‘Perhaps the only thing that will break the cycle of social media addiction isn’t an elaborate law, but the basic shame of transparency.’ Illustration: Fortunate Joaquin/The Guardian View image in fullscreen ‘Perhaps the only thing that will break the cycle of social media addiction isn’t an elaborate law, but the basic shame of transparency.’ Illustration: Fortunate Joaquin/The Guardian Opinion Parents and parenting Social media bans are trending. But it’s too late for my son and me Dave Schilling We’re both addicted to our screens. But at least we’re watching together – it’s dystopian bonding for the modern age
T ry as I might, I think there’s no saving my son from modern technology. It’s ubiquitous, seductive and deeply ingrained in every aspect of middle-class life. Worse yet, I’m also addicted. When do I not have my iPhone out, desperately scrolling through a suite of apps, hoping they’ll offer me some manner of comfort from the security of my living room couch? Hours go by as I’m practically begging someone to notice me on Instagram, while he’s skipping from brainrot videos to basketball tutorials on our internet-connected TV. Ten years ago, I might have witnessed a scene like that and thought it was a sign of the end times. We’ve lost our way so much as a culture that a parent and a child can be simultaneously subsumed by screens, barely noticing the other person . But at some point, everyone realizes that the battle is lost. This is just how it is.
In spite of that grim diagnosis, Keir Starmer – who turned snatching defeat from the jaws of victory his personal brand – has made this losing battle a signature issue. This week, the British prime minister announced a comprehensive ban on social media for children under the age of 16 . That includes Instagram, Facebook, TikTok, X, Snapchat and YouTube (though not the kids’ version ). The ban is modeled on one currently deployed in Australia, which has holes wide enough to drive a fleet of vintage Sherman tanks through. Teenagers in Australia are finding ways around their ban already, and of course they are. When I was 15, if I wanted a six-pack of Budweiser or some of those tiny airplane liquor bottles, I could figure it out.
The UK will try the policy anyway, swearing that their social media ban is tougher. “Australia-plus”, as it was described by Starmer, like it’s an esoteric streaming service that only shows rugby and Crocodile Dundee movies. We must applaud the attempt, even if it’s plainly quixotic. Restrictions on underage drinking and cigarettes might not prevent every kid from picking up a bad habit, but what would it say about our society if we didn’t bother trying? Still, I’m fully aware that keeping my kid off social media until the day he turns 16 is about as likely as him reading the entirety of James Joyce’s Ulysses. First of all, he hasn’t even started yet. Second, he’s reading at a third-grade level. Because he’s in third grade.
I suppose I could model better behavior for him. I could put my phone away. I could drag him outside for an aimless walk. I could force him into some elaborate arts-and-crafts project that I will then have to clean up after he’s done. Maybe we could pretend to be fairies in the forest and sprinkle invisible pixie dust on each other? We could, but I don’t want to do any of those things. I want to share this clip from La Dolce Vita on my Stories. What if a beautiful woman likes it and messages me? Oh, wouldn’t that be a fine thing?
Of cour…