A Digital Stockholm Syndrome

On January 9, 2007, Steve Jobs introduced the world to the iPhone, calling it “revolutionary and magical.” What he failed to mention was that this new technology would ruin our lives and our society. I’ve witnessed how this single product morphs the lives of individuals: sucking them in, charming them, nagging them, and eventually hijacking them. And even I, who recognized the harm of smartphones, fell victim to the dubious ways of this beautiful monster we call an iPhone.?

It all started with a phone-free rule my parents implemented: no phones – of any kind – until you turn 18.

For the first ten years of my life, the rule didn’t really affect me. My peers didn’t own anything more than an iPod Touch, so we were left, forced to use our creativity. We created fantastical worlds, operated lemonade stands, and explored secret corners of Seattle on our bikes.?

When I entered middle school, though, everything changed. Suddenly, it felt like everyone I knew had a sleek new phone. Teachers began reminding us to put our phones away before class started, group chats teeming with gossip formed, and the high score on Subway Surfers became a measurement of popularity. Each year, I increasingly felt excluded from the social culture of middle school (and eventually high school) as more and more of my peers got iPhones.

As you can imagine, the battles over a phone were incessant between my parents and me. I begged, negotiated, pleaded, and whined; they never gave in.?

I did, however, reap the many benefits that came from being outside this cultural phenomenon. I was spared addicting games that prevented work, viral nude photos, and comparing myself to others on Instagram. I learned to feel comfortable in the present with my own thoughts when I waited for friends to return from the bathroom at a restaurant. I became unafraid to ask strangers for directions when I couldn’t find my way.

Above all, I learned how to connect with others in a way that feels increasingly rare – through authentic, face-to-face conversations. No filters, no carefully curated texts or emojis— just real, unfiltered communication.

Nevertheless, the day I turned 18, I headed to the Apple store to buy my first phone. Intent on not becoming addicted to my device, I set rules for myself, including prohibiting any social media apps or games. At first, I was mesmerized by the foreign device. I would slide my thumb across the different home screens, incredulous that this was?my?phone. The ding of a new notification always startled me, but I would shove my hand into my pocket, eager to see who was trying to ping me. I grew accustomed to the comforting feeling of having a rigid rectangle snug in my pocket. New apps – Instagram, Snapchat, Candy Crush, and Clash Royal – snuck their way onto my phone.?

Now, my phone has successfully hijacked my life. As I walk through Cross Campus, the AirPods screaming music into my ears stifle the sound of friends’ greetings. While I once relished my mind running amuck, the constant pressure to be in contact has plagued my liberty. Each day, when I leave my dorm, I pat my pockets, checking for my AirPods and iPhone, my only necessities. When I misplace my phone, instead of emancipation, it’s torment – a digital Stockholm Syndrome.?

In many ways, I’m more isolated than ever before. This time, not from culture but reality.

While I understand that some people believe phones are indispensable tools for communication and convenience, it’s clear that a product meant to enhance our lives has instead conquered them. More than half of Americans (56.9%) now consider themselves addicted to their phones (NYT), and it’s evident everywhere – step outside and count how many people you see lost in their screens or headphones. In fact, the average American is bombarded with 237 notifications per day, roughly 15 every waking hour (Haidt). We’ve become so attached that some people are even choosing to be buried with their phones (Hoffmann).

We live in a device dictatorship that claims to promote connection but has paradoxically transformed our society into a disconnected dystopia.

I fear that as technology progresses, we will fall further and further into this existence. Our devices will administer our limited social interactions. Our faces won’t be bowed down to our phones anymore; they’ll be in them as we explore and populate the metaverse. Our lives will slowly become obsolete until we’re merely analog assistants in a virtual world. Sounds fun.

And yet, there’s hope. If we want to reclaim our lives, we need to start small: put down your phone. For a week, a day, or even just for a few hours. Go on an adventure without it. Enjoy dinner without its distractions. Have a conversation free from the nagging thought of who just texted you.

The iPhone may have revolutionized the world, but it also hijacked it.?

It’s time to disconnect to reconnect.