"life's meaningless" - and that's what makes it fun! - Author of "The Loving Victims" and "wild fragile little things" - https://spacehey.com/lee_firefly
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There is a Hidden Beauty in Boredom: How Humans Refuse the Ordinary
How we occupy our time can define us. How we use our social media and what apps you visit while riding the bus has been a part of our lives ever since mobile phones were widely used by humanity. Technology has progressed rapidly since its first conception, information has been very accessible, communication is just a tap away, and entertainment have been a part of the different aspects of our lives that we face every single day. From your doomscrolling, to bedrotting, and ultimately to your very own work. Content nowadays is not just found in our TVs anymore, a swipe in your phone can take up hours unexpectedly, but the problem is that often times the half of the content youâve seen from an hour ago is not as meaningful as you stare into a scenery while reflecting upon your life.
This includes the algorithmic apps that have been the go-to source of dopamine in the majority of our time. Of course it will be everywhere, it is efficient, it is fun, it is convenient that a movement of your finger can make you laugh or amused. Social media have connected all of us, it is nice to think about it how connected we all are, but is that connection sufficient to make you into who you are right now? Can we truly say that the things we have watched can define us? Are we the jealousy upon the photogenic influencers? Are we the happiness in the fleeting trends of dance challenges? Are we the inspiration behind the growing numbers of AI artists? Who are we without a community to follow? Who are you without the endless source of entertainment?
We have to face the harsh truth in this world that our attention have been someone elseâs, it is reviewed by algorithm, manipulated by content, controlled by ads, and maintained by profit, everything for these companies thrive upon our own feelings and opinions. That attention is the seed of self-examination and the starting point of human creation. It is as luxurious as your time. Yet our boredom and the emptiness in our spare time are chosen to be sealed in short surface content, the short attention is now becoming the ordinary. We are now ignorant to the challenge of sitting down with boredom, and sitting down with critical thinking, the one skill of human nature that is caused by the space of our minds when we can finally focus into something. As ironic as it sounds, boredom is the key to productivity, it is the gateway to passion, and the hand in creation.
I have always questioned myself as to why I kept falling onto pits of doomscrolling despite trying to create a routine and discipline for myself. When I was in highschool before the existence of algorithm and generative A.I, I was truly capable of writing hours and hours of a novel that I had deleted. And when I found the shallow joy in vertical content like how most of social medias are today, I found that I lost that spark, I lost that focus, I lost that power to create. But looking back now, Iâve finally known that the scarcity of my activities, the lack of storage in my old phone, the lack of overwhelming digital influences and everything in-between was the reason of my driving power to write. It was all boredom.
Boredom is not synonymous to laziness as people might assume. It is actually a powerful tool of rebellion against what has been established for a long time. It occurs when nothing is new, when everything is predictable, and when life has been very dull to its core. I felt it when I suddenly chose to read a random blog instead of doomscrolling, when I felt bored of what Iâm reading that I want to create something that will excite me, knowing that if I just went back to doomscrolling Iâll just be distracted again over and over. The ability of humans to be bored and the talent we have to embrace it is the cause of how we question our life, asking âwhat if itâs not just this?â, like philosophers back then filling their lives in questions.
So, when youâre using your phone and you find yourself rotting in the mindless and endless entertainment, when you feel like an old man waiting for new numbers in bingo, and when you feel like waiting in a long queue of bus stop, it is important to recognize in yourself that you are truly âboredâ. That thereâs clichĂŠ in every new celebrity news, that thereâs a pattern in trends, that thereâs a loop in your doomscrolling to countless brainrots. And when you feel that boredom, I need you to embrace it, I need you to sit uncomfortably with it, I need you to make it feel like a stranger have sat with you in a bench while looking out into the sunset. Then, youâll look at that stranger, youâll know they are approachable despite the awkwardness, youâll see that they seem kind despite their sudden actions, youâll think of words to say or not to say, youâll expect scenarios of what happens when you ignore them or talk to them, that you canât help it but to recognize them. That they are there, sitting with you, enjoying the sunset.
Boredom is not synonymous to laziness, it is actually more related to âwornnessâ. That you are tired of the way things have been, either in your own personal actions or in the world around you. That you are exhausted of the same old thing happening leading to nothing. And you will use that boredom to create something, it is force you to face your own self, and realize that as humans, we have always been capable of anything. Isnât it more fun to truly experience the passion of creation and exploration? Isnât it more interesting to fail and grow and enjoy the journey of self-development? Isnât it more nice to live knowing that you have used your time for something that matters?
The expectations of society should never matter for someone who is truly bored. So create that art, write those thoughts down, feel that boredom in your soul, and be human once and for all.
