to engage. But despite attending about a dozen 222 events over the years, Choi hasn’t fostered any serious friendships. “It’s dependent on individuals to be proactive about inviting folks into their lives after the 222 event,” Choi said. “And that can be scary for a lot of people.” 

Once a market emerged for loneliness-adjacent services and products, influencers started promoting them. Over the last few years, the content creator Zaid Khan observed his peers hosting “community” events that seemed well-meaning enough until a few common themes emerged: The events seemed to be furthering the creators’ brands, they often came with a ticket price, and they were attended mostly by young, white people. This widespread commodification of community is what Hertz refers to as “WeWashing” — like greenwashing — because an occasional knitting club with a $50 fee does not a community make. 

Charging any sort of premium for a social event or service runs the risk of exacerbating inequities. According to Holt-Lunstad’s research, people with only a high school education or less or those who made less than $75,000 a year were less socially connected than those with higher education and incomes. People who stand to benefit the most from interventions to build relationships often can’t afford a $200 a month gym, or lack the time to swipe for friends. These spaces can then become, like Khan observed, homogenized by race, class, and ability. “I’m sorry, but young, attractive, white, straight, 20-somethings living in New York will have no issue. … You can walk into any West Village bar and meet those people,” Khan said. “It’s excluding the people who, I think, genuinely could need it.”

“Masking” a symptom

There is a contradiction at the heart of the loneliness economy: the need for human connection in the modern world is difficult to solve, let alone value and commodify. In order to make money, companies either have to charge top dollar for their social club or camp, or, they need their product to be used by as many people as possible, as often as possible, which inherently flies in the face of how relationships are fostered. 

“The ethical problem begins when a company intentionally exploits a consumer’s loneliness, insecure attachment, or fear of missing out to pressure that person into purchasing.”

Cindy Rippé, Terry College of Business at the University of Georgia

Relationships are projects of patience. They unfold after repeated interactions in a physical space, after slow revelations and disclosures and laughs. The loneliness economy isn’t built on unhurried bonding. Instead of consistently showing up to a community event and slowly building connections, some apps are effective at connecting users with strangers for one-time events, but are less focused on encouraging users to exchange numbers and hang out again. “We know from the research that relationships take time to develop, and that there needs to be consistency also over time. When you get to know someone, it takes time,” Holt-Lunstad said. “If you’re only doing it sporadically or once, that’s going to be less likely. If it’s all virtual, that’s going to be less likely.”

Just like hunger and thirst cue you to eat and drink, loneliness is a sign to interact. Swiping for friends may feel productive and occupy time, but without actually hanging out, it may just be a distraction, Holt-Lunstad said. “What I worry is that [apps] may be effective in masking that symptom without actually fulfilling any social needs,” she said. “It would be like no longer feeling thirsty, but we’re not actually drinking any water.”

The loneliness economy also fails to take into account the barriers preventing people from making friends in the first place. In recent surveys, the results of which have not been published, Holt-Lunstad has found both internal and external obstacles to connection, including anxiety, a fear of rejection, physical and mental health limitations, the economic cost of participation, and the time investment required with joining a club. “It might be, that’s a great program, but it’s too far away, or that’s a great program, but it costs too much,” Holt-Lunstad said. “And then, of course, there’s the internal barriers where there’s so much shame and stigma associated with this that many people don’t want to feel like I have to have an app or a program to make friends.”

These potentially lonely consumers may be more vulnerable to companies’ marketing efforts, even though the products are unlikely to solve the underlying issue. According to research, when people feel like they are lacking close, intimate relationships, they are more likely to buy themselves things. “One of the things, for instance, could be spending money to go on group activities rather than individual activities,” Aulona Ulqinaku, an associate professor of marketing at Università Carlo Cattaneo LIUC in Italy, told Vox. People could spend money to join a club you aren’t particularly interested in just to feel a part of something. 

Shopping can also serve as a social experience in itself, Cindy Rippé, a senior lecturer in the Department of Marketing at the Terry College of Business at the University of Georgia, told Vox in an email. Employees and other patrons can become familiar and friendly faces, effectively turning a retail space into a third place. A paid social experience, such as a club, could theoretically achieve the same fulfilling effects as shopping, Rippé said. But spending money isn’t what makes people feel better; it’s repeated social interaction, familiarity, belonging.

Because companies can track your activity online, users who search for local clubs or interact with these groups on social media may be repeatedly served ads for other community-centric businesses and thus spend more money on services that may not be effective.

“I hope that we are looking at a world where marketing can be looked at as an instrument for helping people rather than exploiting people,” Ulqinaku said. “The aim should not be, ‘I make money [off] of you.’ The aim should be, ‘I want to make you feel better. I don’t want to exploit you.’”

Putting a price tag on relationships

The pairing of lonely consumers who might be willing to spend money and businesses that definitely want to make it may be good for the bottom line in the short-term, but perhaps not for social health or for revenue in the long-term. (After all, if these products don’t work, people will stop paying for them, and if they do work as promised, people will also stop paying for them.) Friendship isn’t a product you can advertise or put a dollar amount to, Pressler said, and we shouldn’t apply market solutions to non-market goods.

“You can approach it with a consumptive mindset where it’s like, ‘Well, I just need to consume more relationships, and if I consume more relationships, ergo, I will not be lonely or disconnected,’” he said — but that’s not how real-world interactions work. The power imbalance between the companies earning money and the consumer spending it to fulfill a core human need may veer on exploitative, too, Rippé said: “The ethical problem begins when a company intentionally exploits a consumer’s loneliness, insecure attachment, or fear of missing out to pressure that person into purchasing.”

Which isn’t to say communal gatherings with a price tag are inherently exploitative. Live music and events, like concerts, successfully bring people together for shared experiences, according to Hertz, the professor and author. (Of course, tickets have become so expensive that seeing your favorite act perform is becoming a luxury.) Groups centered around an activity have the potential to connect people, too. But buying your own yarn and needles to bring to a weekly craft night at your local knitting shop is different from paying $50 to join a one-off “knitting club” organized by a VC-backed friendship app.

Because social health touches so many aspects of life — the physical spaces we inhabit, the technology that both facilitates and inhibits socialization, the costs of interacting — the path toward connection is more complex than marketable products or individual purchases. It involves government investment in public spaces and low- or no-cost community events; policies that allow everyone to lead a dignified life, which includes the space for leisure activities; and a societal shift that prioritizes slow, intentional relationship building instead of instant connection. 

“The need is real,” Hertz said. “The purported solutions are many. Some of them I think can be part of the solution. Some of them may well end up making us lonelier as a society.”

This story was originally published in The Highlight. To get access to member-exclusive stories like this every month, become a Vox Member today.