Planned Obsolescence of Emotions in Contemporary Society

ABSTRACT

This essay transposes the concept of planned obsolescence from industrial production to the realm of human emotions, arguing that, within a society marked by hyperconnectivity and surveillance capitalism, affects are increasingly structured as ephemeral, disposable, and replaceable. It contends that this dynamic is not a byproduct of technological advancement, but a structural feature of economic models grounded in attention capture, the commodification of experience, and behavioral predictability. Drawing on a critical bibliographic review that integrates sociology, philosophy, psychology, and neuroscience, the analysis examines how the algorithmization of desire, FOMO, cancel culture, and linguistic banalization weaken social bonds, erode empathy, and intensify anxiety, depression, and emotional burnout. The tension between technological determinism and human agency is discussed, acknowledging both constraints and possibilities for resistance. The essay concludes that defending emotional depth constitutes an existential and political imperative, requiring individual, cultural, technological, and institutional actions to protect attention and revalue enduring relationships in the face of affective disposability.

Keywords: Planned obsolescence. Emotions. Surveillance capitalism. Social media. Mental health. Critical theory. Resistance. Emotional sustainability.

1. Introduction: The Commodification of Feeling

1.1 Conceptual Definition

Planned obsolescence, a concept originally linked to industrial production, refers to the deliberate strategy of reducing the useful life of products in order to stimulate continuous cycles of consumption (PACKARD, 1965). When transposed to the field of human emotions, this concept takes on a critical and unsettling dimension: contemporary emotions are structured to be ephemeral, disposable, and constantly replaceable, following the same market logic applied to material goods.

Bauman (2004, p. 8) argues that we live in a “liquid modernity”, characterized by the fluidity, instability, and transience of social relationships and affective ties. In this context, feelings become emotional commodities—standardized, quantifiable, and interchangeable products in the marketplace of human interactions. As Han (2017, p. 9) observes, “love is degraded into a feeling that is consumed,” losing its dimension of permanence and commitment to become an object of immediate gratification.

The philosopher Eva Illouz (2011, p. 13) complements this analysis by showing how emotional capitalism transformed affects into economic resources: “emotions have become entities to be evaluated, exchanged, and managed according to criteria of efficiency and profitability.” In this affective economy, feelings that do not generate engagement, visibility, or social validation are quickly discarded—just like products that fail to meet consumer expectations.

Turkle (2011, p. 154) identifies digital technologies as playing a central role in this process, stating that “we are together, but each of us is in our own world,” creating what she calls “shared solitude”—a condition in which hyperconnectivity paradoxically intensifies emotional isolation and the superficiality of bonds.

1.2 Sociocultural Contextualization

Contemporary society operates under the imperative of temporal acceleration (ROSA, 2019), a phenomenon that directly affects emotional experience. Rosa (2019, p. 23) argues that “social acceleration not only changes the speed at which we live, but qualitatively transforms our relationship with time, space, and others.” In this scenario, emotions are subjected to a temporal compression that makes processes of affective maturation, reflection, and psychic elaboration unfeasible.

The digital era and hyperconnectivity constitute the material context of this transformation. According to data presented by Turkle (2015, p. 19), the average smartphone user checks their device approximately 150 times a day, creating a pattern of fragmented attention that makes it impossible to sustain complex and long-lasting emotional states. As Carr (2011, p. 115) observes, “the internet is reprogramming our brains,” favoring superficial information processing at the expense of deep reflection.

On social networks, emotions must be performative and visually consumable to exist socially. Sibilia (2016, p. 28) analyzes this phenomenon as part of the “construction of the self as spectacle,” in which “intimacy is displayed as a commodity and subjectivity is shaped by the imperatives of visibility.” Happiness, sadness, love, and even grief become content to be optimized in order to maximize likes, shares, and comments.

Han (2018, p. 31) identifies in this process the emergence of a “digital psychopolitics,” in which “the subject believes themself to be free, but is in fact subjected to control mechanisms more efficient than any disciplinary regime.” Platform algorithms not only reflect but actively produce emotional patterns, creating what Zuboff (2019, p. 8) calls “surveillance capitalism”—an economic system that extracts value from predicting and modifying human behavior.

1.3 Central Thesis

This essay argues that the contemporary socioeconomic and technological structure not only facilitates but deliberately encourages the brevity and superficiality of emotional bonds, establishing a cycle of affective consumption that systematically privileges novelty over depth. This planned obsolescence of emotions is not an accidental side effect of modernization, but a structural mechanism of late capitalism, which finds in digital platforms its most effective instrument of operation.

As Berardi (2009, p. 73) argues, we live in a condition of “existential precariousness” in which “the flexibility demanded by the labor market extends into the affective sphere, producing subjects incapable of establishing lasting commitments.” The logic of substitutability, central to consumerism, colonizes human subjectivity—transforming people into disposable resources and emotions into single-use experiences.

This thesis is grounded in the convergence of three analytical dimensions:(1) the economic dimension, which commodifies affects;(2) the technological dimension, which structures emotional experience through interfaces designed to maximize ephemeral engagement; and(3) the cultural dimension, which naturalizes transience as a positive value, associating permanence with stagnation and depth with boredom.

Understanding this phenomenon therefore requires a multidisciplinary analysis that articulates sociology, philosophy, psychology, and media studies, recognizing that the planned obsolescence of emotions represents one of the most urgent challenges to collective mental health and to the possibility of building meaningful social bonds in the twenty-first century.

1.4 Conceptual and Epistemological Delimitations

1.4.1 Theories of Emotion: Theoretical Positioning

Understanding what constitutes an “emotion” is not consensual in the scientific literature, requiring an explicit positioning regarding which theoretical tradition underpins this work. Three paradigms dominate the contemporary debate: evolutionary universalism, social constructivism, and integrative approaches.

Evolutionary universalism, paradigmatically represented by Ekman (1992, p. 34), argues that “there are universal basic emotions—happiness, sadness, fear, anger, surprise, disgust—with facial expressions recognizable across cultures.” This perspective, grounded in cross-cultural studies and neurobiology, argues that “emotions are adaptive programs shaped by natural selection to solve recurring survival problems” (EKMAN, 1992, p. 169). In this view, emotions have universal biological substrates that precede and transcend culture.

Panksepp (1998, p. 48) develops this approach through affective neuroscience, identifying seven “primary emotional systems” with specific neural circuits: seeking, rage, fear, lust, care, panic/grief, and play. He argues that “these systems are shared by all mammals, indicating deep evolutionary roots” (PANKSEPP, 1998, p. 52).

In radical opposition, social constructivism, represented by Barrett (2017, p. 31), argues that “emotions are not biologically determined reactions, but culturally variable conceptual constructions.” Her theory of constructed emotion proposes that “the brain does not have dedicated circuits for specific emotions; instead, it constructs emotional experiences from more basic ingredients—affect (valence and arousal), culturally learned emotion concepts, and predictions about the world” (BARRETT, 2017, p. 72).

Barrett (2017, p. 103) offers evidence of substantial cultural variation in emotional categories: “the Tahitian language has no word equivalent to ‘sadness’; German distinguishes ‘Schadenfreude’ (pleasure at another’s suffering), a concept with no direct equivalent in many languages; the Japanese ‘amae’ (pleasant dependence) has no Western parallel.” This diversity, she argues, “is incompatible with the idea of biologically determined universal emotions” (BARRETT, 2017, p. 115).

Averill (1980, p. 309) complements this perspective by arguing that “emotions are transient social roles that follow culturally specific rules.” He notes that “anger, for example, is not simply an energy discharge, but a social role that includes expectations about when it is appropriate to feel angry, how to express it, and which consequences are acceptable” (AVERILL, 1980, p. 312).

Position adopted in this work: While recognizing contributions from both traditions, this essay adopts an integrative perspective close to that proposed by Mesquita, Boiger, and De Leersnyder (2016, p. 298), who argue that “emotions are simultaneously biological and cultural, universal and variable.” They propose the concept of “emotions as situated practices”: “emotions emerge from the interaction between universal biological capacities (valence, arousal, attention systems) and specific sociocultural contexts that shape when, how, and why we feel” (MESQUITA; BOIGER; DE LEERSNYDER, 2016, p. 302).

This position makes it possible to recognize that:

• There are neurobiological substrates that make emotional experience possible (validating neuroscientific findings on dopamine, reward systems, etc.).

• Culture profoundly shapes which emotions are valued, how they are expressed, and what meanings they carry.

• Digital technologies can intervene at both levels: altering neurobiological processes (neural plasticity) and restructuring cultural practices of feeling.

This approach avoids both biological reductionism (which would ignore how digital platforms culturally construct new ways of feeling) and extreme cultural relativism (which would deny empirically measurable neurobiological effects documented in the literature).

1.4.2 Conceptual Distinctions: Emotions, Feelings, and Affect

Specialized literature distinguishes between emotions, feelings, and affect—terms often used as synonyms in everyday discourse but carrying important theoretical differences.

Emotions, in Frijda’s definition (1986, p. 71), are “episodes of change in action readiness in response to significant events.” They have distinctive characteristics: (a) intentionality (they are always about something); (b) defined temporality (they have an onset, peak, and decline); (c) multiple components (subjective experience, facial/bodily expression, action tendencies, physiological changes); and (d) valence (positive or negative).

Feelings, according to Damasio (2003, p. 86), are “the mental experience of a bodily state.” He distinguishes: “emotions are publicly observable action programs; feelings are the private perception of those bodily changes” (DAMASIO, 2003, p. 88).

Feelings are more enduring than emotions, less intense, and more integrated into reflective consciousness. While the emotion of anger may last seconds or minutes, the feeling of resentment can persist for years.

Affect, in the tradition of Tomkins (1962, p. 243) and developed by Sedgwick and Frank (1995, p. 5), refers to “pre-cognitive bodily states of intensity and valence.” Massumi (2002, p. 28) argues that “affect is pre-personal, non-conscious, and non-representational—an intensity that precedes and exceeds the named emotion.” In affect theory, especially influential in cultural studies, affect is prior to the categorization into specific emotions.

Ahmed (2004, p. 4) develops a “cultural economy of affects,” arguing that “emotions do not reside in subjects or objects, but are produced as effects of circulation.” She proposes that “emotions do things: they align individuals with communities through shared investments” (AHMED, 2004, p. 12).

For the purposes of this work, we adopt the following operational definitions:

• Emotions: Relatively brief episodes of coordinated response (experiential, behavioral, physiological) to events appraised as significant. Example: joy upon receiving a like notification.

• Feelings: More enduring affective states, less intense, and more integrated into conscious reflection. Example: the feeling of chronic loneliness despite hyperconnectivity.

• Affect: Bodily capacities to affect and be affected; pre-cognitive intensities that circulate socially. Example: the affective atmosphere of anxiety permeating social media use.

Planned obsolescence operates at all three levels:

• Emotions become briefer and more superficial (design for rapid dopaminergic spikes).

• Feelings lose durability (liquid relationships, fleeting commitments).

• Affect is captured and monetized (the attention economy extracts value from bodily intensities).

1.4.3 Epistemological Positioning: Contemporary Critical Theory

This work belongs to the tradition of critical theory, but it requires specification regarding which strand and period within that multifaceted tradition.

The classical critical theory of the Frankfurt School (Adorno, Horkheimer, Marcuse) provides fundamental conceptual tools. Horkheimer (1972, p. 244) defines critical theory as that which “takes as its object men as the producers of all their historical forms of life,” distinguishing itself from traditional theory by its emancipatory orientation: not only to understand the world, but to transform it.

