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By Matthew Fusillo
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A year ago, I did what some people my age might consider somewhere between unusual and unthinkable: I logged off social media and didn’t look back. No Instagram, no Facebook, no X, no Snapchat. I’m a Gen Zer—a member of the first generation to grow up entirely inside these platforms—so walking away felt like swimming against the tide. After all, a Harris Poll showed that about 60% of my generation uses social media for four or more hours a day.
To be clear about the terms: I excluded LinkedIn and YouTube, which I use for work and education, and I’ve never been on TikTok. Everything else went dark for 12 months. No posting, no scrolling, no metrics, no feed.
I’ve never been a heavy social media user, and I’ve taken breaks before—but none like this.
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For the first few days, I’d reach for my phone to open an app that wasn’t there anymore. That muscle memory was my first observation: It’s so easy to open these apps without even realizing it and lose time scrolling.
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I began doing daily tasks differently, like going to the gym without headphones in, commuting without a podcast queued up, and waking up without checking my phone right away. Without a screen to escape into, I found myself sitting with my thoughts instead, and ultimately embracing the boredom. It felt strange at first, then routine, then something I started to look forward to.
Within a week or two, I stopped reaching. I began to notice how common it is for someone to be on their phone during short tasks like standing in line at the store or waiting for the light to turn at the crosswalks—automatically scrolling to fill the void.
Social media, at its core, is a metrics game. How many followers do I have? How many likes will I get? Who viewed my story? Those questions had been unconsciously running in the back of my mind constantly, but I didn’t realize that until they were gone.
I began to go through my day without having to think about these numbers. No checking, no calculating, no quietly wondering why a post didn’t land the way I expected. That mental space, it turns out, is significant. I hadn’t known it was occupied until it was free.
With that space back, my thinking felt less fragmented. Ideas connected in ways they hadn’t when my attention was partly somewhere else. I noticed myself thinking more clearly, more originally—solving problems and enhancing creativity instead of scrolling.
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It wasn’t all effortless, though: I realized that, without social media, staying in touch with people required greater intention. I prioritized making phone calls and sending messages that went beyond a reaction emoji. I asked people how they were doing and waited for a real answer, outside of the social media feed.
I found myself genuinely curious about what the people in my life were up to—far more than I ever was while scrolling—and far less focused on broadcasting my own story.
I’d worried about FOMO going in—the fear of missing something someone said or posted. But eventually I realized that if something truly mattered to someone I cared about, they would reach out directly. What I’d been calling “keeping up” was really something closer to surveillance—monitoring the highlight reels of people I barely knew.
I’ve traveled a lot this year. Concerts, new cities, long dinners, places I’ve never been. Sure, the thought of posting these adventures crossed my mind. But not once did I feel a true conviction to log in and share any of it.
About 10 months into my experiment, I was at Death Valley National Park during sunset and the bright stars began to slowly appear as the sun dipped below the horizon and the distant sky grew darker. I wasn’t distracted by composing a caption or tracking who viewed my story. I was just enjoying the attraction. This moment—along with many others—sticks out when I look back over the past year.
Previously, when something good happened, I would reach for my phone, take a dozen photos to find the best one, think about the caption before the moment was even finished, post it, then keep checking. What started as a meaningful experience became content to manage.
This year, my experiences stayed as experiences. And I realized I liked it better that way.
There is something clarifying about watching the world from outside a habit you’ve always been inside. On the train, in stadiums, at restaurants—I’ve really noticed how many people are physically present but somewhere else entirely. Slouched, scrolling through someone else’s photos while their own moment unfolds around them.
I’m not interested in judging the way many of my peers use social media. But stepping outside of those norms changed what I paid attention to. I found myself more curious about the people around me, more present in conversations, more interested in what was right in front of me.
I’ve spent time thinking about how my relationship with these platforms will look going forward. There is value in social media, when used with intention—staying in touch with distant friends, sharing milestones. That’s not nothing.
But my baseline has shifted. I know what it feels like to have my time back, to free up space in my mind. I also have a better understanding of the addictive nature of social media platforms—in a way I couldn’t when I was tied to them. These apps are engineered to capture attention. Understanding that is what made stepping away feel less like a sacrifice and more like a relief.
So even if I do download one of these apps again, I hope I’ll remember the sunset and stars I watched without feeling the need to reach for my phone—and that the best moments don’t always need to be shared.
Matthew Fusillo manages Newsweek's Readers' Choice Awards, spotlighting brands and products that people trust. Off social media, Matthew spends time outdoors, playing tennis and reading.
All views expressed in this article are the author's own.
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