I almost admire the confidence it must take to tell people what to do online. But I long for the days when the internet wasn\u2019t just lists of bossy self-optimisation plans<\/p>\n
I may have found what will finally wean me off social media. It\u2019s this \u201cthings I\u2019ve learned\u201d trend. Take, for example, advice that will supposedly \u201cchange your brain chemistry\u201d, courtesy of someone who is definitely not a neuroscientist. Or \u201cmy nutrition rules\u201d, from a dewy, gen Alpha sylph who doesn\u2019t realise what they actually have is a teenager\u2019s metabolism. Or \u201c45 things you need to understand\u201d about a place from someone who has spent 45 minutes there. Endless lists of the bleeding obvious: eat intuitively, embrace nature, exercise compassion, remain curious, be childlike, contact friends, put down your phone, put your head in a blender.<\/p>\n
OK, not that last one, but it\u2019s how this stuff makes me feel. I don\u2019t know what to call it \u2013 expertise overload? Advice pollution? A bottomless pit of wisdom brain rot? \u2013 but authoritatively delivered life advice dominates what I see online, from Substack (the online home of cosy, bookish elders) to TikTok (the opposite). It\u2019s not just my algorithm or demographic: men, young people, pregnant people and new parents all get inundated with advice, albeit with different slants.<\/p>\n