Adorno and Horkheimer (1985, p. 13) developed the concept of the “culture industry,” arguing that “contemporary culture confers on everything an air of sameness.” They note that “films, radio, and magazines make up a system [...] each sector is coherent in itself and all are in concert” (ADORNO; HORKHEIMER, 1985, p. 7). This analysis anticipates the logic of digital platforms: the standardization of experience under the appearance of diversity.

Marcuse (1964, p. 1), as already mentioned, identified the “one-dimensional society” in which “technological rationality reveals its political character as it becomes the great vehicle of more effective domination.” He argues that “the apparatus imposes its economic and political requirements for defense and expansion over labor time and free time, over material and intellectual culture” (MARCUSE, 1964, p. 3).

However, this work does not limit itself to the first Frankfurt generation, incorporating later developments:

• Habermas (1984, p. 8) and his theory of the “colonization of the lifeworld” by instrumental rationality: “system imperatives (economy, bureaucracy) intrude into spheres of life that depend on social integration through communication.” Applied to our theme: digital platforms colonize the intimate sphere of emotions with market logic.

• Honneth (2009, p. 129) and his theory of recognition, arguing that “psychic integrity depends on three forms of recognition: love (intimate sphere), rights (legal sphere), solidarity (social sphere).” The planned obsolescence of emotions especially corrodes the first sphere: intimate relationships become transactional, preventing the mutual recognition necessary for healthy identity formation.

• Feminist critical theory: Fraser (2009, p. 99) argues that “critical theory must integrate analysis of redistribution (economy), recognition (culture), and representation (politics).” She notes that “neoliberal capitalism co-opted feminist discourses of autonomy to promote possessive individualism” (FRASER, 2009, p. 110)—a dynamic visible in the “empowerment” rhetoric of digital platforms that masks exploitation.

• Critical theory of technology: Feenberg (2002, p. 15), already cited, develops a “critical theory of technology” that rejects both determinism and instrumentalism, arguing that “technology is neither destiny nor a neutral tool, but a field of struggle in which social values are incorporated into design.”

Specific positioning of this work: We adopt an integrative contemporary critical theory that:

• Maintains the emancipatory commitment of the Frankfurt tradition: not only to describe emotional obsolescence, but to identify possibilities of resistance and transformation.

• Incorporates post-structural power analysis (Foucault): recognizing that power not only represses but produces subjectivities—platforms not only limit deep emotions; they actively produce subjectivities compatible with their logic.

• Integrates feminist and decolonial perspectives: attention to how gender, race, and coloniality intersect with emotional obsolescence.

• Adopts critical realism (Bhaskar, 1975): recognizing that social structures (surveillance capitalism) and causal mechanisms (algorithms, persuasive design) exist independently of our perception, but are transformable through informed action.

This epistemological position implies that:

• There are objective truths about the effects of digital technologies (empirically measurable).

• These truths are historically situated (not universal and eternal).

• Knowledge is interest-laden (this work assumes an emancipatory interest).

• Critique is immanent: it identifies internal contradictions within the system (e.g., platforms promise connection but produce loneliness).

1.4.4 Delimitation of the Object: Scope and Limitations

To avoid excessive generalization, it is necessary to precisely delimit the object of analysis of this work.

Temporal scope: This essay focuses on the period 2004–2026, marked by:

• 2004: Launch of Facebook (beginning of mass social networking)

• 2007: Launch of the iPhone (the smartphone era)

• 2010–2015: Consolidation of the attention-based business model

• 2016–present: Intensification of debates on psychosocial effects

This scope recognizes that phenomena of acceleration and emotional commodification precede social networks (Bauman, Rosa, Sennett analyze trends since the 1980s–90s), but argues that digital platforms represent a qualitative intensification, not merely a quantitative one.

Geographic scope: The analysis focuses primarily on industrialized Western societies (North America, Western Europe), with secondary attention to Brazil. This limitation is explicitly acknowledged: the arguments may not apply equally to:

• Societies with lower digital penetration (rural regions, developing countries)

• Cultures with different relationships to technology (Japan, South Korea with distinct digital cultures)

• Contexts of differentiated political use (Arab Spring, protests in Hong Kong—where social networks have an emancipatory function)

Class and generational scope: The effects analyzed are more pronounced among:

• Millennial and Gen Z generations (born after 1980), who grew up with digital technologies

• Urban middle classes with broad access to smartphones and high-speed internet

• Knowledge workers whose professions require constant digital presence

It is recognized that precarious workers, rural populations, and older adults may experience these phenomena differently or less intensely.

Platform scope: Although the argument is structural (about surveillance capitalism in general), the examples focus on:

• Social networks: Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, Twitter/X

• Dating apps: Tinder, Bumble

• Streaming platforms: Spotify, Netflix (secondarily)

It is recognized that alternative platforms (Mastodon, Signal, cooperative platforms) operate under different logics and may not produce the same effects.

Explicitly acknowledged limitations:

• Euro-American bibliographic bias: most cited studies are from North American and European contexts, limiting generalizability

• Focus on negative effects: although the work mentions possibilities of resistance, it privileges critical analysis over emancipatory potentials

• Emphasis on mechanisms over agency: despite arguing that resistance is possible, the analysis devotes more attention to how platforms structure behavior than to how users subvert these structures

• Absence of primary data: the work relies on secondary sources, not including original empirical research

• Disciplinary scope: although interdisciplinary, the work privileges sociology and philosophy over clinical psychology, detailed neuroscience, or computer science

These delimitations do not invalidate the arguments, but specify their conditions of validity: the conclusions apply primarily to intensive social media users in industrialized Western societies in the period 2004–2026, and may require modification for other contexts.

2. Development: The Architecture of Emotional Disposal

2.1 Mechanisms of Affective Obsolescence

2.1.1 The Algorithmization of Desire

Contemporary digital platforms operate through persuasive architectures deliberately designed to maximize users’ time spent engaging. Fogg (2003, p. 1) calls this field of study “captology”—the science of computers as persuasive technologies—showing that “interactive systems can be designed to change people’s attitudes and behaviors in predictable ways.”

The central neurobiological mechanism of this architecture is the dopaminergic reward system. Alter (2017, p. 47) explains that “each time we receive a notification, a like, or a comment, our brains release dopamine, the neurotransmitter associated with pleasure and motivation.” This process creates a cycle of intermittent reinforcement—the same principle used in slot machines—which is especially effective at generating compulsive behaviors (EYAL, 2014, p. 34).

Infinite scroll, first implemented by engineer Aza Raskin in 2006, removes the “natural stopping points” that would allow users to reflect on their behavior. As Harris (2016), a former Google design-ethics specialist, observes: “when you remove the stopping points, you consume a lot more […] it’s like having a bottomless bowl.” This interface not only enables continuous consumption but also cognitively restructures the capacity to sustain prolonged attention (CARR, 2011, p. 115).

On dating platforms such as Tinder, this logic reaches particularly troubling dimensions. Illouz (2019, p. 102) argues that “abundant choice turns the partner into a commodity, creating a consumer mindset that constantly looks for ‘better options.’” A design based on gamification—with its scoring systems, achievements, and rewards—turns the search for human connection into an optimization game in which people are reduced to disposable profiles (SALES, 2015, p. 78).

Zuboff (2019, p. 93) identifies in this process the operation of surveillance capitalism, a system that “claims human experience as free raw material for hidden commercial practices of extraction, prediction, and sales.” Algorithms do not merely respond to our desires; they actively produce them, creating emotional needs that can only be temporarily satisfied through the platform’s continuous consumption.

Circuit-Specific Neural Pathways

Deepening the neurobiological account, the reward system is not unitary but involves multiple interconnected structures. Berridge and Kringelbach (2015, p. 646) distinguish three psychological components of reward, each with distinct neural substrates:

• Liking (pleasure): the hedonic experience itself, mediated by opioid and endocannabinoid “hotspots” in the nucleus accumbens and ventral pallidum.

• Wanting (motivation): desire and pursuit of reward, mediated by dopamine in the mesolimbic circuit (ventral tegmental area → nucleus accumbens).

• Learning: the formation of associations between stimuli and rewards, involving the amygdala, hippocampus, and orbitofrontal cortex.

Crucially, Berridge and Robinson (2016, p. 670) show that “these systems can be dissociated”: it is possible to “want” without “liking”—a phenomenon central to addiction. They argue that “in addiction, sensitization of the dopaminergic ‘wanting’ system makes cues associated with the drug (or, in our case, the notification) intensely desired even when they no longer produce pleasure” (BERRIDGE; ROBINSON, 2016, p. 675).

Applied to social media, infinite scroll may continue to be compulsively desired (wanting) even when it no longer produces genuine satisfaction (liking). This helps explain the user-reported phenomenon: “I can’t stop scrolling, but I’m not enjoying it.”

Neural Plasticity: Structural Changes and Reversibility

Carr (2011) notes that the internet “rewires our brains,” but more recent research specifies these changes with greater precision. Loh and Kanai (2016, p. 119) conducted a systematic review of neuroimaging studies, finding that heavy internet use is associated with:

• Reduced gray matter in the dorsolateral prefrontal cortex (involved in cognitive control and emotional regulation)

• Alterations in the anterior cingulate cortex (conflict processing and decision-making)

• Changes in white matter (connectivity between brain regions)

• Reduced cortical thickness in regions associated with reward processing

However, the authors emphasize that “the causal direction is not established: we do not know whether internet use causes these changes or whether individuals with these brain characteristics are more prone to heavy use” (LOH; KANAI, 2016, p. 125). Lin et al. (2012, p. 3) conducted a longitudinal study with adolescents, showing that “problematic internet use predicts subsequent reduction in prefrontal cortex volume, but also that pre-existing brain characteristics predict the development of problematic use,” suggesting bidirectional causality.

Crucially, neural plasticity works in both directions. Meshi, Turel, and Henning (2019, p. 8) argue that “just as the brain adapts to heavy social media use, it can readapt to its reduction.” Wilmer, Sherman, and Chein (2017, p. 479) ran an experiment in which participants reduced smartphone use for one week, finding “significant improvements in sustained attention and working memory.” However, they note that “effects were modest and reversed quickly after resuming normal use” (WILMER; SHERMAN; CHEIN, 2017, p. 485).

Mosquera et al. (2020, p. 234) studied long-term “digital detox” practitioners (3–6 months), finding “substantial recovery in measures of attention, emotional regulation, and subjective well-being.” They conclude that “neuroplasticity allows recovery, but it requires time and sustained practice of alternative behaviors” (MOSQUERA et al., 2020, p. 241). This evidence is crucial for the work’s propositional dimension: the planned obsolescence of emotions is not irreversible, but reversal requires conscious, sustained effort—it does not happen automatically.

Individual Variability: Protective and Vulnerability Factors

Not all social media users develop the same problems. Montag and Walla (2016, p. 12) identify vulnerability factors: personality traits (neuroticism, low self-esteem, and need for social approval predict problematic use); genetic differences (variations in the dopamine receptor gene DRD4 associated with higher susceptibility to social media addiction); mental health history (pre-existing anxiety and depression increase risk); and social context (offline social isolation predicts greater dependence on online connections).

Conversely, protective factors include (ORBEN; PRZYBYLSKI, 2019, p. 173): offline social capital (robust in-person support networks); critical digital literacy (understanding how platforms work); self-regulation (ability to monitor and control one’s behavior); and purpose and meaning (engagement in meaningful offline activities). This variability implies that interventions must be personalized, not universal. What works for an isolated teenager may not work for an adult with strong offline social networks.