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The Cart Is Always Full: Consumerism, Addictive Buying, and the Slow Erasure of the Things We Once Loved to Do
You bought the guitar. It leans against the bedroom wall, still in its original tuning, untouched for eleven months. One afternoon you buy a better one. This is not a story about laziness. It is a description of a system working exactly as intended.
The rupture between wanting things and doing things did not arrive as a sudden break. It accumulated, over decades, with the quiet participation of every billboard and every algorithm and every limited-time offer ever lettered in red. The object took the place of the act. Owning displaced becoming. Capitalism, which requires you to buy the next thing before the last thing has worn through, profits from every guitar against every wall.
What follows is an accounting of what that arrangement costs. The money is considerable. But the bill that rarely gets tallied arrives in subtler currency: the afternoon hours that went to browsing instead of making, the skill that never grew because the gear arrived before the practice could, the person you were capable of becoming before you learned to shop as a replacement for living.
The Machine That Needs You Wanting
Thorstein Veblen put a name to it in 1899. He called it conspicuous consumption: buying carried out not for use, but for display. The coat that signals you own a coat worth remarking on. The car that tells the street you earn enough to drive that one. Veblen studied the leisure class of Gilded Age America and concluded that their purchases were social credentials wearing the costume of practical decisions. He could not have foreseen the apparatus that would eventually distribute this behavior across every income level, every Tuesday afternoon, every late-night scroll through an app that already knows what you want before you ask.
The Industrial Revolution produced goods faster than people required them. Manufacturers arrived at a genuine impasse: supply had outrun demand. The answer was not to slow the machines. The answer was to manufacture desire itself. As documented in the MasterClass overview of consumerism, post-World War II spending on homes, appliances, and furniture climbed by 240 percent, as industries rebuilt their entire pitch around tying purchasing to identity, aspiration, and emotional need. Planned obsolescence followed as the logical instrument: build the product to break, or build the cultural conviction that last year's version marks you as a person who has slipped behind.
Academia.edu researchers argue the point without softening: capitalism promotes a cycle of continual buying through planned obsolescence, where the craving for novelty systematically strips products and cultural practices of their worth before anyone has fully used them. The machine runs on permanent, low-grade yearning. Satisfaction would kill it. The whole construction requires that the thing you just bought stays just short of enough.
Your Brain Was Not Designed for This
The craving is not a character defect. It is physiology being worked against its owner. Neuroscientific research confirms that shopping triggers dopamine release in the nucleus accumbens and the ventral tegmental area, the same reward circuitry that activates in response to substances with well-catalogued dependency profiles. When dopamine retreats after a purchase, the brain logs a deficit and reaches for the cue that will restore it. The next product becomes that cue. The feedback loop sustains itself.
A 2023 Deloitte study canvassing over 114,000 respondents found that nearly 80 percent had made at least one purchase in the preceding month with the explicit aim of lifting their mood. Forty-two percent of those people said they could not afford the purchase. They bought regardless. The relief arrived, real enough, for a few hours. Then it retreated. The wanting came back. And the cycle Mary Schmich described in the Chicago Tribune in 1986 kept turning: a country measuring its life in shopping bags, treating its troubles through retail.
Ole Bjerg's analysis in the Ephemera Journal lays the mechanism bare: the compulsive buyer differs from the ordinary consumer in degree, not in kind. The compulsive buyer is an amplified version of what the ordinary consumer already is. As Bjerg writes, the ordinary capitalist consumer enjoys the commodity at a level low enough to stay perpetually unsatisfied, reliably reproducing her appetite for more. The entire architecture operates on managed disappointment. The system does not want you ruined. It wants you close to satisfied, every day, for the rest of your life.
A 2022 study by Northwestern University psychologist Galen V. Bodenhausen, published in Psychological Science, found that simple exposure to images of luxury goods or purchasing-oriented words pushed participants toward negative emotional states and social withdrawal, independent of personality. The buying mindset, once switched on, yields measurable depression and retreat from other people. The invitation to spend, arriving constantly, costs even those who resist it.
The Rat Park That Never Gets Built
In the 1970s, psychologist Bruce Alexander ran what came to be called the Rat Park experiment. Rats held in bare, solitary cages, offered the choice between plain water and morphine-laced water, chose the morphine compulsively. Alexander then placed a separate cohort in an enriched enclosure with room to move, other rats for company, objects to investigate, and adequate food. Those rats, presented with the same choice, left the drugged water largely alone. Same species. Same chemical. What changed was whether the environment gave them something genuinely worth doing.
