It’s just another day. I open Instagram the way one opens a fridge, out of habit, not hunger. I’m not looking for anything in particular. I’m just here.
The first reel pops up. It’s that trend where people mix different colors and then dress up based on the final palette. Soft music, clean cuts, outfits laid out neatly on a bed. It’s harmless. I’ve seen a dozen versions already, but I still watch the whole thing.
I scroll.
The next reel is abrupt. A shaky clip shows armed officials discharging a weapon as people shout off-screen. I don’t know the full context, and the caption doesn’t explain much, but it’s clearly real. I pause for a second longer than usual. Then my thumb moves again.
I scroll.
Now it’s a clip from Brooklyn Nine-Nine. Suspects stand in a lineup, singing “I Want It That Way.” I’ve seen this episode before, but it still works. I smile. A proven palate cleanser.
I scroll.
The next reel is about a place in crisis. There are damaged buildings and faces filled with exhaustion. There’s text on the screen trying to explain what’s happening, but it’s brief. The video ends before I really know what to do with it.
Then the next reel loads. This isn’t a shocking sequence anymore. It’s just what my feed looks like.
On social media, everything gets treated the same way. A makeup video, a child being detained by so-called ‘authority’, a funny TV show clip, footage from a war zone — they’re all just reels. Same format, same length, and the same scrolling motion. There’s no visual difference in how they’re presented, even though there’s a massive difference in what they represent. And when everything is shown the same way, over and over again, your reaction starts to flatten. You don’t panic. You don’t sit with it. You just absorb it and move on.
I think this adjustment happens slowly. One day, you realize that something that would have shaken you a few years ago barely stops your scroll now. You feel a flicker of discomfort, maybe even guilt, and then it passes. Not because the situation isn’t serious, but because your brain has learned how to keep going.
It’s easier that way. There’s homework to do, messages to reply to, and real life happening around you at the same time. You can’t fully process every awful thing you see online, especially when it’s sandwiched between entertainment. So you adapt.
Somewhere along the way, this becomes what desensitization looks like. It’s not indifference or cruelty. It’s just familiarity. We still know what we’re seeing is wrong, or sad, or disturbing. It still registers, but it just doesn’t stop us the way it used to. The shock wears off faster, and the pause gets shorter. It isn’t that we’ve stopped caring; it’s just that now caring exists alongside everything else on the feed. We acknowledge it, feel a brief heaviness, and then keep scrolling, because that’s what the platform trains us to do. It’s not a conscious choice. It’s routine.
This is what social media looks like now. Everything exists side by side, with no emotional hierarchy and an eventual lack of empathy. Cute trends sit next to violence. Sitcom jokes sit next to real suffering. And most of the time, we take it in without really thinking about how strange that is. It’s not dramatic. It’s not shocking anymore. It’s just another day of scrolling.
And maybe that’s the part worth noticing — not in a big, overwhelming way, but quietly. Just acknowledging how easily we move from one thing to the next, and how much of the world we consume without ever really stopping. Because now, everything is only one scroll apart.