2.1.2 Cancel Culture and the Disposal of People

Cancel culture represents a particularly acute manifestation of planned obsolescence applied to human relationships. Ng (2020, p. 623) defines the phenomenon as “a form of ostracism in which someone is expelled from social or professional circles—whether online, on social media, in the real world, or both.” What distinguishes this practice from earlier forms of social disapproval is its speed, scale, and digital permanence.

Ronson (2015, p. 73) documents emblematic cases showing how “a single misinterpreted tweet can destroy a life in a matter of hours,” creating what he calls “public shaming on an industrial scale.” The binary logic of social networks—like/dislike, follow/unfollow, cancel/defend—eliminates the moral complexity needed to handle the ambiguity inherent in the human condition.

Turkle (2015, p. 21) notes that “empathy requires time and reflection, but social media trains us for quick responses and instant judgments.” This temporal compression of moral judgment produces what Mounk (2022, p. 156) identifies as “identity fundamentalism”—a form of thinking that “turns mistakes into unforgivable sins and people into one-dimensional representations of their worst actions.”

The philosopher Han (2018, p. 19) argues that we live in a “society of transparency” in which “the demand for total visibility eliminates the possibility of forgiveness and transformation.” In this context, cancellation functions as a mechanism of social disposal, analogous to the planned obsolescence of products: individuals are declared “defective” and immediately replaced by “morally updated” alternatives.

A Typology of Cancellation

To grasp the phenomenon’s complexity, Clark (2020, p. 88) distinguishes among three types:

1. Cancellation as accountability: Targets public figures with institutional power, aiming to hold them accountable for abuse of power, discrimination, or violence. The MeToo movement against sexual predators in positions of power exemplifies this type, which can be a legitimate form of justice when institutional channels have failed.

2. Cancellation as moral policing: Targets ordinary individuals for minor transgressions, aiming at disproportionate punishment and public humiliation. An example is when a private individual loses their job over a misinterpreted tweet. This modality is problematic because it imposes disproportionate punishment without a path to repair.

3. Cancellation as virtue performance: Targets anyone who can be used to signal moral superiority, aiming to accumulate social capital through denunciation. It appears as competitive “witch hunts” in online communities and is toxic because it turns social justice into a status game.

Ng (2020, p. 624) argues that critiques of “cancellation” often conflate these distinct forms, using extreme cases of types 2 and 3 to delegitimize legitimate accountability of type 1.

Divergent Perspectives and Structural Analysis

Critics of cancel culture (Ronson, 2015; Mounk, 2022) argue that it eliminates the possibility of redemption and growth; creates a climate of fear that inhibits honest debate; is disproportionate (small mistakes result in life destruction); and reflects moral fundamentalism incompatible with pluralist democracy.

Defenders of accountability (Bouie, 2019; Romano, 2020) counter that “cancel culture” is a term used by the powerful to avoid consequences for harmful behavior; marginalized people finally have a voice to hold oppressors accountable; “life destruction” is exaggerated—many “canceled” figures maintain lucrative careers; and what is called “cancellation” is often simply legitimate criticism that privileged groups are not accustomed to receiving.

Regardless of normative evaluation, it is necessary to explain why cancel culture emerges in this historical moment. Tufekci (2017, p. 234) offers a technological explanation: “social media architecture amplifies moral outrage. Algorithms prioritize content that generates intense emotional engagement. Posts expressing moral outrage receive more shares, creating incentives for rhetorical escalation.”

Mounk (2022, p. 167) offers a sociological explanation: “in increasingly diverse and fragmented societies, where there is no longer shared moral consensus, group identity becomes central. Cancellation functions as a boundary-policing mechanism—defining who belongs and who is excluded.”

Lorenz (2020) proposes an economic explanation: “in the attention economy, outrage is currency. Influencers and media profit from cancellation controversies. There is an economic incentive to create and amplify scandals.”

Haidt (2012, p. 89) offers a psychological explanation: “humans have a ‘moral outrage button’ that, when activated, produces pleasure. Social media allows constant activation of that button, creating addiction to outrage.”

Relationship to Emotional Obsolescence

Cancel culture relates to the planned obsolescence of emotions in multiple ways: the elimination of temporal complexity (people are judged by isolated actions rather than trajectories, with no space for a transformation narrative over time); emotional binarization (the person is reduced to “good” or “bad,” eliminating the ambivalence required for complex relationships); disposability of people (individuals become instantly obsolete, analogous to defective products); and a speed incompatible with justice (judgments occur in hours, preventing the deliberative process necessary for justice).

However, it is crucial not to romanticize the past: before social media, there were other forms of ostracism and social exclusion (often crueler and less reversible). What is new is not exclusion itself, but its speed, scale, and digital permanence.

A Nuanced Position

This work adopts the position that accountability for the powerful is legitimate and necessary—movements such as MeToo represent an advance in holding power accountable for abuse. However, the lynching of ordinary people is problematic—disproportionate punishment of individuals without power for minor mistakes reflects emotional obsolescence. Furthermore, platform architecture amplifies the worst aspects: design that prioritizes outrage makes nuance and repair nearly impossible.

The solution is not to eliminate critique or accountability, but to redesign systems to allow for: proportionality (a response commensurate with the gravity of the transgression); context (consideration of intent, history, circumstances); repair (possibility of learning and transformation); and deliberation (time for investigation before judgment).

2.1.3 FOMO (Fear of Missing Out) and the Anxiety of Novelty

FOMO (Fear of Missing Out) constitutes an emerging social pathology directly linked to social media architecture. Przybylski et al. (2013, p. 1841) define the phenomenon as “a pervasive apprehension that others might be having rewarding experiences from which one is absent,” characterized by “the desire to remain continually connected with what others are doing.”

Neuroscientific research shows that FOMO activates the same brain regions associated with physical pain. Eisenberger (2012, p. 421) explains that “social exclusion and physical pain share common neural circuitry, which explains why social rejection literally ‘hurts.’” This neurobiological overlap makes FOMO particularly distressing and difficult to ignore.

Twenge (2017, p. 51) documents a dramatic increase in anxiety and depression rates among adolescents, temporally correlated with the mass adoption of smartphones and social media. Her research indicates that “adolescents who spend more than three hours a day on electronic devices are 35% more likely to show risk factors for suicide.”

The sociologist Bauman (2007, p. 31) situates this phenomenon within the broader logic of liquid modernity, arguing that “the fear of falling behind is the fear of being excluded from the game, of being declared an inadequate player.” This anxiety is not merely individual but structurally produced by systems that depend on users’ constant insecurity to maintain engagement.

Historical Antecedents and Digital Specificity

Fear of social exclusion is not new—it is a fundamental evolutionary adaptation. Baumeister and Leary (1995, p. 497) argue that “the need to belong is a fundamental human motivation, rooted in evolutionary pressures: in ancestral environments, exclusion from the group meant death.”

Pre-digital manifestations of FOMO include:

• Keeping up with the Joneses (early twentieth century), analyzed by Veblen (1899, p. 35) as “conspicuous consumption”—buying goods to signal status and avoid exclusion, noting that “the basis of self-esteem is invidious comparison.”

• Simmel (1903, p. 11) described the “intensification of nervous life” in the modern metropolis, in which “the rapid crowding of changing images, the pronounced discontinuity in what is grasped in a single glance” produces anxiety—a description that anticipates the infinite feed.

• Ewen (1976, p. 47) documented how twentieth-century advertising “created needs” through social anxiety: “you will be excluded if you don’t have this product.”

If exclusion anxiety is perennial, what makes digital FOMO qualitatively different?

• Total and permanent visibility (Marwick, 2013, p. 378): pre-digitally, you did not know what you were missing; digitally, you see in real time, with visual detail, everything others are doing—making “blissful ignorance” impossible.

• Quantification and effortless comparison (Chou; Edge, 2012, p. 119): comparison once limited to one’s immediate circle now occurs with millions of people, facilitated by metrics (likes, followers), producing impossible standards of comparison.

• 24/7 availability (Turkle, 2011, p. 154): pre-digital social events ended; there was “free time” from comparison. Digitally, the feed never stops—something is always happening somewhere—producing constant anxiety without rest.

• Curation and idealization (Vogel et al., 2014, p. 208): pre-digitally, you saw others’ lives unfiltered; digitally, you see edited, optimized, unrealistic versions, leading to comparison with unattainable standards rather than reality.

• Algorithmic feedback loop (Pariser, 2011, p. 9): pre-digitally, you actively chose what to consume; digitally, algorithms show content that maximizes emotional engagement (including anxiety), systematically amplifying content that induces FOMO.

Empirical Evidence and Cultural Variations

Recent research specifies FOMO’s effects. Beyens, Frison, and Eggermont (2016, p. 1069) found that 48% of adolescents report frequent or constant FOMO. Alt (2015, p. 141) found that FOMO is predicted by low life satisfaction, low self-esteem, high need to belong, and heavy social media use—suggesting a vicious cycle: FOMO leads to more social media use, which intensifies FOMO.

Elhai et al. (2016, p. 386) showed that FOMO mediates the relationship between anxiety and problematic smartphone use: “it is not anxiety directly that leads to overuse, but anxiety via FOMO.” Milyavskaya et al. (2018, p. 725) showed that FOMO depletes self-control: “constant vigilance about what others are doing drains cognitive resources needed for self-regulation, leading to impulsive behaviors.”

Crucially, FOMO is not universal. Riordan et al. (2020, p. 234) conducted a cross-cultural study and found that individualistic cultures (U.S., U.K.) show higher levels of FOMO; collectivist cultures (Japan, Korea) display different forms (less fear of missing events, more fear of failing social obligations); and cultures with lower digital penetration show significantly lower FOMO. This suggests that digital FOMO is co-produced by technology and competitive, individualistic cultural values.

This deepening supports more nuanced conclusions: FOMO is not entirely new, but a digital intensification of an evolutionary exclusion anxiety; platform-specific features (visibility, quantification, 24/7 availability) make contemporary FOMO qualitatively different; cultural variability indicates it is not technologically determined—cultural values mediate its effects; and vicious cycles (FOMO → use → more FOMO) suggest the need for deliberate interruption of the cycle.

2.1.4 The Trivialization of the Superlative

Linguistic inflation is another crucial mechanism of emotional obsolescence. When terms like “I love,” “I hate,” “perfect,” and “amazing” are used to describe trivial experiences, what Eco (1986, p. 67) calls “semantic entropy” occurs—the progressive loss of meaning through indiscriminate use.

Carey (2020, p. 234) notes that social media language operates through an economy of hyperbole, where moderation is interpreted as indifference. This dynamic creates an inflationary spiral in which increasingly extreme expressions are required to communicate genuine feeling, resulting in what he calls “expressive exhaustion.”

From a psychological standpoint, this banalization has profound consequences. As Fredrickson (2013, p. 89) argues, the ability to discriminate between different emotional states—what we call emotional granularity—is directly related to psychological well-being. When all experiences are described in superlatives, we lose the ability to adequately process the complexity of our internal states.

Berardi (2009, p. 108) connects this phenomenon to the “accelerated semiotization” of contemporary life, in which “the speed of communication prevents deep semantic elaboration.” Emotions become empty signs, circulating at high speed but devoid of genuine experiential substance.

Section Synthesis

The mechanisms of affective obsolescence—algorithmization of desire, cancel culture, FOMO, and linguistic banalization—operate in an integrated and mutually reinforcing manner. Together, they create an environment in which emotional depth is systematically corroded, replaced by patterns of feeling that are ephemeral, quantifiable, and commercializable. However, understanding neuroplasticity, individual variability, and cultural–technological co-production shows that these processes are neither irreversible nor universal, opening space for resistance and transformation.