The parallel to human buying behavior is not a loose metaphor. It is the actual structure of the problem. Writing for Substack in January 2026, analyst ixcarus argues that the contemporary built environment, drained of walkable neighborhoods, communal gathering spaces, and anything between the workplace and home besides a chain store, operates as a deliberate enclosure. The strip mall and the parking lot and the grey concrete stretching to the horizon: the design is purposeful. The environment gets built to make buying feel like the sole available form of relief.
Maria Petropoulou, interviewed by Street Roots in 2018, described the particular sensation with precision: 'At the instant of the purchase, I felt completeness, joy, euphoria.' A spike. Then a return to prior feeling. Then the reach for the next purchase. Researcher Ellaine Laville, in the same piece, stated the findings plainly: people who assign heavy worth to buying are nearly always less content. Their self-regard runs lower. Their relationships deteriorate. Their exposure to depression, antisocial tendencies, and psychological disorder increases. The objects accumulate. The life the objects were purchased to furnish keeps deferring.
The Hobby That Became a Shopping Category
Hobbies were, across most of recorded human time, things people did with whatever materials they already had, skills they assembled through repetition, hours they spent producing rather than acquiring. Painting required a few tubes of pigment and then months of painting badly until the work grew better. Fishing required a rod, a line, a hook, and a body of water. The act was the whole point.
Capitalism identified, at some juncture in the latter twentieth century, that hobbies are a latent purchase. Every activity calls for equipment. Every interest has a premium iteration of that equipment. Every beginner can be made to feel that entry-level materials are their obstacle, that the genuine version of the hobby waits on the other side of owning the correct gear. Writer Jahnvi Borgohain, reporting for Medium in July 2025, notes that manufacturers market hobby equipment not for its functional properties but for its capacity to project an image of seriousness and skill. You are buying the visible proof that you are the kind of person who pursues this with dedication.
The Appalachian student newspaper reported in September 2025 that buying has absorbed the role of the hobby itself, displacing the activity it was nominally supporting. Blind-box collectibles, limited-run vinyl releases, rotating capsule fashion drops: these products carry no function beyond the transaction. Dopamine fires at the moment of purchase. The object, once in hand, loses its charge within hours. What replaces it is the next release scheduled for the following week, and the algorithm already has your number.
Writer Tron, inspecting his own accumulation habits for Medium in August 2025, tallied more than ninety unread books in his pile, over a hundred and fifty unplayed games tagged on Steam, dozens of unwatched discs gathering film on the shelf. He keeps buying. He worked through the honest reasons and arrived at the speed of platform culture, where excitement ignites and extinguishes faster than any single item can be properly engaged with. The heap is the sediment of a reward circuit that fires on acquisition and goes dark the instant the purchase concludes.
A writer for the Michigan Daily, archived at Bentley University, states the problem with brevity: with screens available to entertain and divert at every hour, the pull toward spending leisure time making and actively doing has weakened against the easier drift of consuming. Hobbies require sustained failure. They require the particular tedium of being unskilled at something long enough to stop being unskilled. They require a patience that cannot be abbreviated. Consumer culture has no productive use for that kind of patience. Patience makes nothing sellable.
Social Media Finished What Advertising Began
Advertising manufactured desire. Social media made it personal. PMC research published in 2022 found that envy, narcissism, and social comparison rank among the significant motors of conspicuous buying behavior among platform users, most acutely on Instagram and Facebook. The mechanism runs cleanly: you observe what others own, you want the social standing you imagine that ownership confers, you purchase, you post, and the cycle recurs for everyone watching you.
Communities assembled around creative pursuits have absorbed this logic wholesale. Borgohain writes that on platforms like Bookstagram and Booktok, the pressure to present a hobby as something larger than private interest warps the activity until the activity itself disappears into the presentation. Reading, which historically asked for a book and a chair, now asks for an aesthetically constructed shelf, a subscription box, limited editions, copies annotated in designated colors. The act turns into a prop for its own documentation. The making contracts. The performing expands.
French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu traced this disposition to what he called habitus: the ingrained social tendencies, acquired through class position and upbringing, that show up in taste and buying patterns and mark a person as belonging to one group or another. Corporations have since learned to manufacture entire identity bundles that arrive pre-populated with the correct goods. The identity is the product. Every item in the collection is structural, not decorative. Buy the wrong things and you signal the wrong person.
What Gets Left in the Cart
The cost lands in specific weight. An afternoon that went to scrolling a product page instead of finishing the drawing begun six months earlier. The guitar against the wall. The craft supplies still in the shop bag. The running shoes worn twice. The camera that stayed in automatic mode. These are the predictable yields of a system that makes acquisition feel like the completion of something that acquisition was only ever the starting point of.
Edward Owens, writing for Medium in 2023, made the calculus concrete: a person who makes soap at home has accomplished something the market cannot easily price. He spent time. He built a competency. He produced an object through his own labor. The hour that went into making the soap is an hour that went away from buying, scrolling, consuming. Creative work is, in the most literal accounting, an adversary of the consumer model. Capitalism would rather you buy the soap.
