I recently came across The Luddite Club co-founder Logan Lane’s speech at MoMA R&D Salon 48 entitled, “No More Likes” (via Alex Vadukul). Her closing message really resonated with me:

There’s a certain vulnerability unique to younger generations, having grown up digital natives. For the youth of today, the developmental experience has been polluted. It’s been cheapened. “Who am I?” becomes, “How do I appear?” A search for authenticity becomes a rejection of authenticity. 

We don’t all need to resort to the extreme measures of switching to flip phones or retreating to the wilderness, although I’d certainly support anyone who chooses to do so. Instead, let’s start with small, conscious, actions. Let’s commit to moments of screen-free interaction—especially in the presence of our children—perhaps adopting offline hobbies or venturing into a good book. For I am certain as we lift our gaze from our screens, we may find ourselves more connected than ever.

It reminded me of my own teenage years, and how intertwined those two questions were for me. At the time, my own developmental experience was influenced as well—by early social networks like AsianAvenue, ZuuP, and DeviantArt, as well as instant messaging platforms like MSN Messenger and ICQ. 

This relatively early era of social networks felt like having fun with small groups of people. It was through these things that I discovered myself a little more. 

I remembered seeing a kid at church just a year older than me, really decking out his AsianAvenue profile page. I’d just quickly walked by, and I remembered the glimpse of his profile as having news on it, and embedding a game. I felt very impressed. “How did he do that?” I didn’t know him well enough to ask, and I felt very curious. 

I knew that this was the realm of the computer geek, but I didn’t worry too much about appearing like one. I wasn’t screaming it from the top of my lungs or broadcasting to all of my friends. Some of my friends even knew how to use HTML, and I even wrote up computer hardware reviews for my cousin’s website. That was some of my first writing published online, ever.

This type of search enabled me to just explore technology a little bit more. I remember the first time I figured out how to put an MP4 file onto my little Sony Ericsson w600i, which had very little storage space. I put some really compressed episodes of The Simpsons on there, as well as some music videos. 

While I did that for my own entertainment, it turns out my friends were all very impressed for a couple of years. Then the iPod Video came out, and putting videos on your device became very mainstream—but by then, I’d figured out how to play Gameboy games on it (through Rockbox). 

So in its own way, technology did find its way into my identity—but I would say it was very intrinsically motivated. It was all pointless, and that was the point. It didn’t feel polluting at all. I did these fun little tech explorations, I frittered around on social networks, I played video games, and I started some blogs.

For me, the pollution that Logan’s talking about started after Facebook. There was an etiquette—pressure—to add not just close friends, but also acquaintances there. If you had a lot of friends, you were considered popular. If you published a photo with a lot of Likes and Comments, then you would experience a high from the validation. You could also get to know a lot about someone without even meeting them—through looking at their profiles, wall-to-walls, and the photos they were tagged in. And they could get to know a lot about you. 

In some ways, I’m fortunate that it came during my teenager years—not before—or having that be my only experience of technology. Facebook was relatively tame until I got to college. I could clearly feel the pollution though, and I would need to make my own rules with social media—like not checking Facebook until 6pm. 

I am also fortunate that I enrolled in a philosophy class during my senior year of high school, which really prompted me to explore authenticity and what it meant to be me. I wonder if one response to Logan’s inquiry is to create more of these classes. I don’t think this would have worked as a mandatory class though—it worked well because every student made the choice to enroll.

The pollution of technology is a choice. It feels ubiquitous, but it’s not. You can always choose to give it up.

You can choose to do other things. Walk around your neighborhood, maybe without headphones. Practice being bored. Write and draw stuff. Read. Do more things that make you feel curious and energized, and fewer things for the sole purpose of making more money or gaining prestige.

Be mindful of these practices, and let yourself be guided by who you are—not what you appear to be.