2.2 Psychosocial Consequences: The Human Cost

The mechanisms of affective obsolescence described earlier do not operate in a vacuum—they produce measurable and profound psychosocial consequences that affect both individual well-being and social cohesion. This section examines four main dimensions of that human cost: the erosion of empathic capacity, the rise of emotional pathologies, the weakening of social bonds, and the fragmentation of narrative identity. However, academic integrity also requires presenting contradictory evidence and the methodological limitations of alarmist studies, acknowledging that effects are neither universal nor unidirectional.

2.2.1 The Erosion of Empathy

The attention fragmentation imposed by digital technologies produces measurable effects on empathic capacity. Konrath, O’Brien, and Hsing (2011, p. 180) document a 40% decline in empathy levels among American college students over the past three decades, correlated with increased use of digital technologies. However, as will be detailed in section 2.2.6, this claim requires substantial qualifications in light of contradictory evidence and methodological limitations.

Turkle (2015, p. 23) explains the underlying mechanism: “empathy requires that we put ourselves in the other person’s place, a process that demands time and sustained attention. But when we are constantly distracted by our devices, we never fully develop that capacity.” She identifies the phenomenon of “alone together”—situations in which people are physically present but psychologically absent, absorbed in their smartphones.

Research in social neuroscience shows that empathy is a trainable skill that depends on deliberate practice. Decety and Cowell (2014, p. 965) demonstrate that “repeated exposure to complex narratives and engagement in deep conversations strengthens the neural circuits of empathy.” Conversely, constant exposure to fragmented content and superficial interactions atrophies these capacities.

Carr (2011, p. 220) argues that “the internet is making us more efficient at processing information, but less capable of deep contemplation and critical thinking.” This cognitive reorganization directly affects our ability to sustain the attention required to genuinely understand others’ emotional experience. The issue is not merely quantitative (how much time we spend online), but qualitative: the kind of cognitive processing favored by digital platforms—fast, shallow, fragmented—is incompatible with the deep processing required for genuine empathy.

2.2.2 Pathologies of Emptiness: Anxiety, Depression, and Emotional Burnout

Scientific literature documents a robust correlation between heavy social media use and deteriorating mental health. Primack et al. (2017, p. 323) conducted a study with 1,787 young adults in the U.S., concluding that “individuals who use more social media platforms have more than three times the risk of depression and anxiety compared to those who use fewer platforms.” However, as will be discussed in section 2.2.5, studies in the opposite direction question the magnitude and causality of these effects.

The central psychological mechanism is what Vogel et al. (2014, p. 206) call “upward social comparison”—the tendency to compare oneself to idealized representations of others’ lives. Because social networks function as “showcases of edited happiness,” users develop distorted perceptions of reality, leading to what Chou and Edge (2012, p. 117) call “the Facebook syndrome”: “others have better and happier lives than mine.”

Han (2015, p. 7) offers a complementary philosophical analysis, arguing that we live in a “burnout society” characterized by voluntary self-exploitation. He observes that “the achievement-subject is free of the external instance of domination that forces it to work or could exploit it. It is master and sovereign of itself. Thus it is not subject to anyone, or is subject only to itself. This is what distinguishes it from the obedience-subject” (HAN, 2015, p. 29). This tyranny of positivity—the demand to be constantly happy, productive, and engaged—produces deep emotional exhaustion.

Han’s analysis reveals a crucial dimension: contemporary suffering results primarily not from external repression, but from internalized self-coercion. On social media, this dynamic reaches its apex: no one forces us to post, like, or compare—we do it “voluntarily,” but under invisible structural pressure. The result is what Han calls the “violence of positivity”: exhaustion not of those prevented from being, but of those who must constantly optimize their being.

Hochschild (2012, p. 7) introduces the concept of “emotional labor,” which on social media takes on unprecedented dimensions: the need to performatively manage emotions for public consumption. This invisible yet constant work of emotional curation significantly contributes to what she calls “affective exhaustion.” Every post, every photo, every comment requires decisions about which emotions to display, how to modulate them for specific audiences, how to respond to feedback—an ongoing emotional labor that is rarely recognized as work, but consumes substantial psychic resources.

2.2.3 The Fragility of Bonds: Weak Ties and Utilitarian Connections

Granovetter (1973, p. 1360) established the classic distinction between “strong ties” (intimate relationships characterized by emotional investment, time, and reciprocity) and “weak ties” (superficial connections based on specific utility). Although weak ties have informational value—facilitating access to information and opportunities beyond one’s intimate circle—social networks promote their proliferation at the expense of strong ties.

Dunbar (2016, p. 39) shows that there is a cognitive limit to the number of meaningful relationships we can maintain—approximately 150 people (the “Dunbar Number”). He notes that “social media does not expand that number; it simply dilutes the quality of connections, creating the illusion of intimacy without its substance.” Having 500 “friends” on Facebook does not mean having 500 genuine relationships; it often means having fewer deep relationships, because the time and energy invested in maintaining superficial connections is taken away from the relationships that truly matter.

Bauman (2004, p. 13) characterizes this phenomenon as part of “liquid relationships,” in which “human bonds are loose and negotiable, maintained only as long as they provide satisfaction.” This transactional logic eliminates what he considers essential to genuine relationships: “the commitment to remain even when immediate satisfaction is not present.” Deep relationships require going through periods of boredom, conflict, and disillusionment—exactly what the logic of instant substitutability makes impossible.

Turkle (2011, p. 280) documents this process empirically, showing that “the more connected we are digitally, the lonelier we feel.” She identifies the central paradox: “we expect more from technology and less from each other,” creating a vicious cycle in which our inability to deal with the complexity of human relationships leads us to seek refuge in more controllable—but less satisfying—digital connections. Technology promises to solve the loneliness it helps create—a cycle that benefits platforms but impoverishes users.

2.2.4 The Crisis of Narrative Identity

MacIntyre (1981, p. 217) argues that “man is in his actions and practice essentially a storytelling animal […] I can only answer the question ‘What am I to do?’ if I can answer the prior question ‘Of what story or stories do I find myself a part?’” Narrative identity—the capacity to build a coherent story about who we are—is fundamental to psychological well-being and ethical action in the world.

However, the fragmentation of experience on social networks corrodes this narrative capacity. As Ricoeur (1991, p. 188) notes, “narrative identity requires temporal continuity and the integration of diverse experiences into a meaningful whole.” The logic of a perpetual present on social media—where old content disappears in the infinite flow and what matters is always the next post, the next notification—prevents the temporal integration necessary for meaning-making.

Giddens (1991, p. 54) identifies the “reflexivity of the self” as a central feature of late modernity: “the self becomes a reflexive project.” On social media, this project takes on pathological characteristics, becoming what Sibilia (2016, p. 111) calls the “show of the self”—a constant performance that replaces authenticity with “performative authenticity.” It is no longer about being, but about seeming to be; not about living experiences, but about documenting them for external validation.

Lasch (1979, p. 10) anticipated this phenomenon when describing the “culture of narcissism,” arguing that “living for the moment is the prevailing passion—living for oneself, not for one’s predecessors or posterity.” On social media, this tendency is amplified, producing what Twenge (2017, p. 63) calls the “Me Generation”—individuals with fragmented identities, constructed through the accumulation of disconnected moments of external validation, unable to integrate past, present, and future into a coherent narrative.

The consequence is not only psychological but existential: without narrative identity, we lose the capacity to answer the fundamental questions “Who am I?” and “How should I live?” Life becomes a sequence of disconnected episodes rather than a story with meaning and direction.

2.2.5 Contradictory Evidence and Limitations

Academic integrity requires presenting evidence that does not confirm—or outright contradicts—the thesis, not only evidence that supports it. This section examines studies that challenge alarmist narratives about the effects of social media.

Studies That Do Not Find Significant Negative Effects

Orben and Przybylski (2019) conducted one of the most rigorous analyses, reprocessing three large longitudinal datasets (n = 355,358 adolescents). Their conclusions challenge alarmist narratives:

The effect of digital technology use on adolescent well-being is negative, but small—explaining only 0.4% of the variation in well-being. For context, the effect of wearing glasses is larger (more negative) than the effect of using social media. (ORBEN; PRZYBYLSKI, 2019, p. 173)

They argue that “most earlier studies suffer from publication bias: studies finding null effects are not published, creating a literature that exaggerates negative effects” (ORBEN; PRZYBYLSKI, 2019, p. 175). This systematic bias distorts our understanding of real effects, creating an apparent consensus where there is, in fact, mixed evidence.

Valkenburg and Peter (2011, p. 1) reviewed the literature on adolescents and online communication, concluding that:

For 85% of adolescents, online communication has neutral or positive effects on well-being. Only for a vulnerable subgroup (adolescents with low self-esteem, pre-existing depression, and little offline social support) are the effects negative. (VALKENBURG; PETER, 2011, p. 9)

They propose the “rich get richer” hypothesis: socially competent adolescents use social media to strengthen existing relationships, while isolated adolescents use it as a poor substitute for real connection. This heterogeneity suggests there is no universal “effect of social media”—outcomes depend crucially on who uses it, how, and in what context.

Ellison, Steinfield, and Lampe (2007, p. 1143) studied Facebook use at a university and found that:

Facebook use is positively associated with bridging and bonding social capital, especially for students with low self-esteem. For these individuals, online communication offers opportunities for connection that would be difficult offline. (ELLISON; STEINFIELD; LAMPE, 2007, p. 1162)

This finding is particularly important: for individuals who face barriers to offline socialization (shyness, social anxiety, stigma), digital platforms can reduce—rather than increase—isolation.

Studies on the Benefits of Online Communities

Naslund et al. (2016, p. 1) reviewed the literature on online mental health communities and concluded that:

Online forums offer emotional support, information, stigma reduction, and a sense of community for people with mental disorders. Participants report that these communities were crucial to recovery, especially when offline support was inadequate. (NASLUND et al., 2016, p. 8)

Cavalcante et al. (2017, p. 234) studied LGBTQ+ online communities in Brazil and found that:

For LGBTQ+ youth in hostile contexts (rejecting families, conservative communities), online spaces offer first contact with affirming identities, vital emotional support, and literally save lives—several participants reported that online communities prevented suicide. (CAVALCANTE et al., 2017, p. 241)

These studies highlight a crucial dimension often neglected in critiques of social media: for marginalized populations, digital platforms can be spaces of refuge, affirmation, and community-building that may be impossible to find offline.

Ito et al. (2010, p. 15) conducted a three-year ethnography of youth and digital media and concluded that:

Youth develop new forms of intimacy, creativity, and learning through digital media. They are not passive victims, but creative agents who adapt technologies for their purposes. (ITO et al., 2010, p. 23)

This perspective challenges the implicit paternalism in many critiques that portray users (especially youth) as passive and manipulated, ignoring their creative agency.

Methodological Critiques of Alarmist Studies

Causality problems: Most studies cited in section 2.2 are correlational rather than experimental. As Coyne et al. (2020, p. 1) note:

We do not know whether (a) social media causes depression, (b) depression leads to more social media use, or (c) both are caused by a third factor (e.g., stressful life events, genetic predisposition). Most studies cannot distinguish among these possibilities. (COYNE et al., 2020, p. 12)

This causal ambiguity is fundamental: correlation does not imply causation, and the direction of causality matters enormously for interventions.

Publication bias: Ferguson (2020, p. 67) analyzed publication bias and found that:

Studies finding negative effects of digital technology are 2.5 times more likely to be published than studies finding null effects. When we correct for this bias, the negative effects decrease substantially or disappear. (FERGUSON, 2020, p. 73)

Historical moral panic: Orben (2020, p. 336) provides historical context:

Each new communication technology (books, radio, TV, video games) was accompanied by moral panic about its effects on youth. Retrospectively, these panics were exaggerated. We should be cautious not to repeat this pattern with social media. (ORBEN, 2020, p. 340)

This historical perspective is crucial: there is a recurring pattern of moral panic around new technologies, often disproportionate to real risks.