Genevieve Reith, whose book Addictive Consumption: Capitalism, Modernity and Excess appears through Routledge, argues that the system sorts and assigns blame to the heavy consumers it has itself produced, celebrating the neoliberal principle of individual self-management while steadily emptying their accounts. The compulsive buyer, the person with tags still attached to unworn clothes, the one whose closet holds three versions of the same thing: these are people living inside a construction built specifically to exhaust resistance. The personal willpower story is among the most efficient products the system ever put to market.
What resurfaces when the buying recedes is not immediately identifiable. Restlessness arrives first. Past the restlessness, if you wait, comes something older and more specific: the actual interest you carried before the interest became a retail category. The thing you wanted to learn. The mess of a first attempt. The incremental, unremarkable improvement of getting marginally less bad at something you were embarrassed by last month. The market cannot price that. The cart has no place to carry it.
The Guitar Against the Wall
The rats in Bruce Alexander's enriched enclosure left the drug water alone. They had genuinely better options. Better in the plainest possible sense: more actually satisfying. They had space, company, and things worth investigating. The reward spike the drug offered was redundant against a baseline that had already been raised.
Human beings occupy a markedly different position. The built environment was arranged against them. The algorithm was engineered against them. The strip mall and the one-click purchase and the two-day delivery and the seventeen color options and the review section guiding you to the version worth owning: everything runs in a single direction. The cage is well-constructed.
Seeing this clearly changes less than you might expect, and more than you might fear. The craving stays. What shifts is the column it gets filed under: out of personal failure, into structural condition. The person with ninety unread books, the person who spent three hundred dollars on painting supplies and opened none of them, is responding to an environment calibrated, at enormous ongoing expense, to generate exactly that response. The failing is not theirs.
Pick up the guitar. Play it poorly. Let the early weeks be as awkward as they are going to be. The calluses take six weeks and the chord changes take longer and none of it arrives through a shipping confirmation. That is precisely its worth. The market has no access to it. What you build through your own hands and your own repeated failure and your willingness to stay bad at something long enough to get better at it belongs to you entirely, and that is the one outcome capitalism has never worked out how to sell back.
References:
Alexander, Bruce. Rat Park experiment (1978). Referenced in: ixcarus. "The Psychology of Consumerism: How Capitalism Needs You Miserable." Substack, January 31, 2026. https://ixcarus.substack.com/p/the-psychology-of-consumerism-how
Bjerg, Ole. "The Falling Rate of Enjoyment: Consumer Capitalism and Compulsive Buying Disorder." Ephemera Journal. https://ephemerajournal.org/contribution/falling-rate-enjoyment-consumer-capitalism-and-compulsive-buying-disorder
Bodenhausen, Galen V., Monika A. Bauer, James E. B. Wilkie, and Jung K. Kim. "Consumerism and its antisocial effects can be turned on or off." Psychological Science. Association for Psychological Science, 2022. https://www.psychologicalscience.org/news/releases/consumerism-and-its-antisocial-effects-can-be-turned-onor-off.html
Borgohain, Jahnvi. "The Death of Hobbies in the Age of Overconsumption." Medium, July 22, 2025. https://medium.com/@jahnviborgohain/death-of-hobbies-in-the-age-of-overconsumption-c51c5d57df22
Laville, Ellaine. Quoted in: "In a society addicted to consumerism, a movement of anti-consumers." Street Roots, February 16, 2018. https://www.streetroots.org/news-stories/2018/02/16/society-addicted-consumerism-movement-anti-consumers/
Matar, R. and Abdelfattah, N. "Neurobiological underpinnings of compulsive buying." Archives of Clinical Psychiatry 50, no. 5 (2023): 30-37. https://archivespsy.com/menu-script/index.php/ACF/article/download/2184/2375/4670
Michigan Daily / Bentley University Digital Archive. "Hobbies and Overconsumption in the 21st Century." October 19, 2022. https://digital.bentley.umich.edu/midaily/midaily.2022.10.19.001/7/download_text
O'Cass, A. and Frost, H. (2002). Referenced in: "The Dark Side of Social Media: Content Effects on the Relationship Between Materialism and Consumption Behaviors." PMC / NCBI, 2022. https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC9096894/
Owens, Edward. "Creative Hobbies: An Antidote to Consumerism." Medium, September 29, 2023. https://medium.com/@edwardowens_75290/creative-hobbies-an-antidote-to-consumerism-34e4d9395fab
Petropoulou, Maria. Quoted in: "In a society addicted to consumerism, a movement of anti-consumers." