The ancient Greek myth of Pandora’s Box often tells of a woman’s curiosity unleashing suffering, sickness, and death upon humanity.
However, another fascinating interpretation suggests the box originally held virtues like trust, grace, and restraint. In this version, these positive attributes escaped and ascended to Mount Olympus, leaving humankind to struggle without them.
Perhaps this ancient tale explains why, millennia later, we still find ourselves drawn to captivating digital ‘boxes’ – our smartphones – which promise endless delights, novel experiences, or simply another viral recipe.
Whether it’s an inherited human trait, destiny, or the sophisticated algorithms of platforms like Instagram and TikTok, these digital experiences are expertly crafted to keep us perpetually scrolling, tapping, and refreshing, seeking that instant gratification of a like or comment.
What began as a simple way to connect with friends on social media has evolved into a personal struggle for control. Many individuals are now resorting to extreme measures, both physical and financial, to reclaim their lives from their increasingly dominant devices.
Ironically, this ‘phone-free’ movement itself has gained traction online, transforming into a new form of social currency.
Consider the ‘Brick,’ a novel gadget that lets users temporarily disable specific phone apps by tapping their device against a small plastic square. (The term ‘bricked’ traditionally refers to a phone rendered unusable, and this device plays on that concept.) To unlock these apps, another tap on the $60 Brick is required. Similarly, apps like Opal offer ‘deep focus sessions’ to block distractions, costing $99.99 annually.
Beyond individual efforts, parents and educators are also fighting back. Across the U.S., schools are banning cellphones, with some districts even investing millions in lockable pouches to ensure students remain undistracted during class.
Yet, adults are uniquely positioned to self-impose these digital ‘time-outs.’ Many readily acknowledge the somewhat absurd lengths they’ve gone to lately in their quest to resist their devices’ magnetic pull.
Last summer, Tiffany Ng, creator of the ‘Cyber Celibate’ newsletter, literally chained her phone to a wall in her home using an old belt and a coat hook for an entire week.
Ms. Ng, 25, explained her setup, including an uncomfortable rattan stool, was an attempt to recreate the fixed position of an old landline phone. She shared on her Substack that she soon discovered ‘doomscrolling is most tempting when you’re lying down.’
Why We’re Investing in Digital Freedom
Our bond with phones wasn’t always this tense. Past solutions for moderation were surprisingly simple, even quaint. Back in 2016, media figure Arianna Huffington famously sold a miniature $100 bed, encouraging people to symbolically ‘tuck in’ their devices for the night.
Many of us have tried basic tricks: switching phone screens to grayscale to dull their allure, or glancing at Apple and Android’s screen time reports. Yet, these often prove fleeting. Even app-specific time limits are notoriously easy to bypass.
This shift from the initial excitement of constant cellphone connectivity and social media buzz to a widespread sense of anxiety is a strikingly recent phenomenon.
Just a decade ago, social platforms primarily displayed content from your actual friends. It was conceivable to reach the end of your feed, exhaust the day’s posts on Instagram and then, having nothing left to view, put your phone down.
Today, however, the ‘infinite scroll’ — driven by sophisticated algorithms that often prioritize content from strangers — has the power to trap us in a perpetual loop.
A 2024 Pew Research Center survey revealed that approximately four out of ten U.S. adults, and a majority of those under 30, admit to being on their phones ‘almost constantly.’ This is a significant increase from 2015, when only 21 percent reported similar usage.
Ava Pumpelly, a marketing professional in Washington, D.C., recognized her phone habits had turned unhealthy during the pandemic. As a high school senior in early 2020, with online classes still unorganized, hours of scrolling became alarmingly easy.
Ms. Pumpelly, now 23, recalled feeling there was ‘nothing really to do other than, like, doom scroll and watch TV.’
These patterns persisted through college, where she struggled with focus, and continued post-graduation.
Admitting openly, Ms. Pumpelly stated, ‘I’m not ashamed to say that I for sure have an addiction to my phone.’
To combat her social media temptation during productive hours, she now uses a Brick. Its magnetic design allows her to affix her phone to her refrigerator. Working remotely, Ms. Pumpelly sometimes ‘bricks’ her phone before heading to a cafe. The physical journey back home is her deterrent to re-accessing distracting apps.
She noted that this physical separation helps, even just being in a different room.