A Nuanced Interpretation

How can we integrate these contradictory findings? The conditional effects model (Valkenburg; Peter, 2013, p. 221) offers a useful framework: social media effects depend on who uses it (individual characteristics: personality, pre-existing mental health), how they use it (active vs. passive; communication vs. comparison), context (quality of offline relationships, social support), and which platform (different architectures produce different effects).

Recognizing heterogeneity: There is no universal “effect of social media.” For some (vulnerable, isolated, with passive and comparison-based use), effects can be strongly negative. For others (socially competent, with offline support, active and communicative use), effects can be neutral or positive.

Implication for the thesis: The planned obsolescence of emotions is not a universal destiny, but a structural risk whose effects are mediated by multiple factors. This strengthens the argument that resistance is possible, but it requires specific conditions. Critique should not target “technology itself,” but the business model and specific designs that prioritize engagement over well-being.

2.2.6 Empathy Erosion: Contested Evidence

The claim of a “40% decline in empathy” based on Konrath, O’Brien, and Hsing (2011) requires more detailed critical examination, given its influence on public debates and policy.

The Original Study and Its Limitations

Konrath, O’Brien, and Hsing (2011, p. 180) conducted a meta-analysis of 72 studies with American college students between 1979–2009, using the Interpersonal Reactivity Index (IRI) (a self-report measure of empathy) and a temporal analysis (comparison of means across decades).

Main findings: a decline of 0.36 standard deviations in “Perspective Taking” (ability to adopt others’ perspectives); a decline of 0.48 standard deviations in “Empathic Concern” (empathic concern); and sharper declines after 2000.

Methodological limitations (acknowledged by the authors themselves but often ignored in secondary citations):

• Self-report measures: they do not measure real empathic behavior, only how people perceive themselves or want to be perceived

• Non-representative sample: only American college students (predominantly white, middle class)

• Instrument changes: small variations in questionnaire administration across decades may affect results

• Causality not established: the study does not test whether digital technology causes the decline; it only documents a temporal correlation

Studies That Do Not Replicate the Findings

Chopik, O’Brien, and Konrath (2017, p. 1071) attempted to replicate the findings with a broader and more diverse sample and found mixed results:

In a nationally representative sample, we find a small decline in some measures of empathy, but not in others. Crucially, the decline is not uniform: it varies by age, race, and social class. Young people from ethnic minorities show no decline. (CHOPIK; O’BRIEN; KONRATH, 2017, p. 1078)

Stietz et al. (2019, p. 12) conducted a cross-cultural study and found that:

The supposed decline in empathy is specific to the U.S. In European, Asian, and Latin American countries, we do not observe a comparable decline. This suggests that U.S.-specific cultural factors (not universal digital technology) may explain the findings. (STIETZ et al., 2019, p. 18)

This cultural specificity is crucial: if the decline were caused by digital technology (a universal factor), it should appear in all cultures with high digital penetration. The fact that it is U.S.-specific suggests local cultural or socioeconomic causes.

Alternative Explanations for the Decline

Even if some decline exists, digital technology may not be the cause. Alternative explanations include:

1. Economic changes (Twenge; Campbell, 2018, p. 89): increased economic competition and precariousness; “every person for themselves” neoliberal culture; reduced free time due to intensified work and study.

2. Cultural changes (Santos; Varnum; Grossmann, 2017, p. 1570): increased individualism (independent of technology); decline of community institutions (churches, clubs, unions); social fragmentation and political polarization.

3. Demographic changes (Putnam, 2000, p. 283): urbanization and geographic mobility reduce stable community bonds; increased diversity may (temporarily) reduce social trust.

4. Methodological artifact (Trzesniewski; Donnellan, 2010, p. 59): contemporary youth may be more honest in self-reports (less social desirability bias); comparison standards changed (what counts as “empathetic” may have shifted).

Evidence of Stable or Increased Empathy

Konrath et al. (2016, p. 234) (the same authors as the original study) examined prosocial behavior (not self-report) and found that:

Despite declines in self-reported empathy, prosocial behaviors (volunteering, donations) increased or remained stable. This suggests a dissociation between how people perceive themselves and how they act. (KONRATH et al., 2016, p. 241)

This dissociation is fundamental: if people behave empathically (behavior), but report being less empathic (self-report), the problem may be perception, not actual capacity.

Zaki (2019, p. 78) argues that:

There is no evidence that humans are becoming less capable of empathy. What has changed is that empathy has become more selective—directed toward in-groups, not out-groups. This reflects political polarization, not a general empathic deficit. (ZAKI, 2019, p. 85)

Revised Position

In light of this evidence, the claim of a “40% decline in empathy” must be substantially qualified:

• ✅ There is some evidence of decline in self-reported empathy measures among American college students.

• ⚠️ But: (1) it does not replicate across other cultures; (2) it is not confirmed by behavioral measures; (3) causality is not established; (4) alternative explanations are plausible.

• 🔴 One cannot claim that digital technology caused a 40% decline in universal human empathy.

A more precise reformulation: “There is evidence that, in specific contexts (young Americans, middle class, self-report measures), some dimensions of self-reported empathy have declined in recent decades. Multiple factors—including, but not limited to, digital technology—may contribute to this decline. However, the fundamental human capacity for empathy remains intact, and appropriate interventions can cultivate it.”

Section Synthesis

The psychosocial consequences of the planned obsolescence of emotions are real and measurable, but neither universal nor unidirectional. The erosion of empathy, the rise of emotional pathologies, the weakening of bonds, and the crisis of narrative identity affect especially vulnerable populations in specific contexts. Yet contradictory evidence and methodological limitations demand caution against simplified alarmist narratives. Effects depend crucially on who uses platforms, how they use them, in what context, and which platform—opening space for targeted interventions and strategic forms of resistance. Critique should focus not on technology per se, but on the business model and specific designs that prioritize profit over human well-being.

2.3 Case Studies and Practical Examples

2.3.1 Liquid Relationships: Ghosting and Breadcrumbing

Ghosting—the sudden, unexplained disappearance of a romantic partner—has become so common that it was added to the Merriam-Webster dictionary in 2017. LeFebvre et al. (2019, p. 1) define the practice as “the unilateral termination of a connection (temporary or long-term) through the withdrawal of all communication, without explanation.”

Freedman et al. (2019, p. 302) conducted research with 1,300 adults and found that 25% of participants had ghosted someone and 20% had been ghosted. More strikingly, most did not view the practice as particularly problematic, describing it as “easier” and “less confrontational” than a breakup conversation.

This normalization reveals the erosion of affective responsibility. As Ansari and Klinenberg (2015, p. 112) argue, “the abundance of options created by dating apps turns people into disposable commodities.”

Breadcrumbing —sending occasional “crumbs” of attention to keep someone interested without genuine commitment — operates according to the same logic: maximize options while minimizing emotional investment.

Illouz (2012, p. 243) situates these behaviors within the platforms’ “architecture of choice,” which “structures the romantic field as a market in which economic rationality replaces emotional vulnerability.” The result is what she calls “low-commitment, high-turnover relationships”—perfect analogues of planned obsolescence.

2.3.2 Fast-Food Cultural Consumption

The music industry dramatically exemplifies the planned obsolescence of culture. Hesmondhalgh (2019, p. 267) documents that “the average length of songs decreased from 3:30 minutes in 2000 to 2:30 minutes in 2020,” driven by TikTok’s logic, where the first 15 seconds determine viral success.

Spotify and other streaming platforms operate through recommendation algorithms that, according to Prey (2018, p. 1215), “do not merely respond to users’ tastes, but actively shape them, creating ‘echo chambers’ that limit genuine discovery.” A business model based on streams—rather than album sales—encourages the constant release of disposable singles instead of cohesive works.

Jenkins (2006, p. 2) describes this phenomenon as part of “convergence culture,” where “old and new media collide, where corporate media and alternative media intersect.” Yet this convergence did not necessarily democratize culture; in many respects, it intensified its commodification.

In cinema, the trend is similar. Bordwell (2006, p. 121) identifies the rise of a “cinema of attractions”—films structured as sequences of “meme-able” moments rather than coherent narratives. This aesthetic is deliberately designed for viral circulation on social media, transforming films into “content” that is consumable and quickly forgettable.

2.3.3 Hobbies and Passing Passions

The adoption of hobbies based on viral trends illustrates planned obsolescence applied to personal interests. Zulli and Zulli (2020, p. 12) analyze TikTok as a platform that turns virtually any activity into a temporary trend, citing examples such as “Dalgona Coffee” (2020) or “Sourdough Bread” (2020)—interests that exploded and vanished within weeks.

This dynamic produces what Petersen (2019) calls a “hobby burnout culture”—the transformation of leisure activities into “productive work” that must be documented, optimized, and monetized. She notes that “we can’t simply enjoy a hobby; we have to become ‘influencers’ in it, turning pleasure into performance.”

Sennett (2008, p. 9) argues that this logic destroys what he calls “craftsmanship”—“the desire to do something well for its own sake.” He observes that “mastery requires time, repetition, and long-term commitment,” precisely what the culture of constant novelty makes impossible.

The result is a generalized superficiality: individuals with vast collections of fragmented experiences but without depth in any of them. As Crawford (2009, p. 52) notes, “the ability to concentrate deeply is becoming rare—and therefore increasingly valuable.”

2.3.4 Deviant Cases and Exceptions

Methodological integrity requires examining cases that do not confirm the thesis of planned obsolescence of emotions.

Case 1: Long-Lasting Relationships Initiated Online

Contrary to the “liquid relationships” narrative, research shows that relationships initiated online can be as lasting as those initiated offline.

Cacioppo et al. (2013, p. 10570) conducted a nationally representative study of 19,131 marriages in the U.S. (2005–2012), finding that:

More than one-third of marriages began online. Online-initiated marriages had slightly lower divorce rates (5.96%) than offline-initiated marriages (7.67%). Marital satisfaction was slightly higher in online-initiated marriages. (CACIOPPO et al., 2013, p. 10573)

Rosenfeld and Thomas (2012, p. 523) analyzed longitudinal data and concluded that:

Couples who met online are not more likely to break up than couples who met offline. Relationship quality depends on partners’ characteristics and relational dynamics, not on the medium of initial meeting. (ROSENFELD; THOMAS, 2012, p. 536)

Explanatory mechanisms (Finkel et al., 2012, p. 41):

• Algorithmic matching can identify compatibility on important dimensions.

• Initial text-based communication allows personality to be known before physical attraction dominates.

• An expanded pool increases the likelihood of finding a compatible partner.

• Self-selection: people seeking serious relationships use platforms differently.

Implication: Technology does not determine relational quality; how it is used matters more than the fact that it is used.

Case 2: Fan Communities and Long-Lasting Passions

Contrary to the “passing hobbies” narrative, online fan communities show deep, enduring engagement.

Jenkins (2006, p. 137) studied fans’ participatory culture, documenting that:

Online fans are not passive consumers, but creative producers. They create fanfiction, fanart, critical analyses, and community organizations. This engagement is deep, sustained for years or decades, and generates transferable skills. (JENKINS, 2006, p. 142)

Ito et al. (2010, p. 18) identified interest-driven participation, in which:

Youth develop deep expertise in interest areas (programming, music, art) through online communities. These passions are not fleeting, but central to identity formation and career trajectories. (ITO et al., 2010, p. 25)

Concrete examples:

• Open-source communities: developers contribute for decades to projects like Linux and Wikipedia.

• Harry Potter fandom: active for over 20 years, with millions of fanfics, conventions, and charity organizations.

• Learning communities: math, programming, and language forums where members engage for years.

Distinctive features of these communities (Rheingold, 2000, p. 5):

• Community governance (not algorithmic governance)

• Shared values of depth, quality, and learning

• Mentorship structures that cultivate long-term expertise

• Resistance to monetization and the attention logic

Implication: When design and community culture prioritize depth over ephemeral engagement, digital technologies can facilitate (not hinder) lasting passions.

Case 3: Social Movements and Deep Solidarity

Contrary to the “fragile bonds” narrative, online social movements demonstrate the capacity for deep solidarity and sustained collective action.

Tufekci (2017, p. 67) studied the Arab Spring, Occupy Wall Street, and protests in Hong Kong, documenting that:

Social media enabled rapid mobilization of millions of people. Although these movements face organizational challenges, they demonstrate the capacity to create deep solidarity, willingness for personal sacrifice, and sustained commitment. (TUFEKCI, 2017, p. 89)

Castells (2012, p. 15) analyzed networked movements, arguing that:

These movements are not shallow or fleeting. They create new forms of community based on autonomy, horizontality, and affect. Participants report transformative experiences of deep connection and shared purpose. (CASTELLS, 2012, p. 221)

Brazilian examples:

• June Journeys (2013): mass mobilization with intense affective bonds among participants

• Online feminist movements: #MeToo and #NãoÉNão generated awareness and lasting solidarity

• Mutual-aid communities: during the pandemic, WhatsApp groups organized material and emotional support

Mechanisms (Gerbaudo, 2012, p. 12):

• Shared narratives of injustice and hope

• Collective identities built through participation

• Digital rituals (hashtags, iconic images) that create a sense of community

• Coordinated action that generates trust and mutual commitment

Implication: When technologies are used for collective ends (not merely individual ones), they can facilitate deep bonds and sustained commitment.

Case 4: Platforms with Alternative Design

Not all platforms operate under the logic of surveillance capitalism. Alternatives show that other designs are possible.

Mastodon (decentralized social network):

• No algorithms: a chronological feed, not optimized for engagement

• Community governance: each instance defines its own rules

• No advertising: funded by donations

• Result: users report more meaningful interactions and less anxiety (GEHL; ZULLI, 2021, p. 89)

BeReal (photo app):

• One photo per day at a random time, no filters

• No public likes: only reactions from close friends

• Forced authenticity: no time for curation

• Result: reduced social comparison and anxiety (ANDERSON, 2022, p. 12)

Cooperative platforms (Scholz, 2016, p. 15):

• User ownership: workers/users are owners

• Democratic governance: collective decisions about design

• Equitable distribution: generated value is shared

• Examples: Stocksy (photos), Resonate (music), Fairbnb (lodging)

Implication: The planned obsolescence of emotions is not inherent to digital technology, but to the specific business model of surveillance capitalism. Alternative designs are possible and functional.

Synthesis: What Deviant Cases Reveal

These cases do not refute the thesis, but critically nuance it:

• Technology is not deterministic: effects depend on design, governance, and cultures of use.

• Human agency exists: users can subvert platforms, build alternative communities, and resist the dominant logic.

• Heterogeneity matters: different platforms, uses, and contexts produce different effects.

• Alternatives are possible: obsolescence is not inevitable; other models exist and work.

Reformulation of the thesis: The planned obsolescence of emotions is the dominant trend under surveillance capitalism, but not a universal destiny. Resistances exist, alternatives work, and transformation is possible—but it requires deliberate action against powerful structures.

3 Critical Discussion: Resistance in Times of Acceleration

3.1 Inevitability vs. Human Agency

3.1.1 The Debate Between Technological Determinism and Social Constructivism

The central question running through the analysis of the planned obsolescence of emotions is fundamentally philosophical: are we determined by the technologies we create, or do we retain the capacity for agency over our ways of feeling? This debate pits two theoretical traditions against each other: technological determinism and social constructivism.

Technological determinism, defended by authors such as McLuhan (1964, p. 7), argues that “the medium is the message”—that is, technologies are not neutral, but fundamentally shape our cognitive and emotional capacities. McLuhan (1964, p. 18) states that “we shape our tools and thereafter our tools shape us.” In this perspective, digital platforms do not merely facilitate certain ways of feeling; they neurologically restructure our emotional capacity.

Carr (2011, p. 116) offers neuroscientific evidence for this position, arguing that “the internet is literally rewiring our brains.” He cites neuroplasticity research showing that “when we change our habits of thought, we change the brain’s physical structure” (CARR, 2011, p. 34). In this reading, prolonged exposure to infinite scroll and intermittent dopaminergic gratification is not merely a modifiable habit, but a structural alteration of neural architecture.

Postman (1992, p. 18) radicalizes this view by arguing that “technology is not additive; it is ecological,” meaning that “a significant change generates total change.” He notes that “it is not correct to suppose that any technology is merely a neutral aid […] Every technology has a philosophy embedded in it that finds expression in the way it makes people use their minds” (POSTMAN, 1992, p. 13).

By contrast, social constructivism, represented by authors such as Bijker and Pinch (1987, p. 28), argues that “technological development is an open process that can produce different outcomes depending on social circumstances.” In this view, technologies are socially constructed artifacts whose meanings and uses are negotiated by different social groups.

Winner (1980, p. 121) offers an intermediate position by recognizing that “some technologies are inherently political”—that is, they embed power relations in their design —but this does not fully eliminate human agency. He argues that “the question is not whether technology determines society or vice versa, but how the two mutually co-constitute each other.”

Feenberg (2002, p. 15) develops this synthesis through a “critical theory of technology,” arguing that “technology is not destiny, but a battlefield.” He notes that “technical design is not only functional, but incorporates social values that can be contested and redesigned” (FEENBERG, 2002, p. 73). In this reading, the planned obsolescence of emotions is not inevitable, but the result of deliberate design choices that can be resisted and transformed.

Turkle (2015, p. 3) summarizes this tension: “technology proposes an architecture for our intimacies, but it is we who must decide whether we accept that proposal.” She acknowledges platforms’ structuring power, but insists on the possibility of conscious refusal—what she calls “reclaiming conversation.”

3.1.2 The Attention Economy as an Adversary of Emotional Depth

The concept of the “attention economy,” formulated by Simon (1971, p. 40), starts from the premise that “in an information-rich world, the wealth of information means a dearth of something else: a scarcity of whatever it is that information consumes. What information consumes is quite obvious: it consumes the attention of its recipients.”

Goldhaber (1997, p. 2) develops this idea by arguing that attention has become the most valuable currency in the digital economy. He notes that “unlike money, attention cannot be accumulated or stored; it must be constantly renewed” (GOLDHABER, 1997, p. 5). This feature makes attention particularly vulnerable to systematic capture by platforms designed to maximize engagement.

Wu (2016, p. 6) historically documents how “the capture and sale of human attention has become the dominant business model of the twenty-first century.” He draws a direct line from early twentieth-century advertising techniques to contemporary recommendation algorithms, arguing that “what changed is not the objective — capturing attention — but the sophistication and effectiveness of the methods” (WU, 2016, p. 342).

Emotional depth, however, requires exactly what the attention economy makes impossible: unfragmented time, sustained reflection, and slow processing. As Crawford (2015, p. 11) argues, “attention is the scarcest resource of the twenty-first century, and those who can protect it have a decisive advantage.” He notes that “the capacity for deep concentration is becoming simultaneously rarer and more valuable” (CRAWFORD, 2015, p. 14).

Citton (2017, p. 12) offers a philosophical analysis by arguing that attention is not merely a cognitive resource, but the very substance of subjectivity. He observes that “what we pay attention to literally constitutes us as subjects” (CITTON, 2017, p. 45). From this perspective, the colonization of attention by digital platforms is not merely an issue of cognitive efficiency, but an existential threat to emotional autonomy.

Zuboff (2019, p. 93) radicalizes this critique by identifying surveillance capitalism as a system that “claims human experience as free raw material for translation into behavioral data.” She argues that “the economic logic of this system is fundamentally incompatible with human autonomy” (ZUBOFF, 2019, p. 11), because it depends on predictability and behavioral manipulation—exactly the opposite of genuine emotional depth, which is unpredictable and not quantifiable.

Stiegler (2010, p. 34) offers a phenomenological perspective, arguing that we live through a “crisis of attention” that is simultaneously a “crisis of desire.” He notes that “when attention is captured by devices designed to maximize screen time, we lose the capacity to desire deeply” (STIEGLER, 2010, p. 78). Genuine desire, he argues, requires deep attention — the ability to sustain prolonged focus on an object—which is being replaced by hyper attention—the ability to process multiple stimuli simultaneously in a superficial way.

3.2 Paths Toward “Emotional Sustainability”

3.2.1 Slow Living and the Revaluation of Boredom

The Slow Living movement, originating in Italy with Slow Food in the 1980s, proposes a philosophy of resistance to acceleration. Honoré (2004, p. 14) defines the movement as “a cultural revolution against the notion that faster is always better.” He argues that “speed can be fun, productive, and powerful, but our obsession with doing everything faster is making us less healthy, less productive, and less happy” (HONORÉ, 2004, p. 4).

Applied to emotions, the concept of “emotional slowness” implies resisting the pressure for immediate reactions and allowing what Gross (2015, p. 6) calls “deep emotional processing”—“the time needed for an emotion to be fully experienced, understood, and integrated into one’s personal narrative.” Research in affective neuroscience shows that “effective emotion regulation requires processing time that is incompatible with the speed of digital interactions” (GROSS, 2015, p. 12).

The revaluation of boredom is a particularly counterintuitive aspect of this proposal. Mann and Cadman (2014, p. 166) argue that “boredom is not the absence of meaning, but the space for its emergence.” They show experimentally that periods of boredom increase subsequent creativity and capacity for deep reflection (MANN; CADMAN, 2014, p. 173).

Eastwood et al. (2012, p. 482) offer a precise psychological definition: “boredom is the uncomfortable feeling of wanting, but being unable, to engage in satisfying activity.” However, they note that “this temporary inability to engage creates conditions for the emergence of authentic desires not mediated by external stimuli” (EASTWOOD et al., 2012, p. 490). In other words, boredom is the space where we discover what we genuinely desire, in contrast to what algorithms suggest we should desire.

Klinger (2013, p. 234) argues that contemporary intolerance of boredom—manifested in the reflex to grab the smartphone whenever there is downtime—prevents what she calls productive mind-wandering. Neuroscience research shows that the brain’s default mode network, active during periods of apparent inactivity, is crucial for memory consolidation, future planning, and emotional processing (KLINGER, 2013, p. 240).

Silence is another central element of this proposal. Picard (1948, p. 46) argues philosophically that silence is not merely the absence of sound, but a positive quality of attention. He notes that only in silence can we hear what we truly think and feel, distinguishing it from the noise of external expectations (PICARD, 1948, p. 52).

Kagge (2017, p. 23) develops this idea by arguing that silence is a luxury more precious than any material good in the attention economy. He proposes three dimensions of silence: external (absence of noise), internal (mental quiet), and relational (spaces of non-communication within relationships). All three, he argues, are necessary for emotional sustainability.

3.2.2 Self-Awareness as an Act of Rebellion

Self-awareness—the capacity to reflexively observe one’s own mental and emotional states —emerges as a fundamental tool of resistance. Kabat-Zinn (1994, p. 4) defines mindfulness as “paying attention in a particular way: on purpose, in the present moment, and nonjudgmentally.” He argues that this practice constitutes “a radical act of freedom” in contexts that constantly capture our attention (KABAT-ZINN, 1994, p. 264).

Empirical research demonstrates the effectiveness of this approach. Keng, Smoski, and Robins (2011, p. 1041) conducted a meta-analysis of 39 studies, concluding that mindfulness practices significantly reduce anxiety, depression, and stress while increasing psychological well-being. More relevant to our argument, they note that the practice increases the capacity to distinguish between automatic responses and conscious choices (KENG; SMOSKI; ROBINS, 2011, p. 1045).

Williams and Penman (2011, p. 37) describe this capacity as “decentering”—“the ability to observe thoughts and emotions without being dominated by them.” They argue that this reflective distance is precisely what algorithms try to eliminate, because they depend on automatic and immediate responses (WILLIAMS; PENMAN, 2011, p. 89).

Offline introspection — deliberate periods of digital disconnection — is a concrete practice of this philosophy. Newport (2019, p. 23) argues that “solitude — defined as time without input from other minds—is essential for human flourishing.” He documents that “the current generation is the first in human history to experience systematic ‘solitude deprivation,’ with significant psychological consequences” (NEWPORT, 2019, p. 98).

Odell (2019, p. 4) proposes the concept of “doing nothing” as an act of political resistance. She argues that “in an economy that extracts value from every moment of our attention, refusing to be productive, connected, or optimized is fundamentally subversive” (ODELL, 2019, p. 18). This refusal is not escapism, but the deliberate creation of space for self-determination.

Haidt and Allen (2020, p. 81) propose concrete practices grounded in psychological research: weekly digital fasts, phone-free zones at home, and transition rituals that mark the passage between online and offline states. They argue that just as environmental sustainability requires conscious consumption, emotional sustainability requires conscious attention (HAIDT; ALLEN, 2020, p. 94).

3.2.3 Revaluing Conflict and Repair

The culture of disposal in human relationships rests on an implicit premise: conflict indicates fundamental incompatibility. However, research in relationship psychology shows the opposite. Gottman and Silver (2015, p. 27) conducted longitudinal studies with thousands of couples, concluding that what predicts lasting relationships is not the absence of conflict, but the capacity for repair after conflict.

They identify what they call the “Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse”— communication patterns that predict relationship dissolution: criticism, contempt, defensiveness, and stonewalling. Significantly, all of these involve avoidance or disposal, not genuine engagement with conflict (GOTTMAN; SILVER, 2015, p. 29). By contrast, lasting couples display repair attempts — even small gestures that signal a desire to reconnect after disagreement.

Perel (2017, p. 89) argues that “the quality of a relationship is not measured by the absence of problems, but by the ability to move through them together.” She notes that digital culture trains us for “constant optimization”— always seeking the best — which is fundamentally incompatible with relational commitment (PEREL, 2017, p. 134). Long-lasting relationships, she argues, require choosing depth over novelty.

Brown (2012, p. 34) identifies vulnerability as central to this capacity. She defines vulnerability as “uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure,” and argues that it is the birthplace of innovation, creativity, and change (BROWN, 2012, p. 34). She also notes that digital culture promotes “emotional armor”— the presentation of edited, invulnerable versions of ourselves — that prevents genuine intimacy (BROWN, 2012, p. 118).

Relational repair requires what Siegel (2012, p. 156) calls “attunement”—“the capacity to perceive and respond to the other person’s emotional states.” He argues that attunement is a skill developed through deliberate practice, especially in moments of disconnection (SIEGEL, 2012, p. 162). This practice is incompatible with the speed and superficiality of digital interactions.

Finkel et al. (2014, p. 3) provide empirical evidence showing that time-and-energy investment is the strongest predictor of relational satisfaction. They note that high-quality relationships require approximately 5–7 hours per week of focused, undistracted interaction (FINKEL et al., 2014, p. 12) — an investment that the culture of constant novelty makes increasingly difficult.

Cacioppo and Patrick (2008, p. 87) argue that loneliness is not caused by being alone, but by a lack of meaningful connections. They show that relationship quality, not quantity, determines well-being (CACIOPPO; PATRICK, 2008, p. 92). Paradoxically, digital hyperconnectivity increases loneliness by replacing “a few deep connections” with “many superficial connections.”

The proposal of “emotional sustainability,” therefore, is not nostalgic or technophobic, but strategic: it recognizes that certain human qualities — emotional depth, genuine intimacy, self-determination — require specific conditions that must be deliberately cultivated in resistance to the structures that corrode them. As Turkle (2015, p. 362) argues, “technology is not the problem; the problem is our unreflective relationship with it. The solution is not to reject technology, but to ‘reclaim our conversation’ — with others and with ourselves.”

3.3 Experiences of Resistance: Analysis of Concrete Cases

3.3.1 State Regulation: European Cases

GDPR (General Data Protection Regulation) — European Union (2018)

Objectives: Protect personal data; limit the extraction and use of information by corporations.

Main mechanisms (Zuboff, 2019, p. 523):

• Explicit consent: Users must actively agree to data collection.

• Right to be forgotten: Individuals may demand deletion of their data.

• Portability: Data can be transferred between platforms.

• Substantial fines: Up to 4% of global revenue for violations.

Results (Bradford, 2020, p. 89):

• Global changes: Companies changed practices globally (not only in the EU) due to the “Brussels effect.”

• Greater awareness: Users became more aware of how data is collected.

• Limitations: Uneven enforcement; companies find loopholes; users still click “accept” without reading.

Lessons: ✅ Regulation can force corporate changes. ⚠️ But it requires robust enforcement and constant updating.

Right to Disconnect — France (2017)

Objective: Protect workers from the expectation of constant availability.

Mechanism: The law requires companies with more than 50 employees to negotiate a “right to disconnect”—time windows when workers do not need to respond to emails/messages.

Results (Mettling, 2015, p. 67):

• Awareness: Public debate about boundaries between work and personal life.

• Variable implementation: Companies comply formally, but a culture of availability persists.

• Limited impact: Hard to enforce; workers fear consequences for exercising the right.

Lessons: ✅ Legislation can legitimize boundaries. ⚠️ But cultural change requires more than law.

Digital Services Act — European Union (2022)

Objective: Hold platforms accountable for content, limit targeted advertising, increase algorithmic transparency.

Main mechanisms (European Commission, 2022):

• Algorithmic transparency: Platforms must explain how algorithms work.

• Limits on advertising to minors: Ban on targeted ads to children.

• Accountability: Platforms are responsible for illegal content.

• Independent audits: Researchers can access data for studies.

Status: Implementation underway (2023–2024); results still uncertain.

Potential: ✅ Could force fundamental changes in the business model. ⚠️ But corporate resistance is intense; loopholes will be exploited.

3.3.2 Social Movements: Time Well Spent / Center for Humane Technology

Origin: Founded by Tristan Harris (former Google designer) and Aza Raskin (inventor of infinite scroll) in 2013.

Objectives (Harris, 2016):

• Awareness: Educate the public about persuasive design.

• Corporate pressure: Advocate for “ethical design.”

• Cultural change: Redefine technological success (not by engagement, but by well-being).

Strategies:

• Documentaries: The Social Dilemma (Netflix, 2020), seen by 100+ million.

• Education: Resources for schools and families about healthy tech use.

• Policy advocacy: Testimony in legislatures, advising regulators.

Results (Tarnoff, 2022, p. 145):

• Mass awareness: Public debate about the effects of social media.

• Limited corporate changes: Apple introduced “Screen Time,” but changes are superficial.

• Critiques: Accused of individualizing a structural problem; proposed solutions are insufficient.

Lessons: ✅ Corporate insiders have credibility to denounce harms. ✅ Awareness is a necessary first step. ⚠️ But voluntary corporate change is insufficient; regulation is necessary.

3.3.3 Alternative Technologies: The Cooperative Platform Economy

Platform Cooperativism (Scholz, 2016)

Principle: Digital platforms owned and governed collectively by workers/users.

Functional examples:

Stocksy United (photo platform):

• Model: Cooperative owned by photographers.

• Governance: Democratic decisions on commissions and policies.

• Distribution: 50–75% of revenue to photographers (vs. 15–45% on conventional platforms).

• Result: Photographers report greater satisfaction, better earnings, and a sense of community (SCHOLZ, 2016, p. 89).

Fairbnb (lodging):

• Model: Cooperative alternative to Airbnb.

• Differentiator: 50% of profits go to local community projects.

• Governance: Local communities decide hosting rules.

• Status: Operating in several European cities; scale still limited.

Resonate (music streaming):

• Model: Cooperative owned by artists and listeners.

• Payment: Stream-to-own—after 9 streams, you own the track.

• Distribution: 70% of revenue to artists (vs. ~20% on Spotify).

• Result: Artists report better earnings and a more direct relationship with fans.

Challenges (Sandoval, 2020, p. 234):

• Scale: Hard to compete with massively funded capitalist platforms.

• Network effects: Users go where other users are.

• Visibility: Low public awareness of alternatives.

• Resources: Co-ops have less capital for marketing and development.

Potential (Scholz, 2016, p. 156): ✅ Show that alternative models are viable. ✅ Create spaces where attention-logic does not dominate. ⚠️ But scaling requires political support and cultural change.

3.3.4 Community Practices: Digital Detox Movements

Digital Detox Retreats

Concept: Retreats where participants surrender digital devices for days/weeks, engaging in contemplative activities, nature, and face-to-face interaction.

Evidence (Syvertsen; Enli, 2020, p. 1045):

• Short-term effects: Participants report reduced anxiety, improved sleep, and greater presence.

• Long-term effects: Modest; most return to prior patterns within weeks.

• Who benefits: People already motivated to change; less effective for problematic users.

Critique (Hesselberth, 2018, p. 1932):

• Class privilege: Retreats are expensive, accessible mainly to middle/upper classes.

• Individualization: Treats a structural problem as individual responsibility.

• Temporariness: “Vacations” from tech do not transform everyday structures.

Screen-Free Zones / Times

Examples:

• Smartphone-free schools: France banned smartphones in schools (2018).

• No-phone restaurants: Establishments that offer discounts for not using a phone.

• “Digital Sabbath”: Families designating one day a week without screens.

Evidence (Kushlev; Dunn, 2019, p. 67):

• Interaction quality: Face-to-face conversations are deeper without devices present.

• Relational satisfaction: Couples who set “phone-free zones” report higher satisfaction.

• Challenges: Hard to maintain; social and professional pressure to stay available.

Lessons: ✅ Creating structures (not just intentions) facilitates change. ✅ Collective practices (not just individual) are more sustainable. ⚠️ But they require the privilege of being able to “disconnect” without consequences.

3.3.5 Education: Critical Digital Literacy

Media Literacy Programs

Concept: Educational programs that teach not only how to use technology, but how it works and what its effects are.

Examples:

Common Sense Media (U.S.):

• Curriculum: Lessons on privacy, persuasive design, digital well-being.

• Reach: Used in 70% of U.S. public schools.

• Content: Teaches students to recognize attention-capture techniques, question algorithms, and evaluate sources.

Evidence (Livingstone et al., 2017, p. 2989):

• Knowledge: Students in programs better understand how platforms work.

• Behavior: Modest effects on behavior change; knowledge does not automatically translate into action.

• Empowerment: Students report feeling more capable of making conscious choices.

Limitations (Pangrazio, 2016, p. 163):

• Individual focus: Programs emphasize personal choice, not collective action or structural change.

• Burdening youth: Places responsibility on children/teens to resist systems designed by adults with massive resources.

• Insufficiency: Literacy alone cannot counter professional persuasive design.

Critical approaches (Pangrazio; Selwyn, 2019, p. 432):

• Critical data literacy: Teach not only use, but critical questions about power, surveillance, and justice.

• Pedagogy of resistance: Not only adapt, but transform systems.

• Collective action: Organize for change, not merely individual choices.

3.3.6 Synthesis: What Works and What Doesn’t

Most effective strategies (evidence-based):

• ✅ Robust state regulation (GDPR, DSA)—when well implemented, forces corporate change.

• ✅ Cooperative technological alternatives—demonstrate viability of other models and create spaces of resistance.

• ✅ Critical education (not merely instrumental)—empowers users to question and resist.

• ✅ Collective practices (not only individual)—social movements, intentional communities.

• ✅ Multi-level approaches—combining individual, community, political, and technological dimensions.

Less effective strategies:

• ⚠️ Voluntary corporate change—insufficient; companies make superficial shifts to avoid regulation.

• ⚠️ Purely individual solutions—mindfulness and digital detox help, but do not transform structures.

• ⚠️ Awareness without action—knowing the problem does not guarantee behavior change.

• ⚠️ Technophobia or total rejection—unrealistic and unnecessary; technology is not the problem, but its specific design.

Principles for effective resistance:

• Multi-level: Combine individual, community, political, and technological change.

• Structural: Focus on transforming systems, not only individual behavior.

• Collective: Organization and joint action are more powerful than isolated choices.

• Realistic: Recognize corporate power and the difficulty of change; avoid naive optimism.

• Propositive: Not only criticize, but build concrete alternatives.

4 Final Considerations: The Future of Feeling

4.1 Restating the Thesis: A Structural Symptom, Not an Accident

The central thesis of this essay—that the planned obsolescence of emotions is not an accident, but a structural symptom of surveillance capitalism and the society of the spectacle—finds robust support in the convergence of sociological, philosophical, psychological, and neuroscientific analyses presented here.

Zuboff (2019, p. 8) shows that surveillance capitalism constitutes a “new economic order that claims human experience as free raw material for hidden commercial practices of extraction, prediction, and sales.” This system is not merely a digital version of earlier capitalism; it represents a qualitative mutation in which “the commodity is no longer what we produce, but ourselves—our behaviors, emotions, and relationships” (ZUBOFF, 2019, p. 94). The planned obsolescence of emotions is functional to this system: lasting, deep emotions are unpredictable and not quantifiable, therefore not monetizable. Ephemeral, superficial, standardized emotions are predictable, measurable, and marketable.

Debord (1967, p. 9) anticipated this dynamic by arguing that in the society of the spectacle, “everything that was directly lived has moved away into a representation.” He notes that “the spectacle is not a collection of images, but a social relation among people, mediated by images” (DEBORD, 1967, p. 4). On social media, this mediation reaches its peak: emotions are not lived, but performed for consumption. Emotional authenticity becomes impossible because every emotion is simultaneously experience and product—lived and displayed, felt and commercialized.

Fisher (2009, p. 16) synthesizes this condition through the concept of “capitalist realism”—“the widespread sense that there is no alternative to capitalism.” He argues that “it is easier to imagine the end of the world than the end of capitalism” (FISHER, 2009, p. 2). Applied to emotions, capitalist realism manifests in the naturalization of affective obsolescence: the inability to imagine ways of feeling that are not mediated, quantified, and monetized by digital platforms.

Berardi (2009, p. 73) complements this analysis by identifying “existential precariousness” as a structural condition of late capitalism. He notes that “the flexibility required by the labor market extends into the affective sphere, producing subjects incapable of establishing lasting commitments.” The planned obsolescence of emotions is therefore not a malfunction of the system, but its normal operation—the deliberate production of precarious, flexible, disposable subjectivities aligned with capital’s needs.

Foucault (2008, p. 232) provides conceptual tools to understand this process through the notion of “neoliberal governmentality”—forms of power that operate not through repression, but through the production of subjectivities. He argues that “neoliberalism is not merely an economic policy, but a rationality that structures the action of governors and the conduct of the governed” (FOUCAULT, 2008, p. 323). Under this rationality, each individual becomes an entrepreneur of the self, managing their “human capital”—including their “emotional capital”—according to criteria of efficiency and profitability.

The planned obsolescence of emotions is thus a manifestation of this governmentality: the internalization of market logic as the structure of subjectivity. We are not merely consumers of emotional products; we are producers of ourselves as disposable emotional products. As Han (2017, p. 9) notes, “love is degraded into a feeling that is consumed”—not by accident, but because that degradation is structurally necessary for the system’s reproduction.

This thesis is empirically confirmed by the deliberate architecture of digital platforms. As documented by Harris (2016), a former Google design-ethics specialist, “these technologies are not neutral; they are intentionally designed to maximize addiction.” Fogg (2003, p. 1) shows that captology—the science of computers as persuasive technologies—is an established field whose explicit objective is to “change people’s attitudes and behaviors in predictable ways.” The planned obsolescence of emotions is not a side effect; it is a design goal.

Therefore, we reaffirm with conviction: the planned obsolescence of emotions is a structural symptom, not an accident. It is a necessary manifestation of an economic system that depends on turning all human experience into marketable data, every relationship into a transaction, every emotion into a commodity. Recognizing this truth is the first step toward resisting it.

4.2 Final Reflections: Reprogramming Humanity as a Revolutionary Act

In light of this analysis, a fundamental ethical and philosophical question emerges: what future do we want for human feeling? The answer cannot be merely technical or individual; it requires structural transformation and collective commitment.

Marcuse (1964, p. 1) argued that we live under what he called a “one-dimensional society”—a social formation that eliminates reason’s critical dimension, the capacity to think and act differently. He notes that “the productive apparatus tends to become totalitarian to the extent that it determines not only socially necessary occupations, skills, and attitudes, but also individual needs and aspirations” (MARCUSE, 1964, p. 3). The planned obsolescence of emotions represents this totalization applied to subjectivity: the elimination of the capacity to feel differently.

However, Marcuse (1964, p. 257) also identified what he called the “Great Refusal”—the political refusal to accept the rules of the game. Applied to our context, this refusal means defending permanence and depth as revolutionary acts. This is not nostalgia or technophobia, but conscious resistance to the market colonization of human experience.

Fromm (1976, p. 1) provides philosophical grounding for this position by distinguishing between the “having mode” and the “being mode.” He argues that in contemporary society, the having mode dominates: people are defined by what they possess, not by what they are (FROMM, 1976, p. 25). The planned obsolescence of emotions is an extreme manifestation of having: emotions as possessions to be accumulated and discarded. Resistance implies cultivating the being mode—“a way of existing in which identity does not depend on having, but on being, relating, and creating” (FROMM, 1976, p. 87).

Arendt (1958, p. 7) adds another critical dimension by distinguishing between labor, work, and action. She argues that modernity progressively reduced human life to labor—the cyclical activity of production and consumption. Action—“the only activity that goes on directly between men without the intermediary of things” (ARENDT, 1958, p. 7)—is threatened with extinction. The planned obsolescence of emotions eliminates precisely this dimension: human relations not mediated by platforms, emotions not quantified by metrics. Defending emotional depth is therefore defending the possibility of action in the Arendtian sense.

Levinas (1961, p. 43) offers ethical grounding by arguing that “ethics is first philosophy”—prior to ontology or epistemology. He proposes that the fundamental ethical relation is the face-to-face encounter with the Other, who calls and constitutes me as a responsible subject. This relation requires full presence, sustained attention, and vulnerability—exactly what the attention economy makes impossible. As Levinas (1961, p. 78) notes, “the face of the Other commands me: ‘You shall not kill.’” But when the Other is reduced to a disposable profile, a quantified avatar, this ethical call becomes inaudible. Reclaiming emotional depth is reclaiming the possibility of ethics.

Ricoeur (1990, p. 202) proposes the concept of narrative identity as an anthropological foundation. He argues that the self cannot be thought without narrative detour—the capacity to tell and retell one’s own story, integrating diverse experiences into a meaningful whole. The fragmentation imposed by planned emotional obsolescence destroys this capacity, producing what he calls a “crisis of ipseity”—the inability to sustain a coherent identity over time. Defending emotional permanence is defending the possibility of being someone, not merely a succession of ephemeral states.

From the standpoint of collective mental health, the evidence is unequivocal. The World Health Organization (2022, p. 2) reports that “mental disorders increased by 13% in the last decade, with depression and anxiety as the leading causes of disability globally.” Although multi-causal, research correlates this increase with heavy use of digital technologies (TWENGE, 2017; PRIMACK et al., 2017). As Putnam (2000, p. 19) notes, we are living through a “decline in social capital”—the erosion of networks of trust and reciprocity that sustain healthy societies. Planned emotional obsolescence accelerates this decline by undermining the “strong ties” (GRANOVETTER, 1973) necessary for social cohesion.

The proposed reprogramming of humanity is not metaphorical, but literal. It entails deliberately redesigning the material, technological, and cultural conditions that structure emotional experience. This requires action across multiple dimensions:

• Individual dimension: practices of self-awareness (KABAT-ZINN, 1994), offline introspection (NEWPORT, 2019), deliberate cultivation of deep relationships (GOTTMAN; SILVER, 2015), valuing boredom and silence (KAGGE, 2017).

• Technological dimension: demanding ethical design from platforms (HARRIS, 2016), regulating surveillance capitalism (ZUBOFF, 2019), developing technologies that enhance rather than erode deep attention (CRAWFORD, 2015).

• Cultural dimension: resisting the tyranny of positivity (HAN, 2015), revaluing vulnerability (BROWN, 2012), cultivating emotional literacy (GOLEMAN, 1995) to discriminate complex emotional states.

• Political dimension: recognizing mental health as an issue of social justice, not merely individual responsibility (FISHER, 2009); demanding public policies that protect attention as a common good (WU, 2016); building institutionalized spaces of deceleration (ROSA, 2019).

• Educational dimension: training generations capable of deep attention (STIEGLER, 2010), not only hyperattention; teaching from childhood the art of conversation (TURKLE, 2015) and full presence.

Camus (1942, p. 123) wrote that “there is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide.” In the twenty-first century, we might reformulate: the only truly serious question is whether we will preserve the capacity to feel deeply. Because without that capacity, we lose not only psychological well-being, but the very conditions of possibility for a meaningful life.

The defense of permanence and emotional depth is therefore not sentimental conservatism, but an existential imperative. As Turkle (2015, p. 3) argues, “technology proposes an architecture for our intimacies, but it is we who must decide whether we accept that proposal.” The conscious refusal of this architecture—the insistence on cultivating emotions that cannot be quantified, relationships that cannot be optimized, experiences that cannot be monetized—constitutes a revolutionary act in the deepest sense: the affirmation of humanity against its reduction to an economic resource.

The future of feeling is not predetermined. As Feenberg (2002, p. 15) notes, “technology is not destiny, but a battlefield.” The battle to preserve emotional depth is, ultimately, the battle for the possibility of a human life worthy of the name. It is a battle we cannot afford to lose.

In Arendt’s words (1958, p. 247), “the miracle that saves the world […] is, in the last analysis, the fact of natality, in which the faculty of action is ontologically rooted.” Each generation is born with the capacity to begin something new, to break with structural determinations. Our historical task is to ensure that future generations are born into a world in which it is still possible to feel deeply, to love enduringly, to commit genuinely. That is the reprogramming humanity urgently needs.

What future will we build? It is not predetermined. It depends on collective choices and actions in the coming years and decades.

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