With a laugh, Ms. Pumpelly confessed, ‘I live in the smallest little apartment in D.C. I’m so lazy that, like, just walking to the fridge is enough to keep me from unbricking.’
Brooklyn-based newsletter writer Erika Veurink, known for her free and low-cost offline living tips such as reading physical books, wearing a watch, and sending snail mail, has also embraced the Brick. She’s been ‘bricking’ her phone every weekend for months.
Veurink acknowledges the irony of purchasing a device to prevent using another device she already owns, but finds the financial investment itself to be a powerful motivator.
She candidly admitted, ‘To be honest, I would have paid $500 for it because I am so desperate for something that works to get me off my phone. What attracted me was the idea that paying a bit of money ‘puts some skin in the game’ for me.’
Veurink also considers other costly activities, like Pilates or a facial, as offering the ‘unexpected luxury’ of an hour-long, phone-free reprieve.
The Perils of ‘Trendy’ Digital Detoxes
With growing concerns about smartphone overuse, analog tools are morphing into trendy alternatives, almost status symbols. Their often hefty price tags communicate a sense of self-discipline and control, making them fashionable statements.
Ms. Veurink observes that the Brick often appears in popular ‘what’s in my bag’ online content.
This trend isn’t entirely organic; companies like Brick are actively engaging in influencer marketing. Some users, while not quoted directly in this article, mentioned that after sharing positive reviews, Brick approached them to license their videos for advertisements. (Notably, Ms. Veurink clarified she bought her device and has no commercial ties with the brand.)
Kirsten Young, Brick’s Vice President of Marketing, explained via email, ‘When we observe such genuine enthusiasm, we occasionally opt to amplify those posts, extending their reach and perspective to a broader audience.’
It’s not a new phenomenon for activities celebrated for their offline nature – like reading a book, writing a letter, or ‘touching grass’ – to be co-opted and transformed into content for the relentless social media machine.
Instagram posts showcasing ‘bricking’ or TikToks praising ‘dumbphones’ (basic cellphones reminiscent of early flip phones) have drawn scrutiny. In an era where social media users are highly sensitive to anything deemed ‘performative’ – a popular buzzword – these digital detox trends sometimes raise questions about authenticity.
However, some experts warn of a genuine risk associated with the trendiness of these digital detaching devices.
Caitlin Begg, founder of Authentic Social, a research lab studying sociology and technology, views tools like Brick and the Opal app as components of a broader ‘analog ecosystem.’ However, she worries that the ‘analog movement is increasingly being perceived as an upper-class trend.’
Speaking from her 1980s landline phone, bought on eBay, Ms. Begg, 31, expressed concern that many digital detoxes and temporary phone restraints merely address symptoms rather than tackling the underlying issues of smartphone dependence.
She explained, ‘They’re effective for short periods, but once unlocked, the hyperconnectivity returns.’ Begg also advised against ‘ascribing morality to screen time,’ suggesting a more nuanced approach.
Ms. Begg concluded, ‘I do wish that we could reframe it a little bit because it’s a little more complicated than that.’
Ms. Ng, the ‘Cyber Celibate’ writer, believes that choosing to abstain from phone use can be ‘easily romanticized.’
Her TikTok post about her chained phone garnered unexpected interest, with many asking how to create their own restraints. She candidly discussed the challenge of using social media to advocate for real-world presence, acknowledging the potential for her content to be seen as ‘performative.’
Nevertheless, Ng found that sharing her efforts connected her with others who shared similar goals. It seems that discussing the act of going offline has become, ironically, a prominent online conversation.
Yet, not everyone requires a physical deterrent. Gregorios Thomas, 23, from Valley Cottage, N.Y., noticed in December that his happiest and most self-aware moments were those spent offline: reading, exercising, and meditating.
He opted for a temporary phone abstinence, not a complete technology ban. He still used his family’s desktop computer and landline. Working two jobs (insurance and a movie theater), Mr. Thomas informed his employers that email or in-person communication during work hours would be best. He maintained contact with friends via Discord and spoke with his sister by phone occasionally.
Thomas found the initial days ‘shocking,’ realizing how habitually he carried his phone everywhere. What started as a two-week challenge extended to a full month, proving to be a highly productive period for him.
Regarding his method, Mr. Thomas emphasized that he felt no app or extra device was necessary to keep himself away from his phone.
His simple solution? He turned it off and put it in a box.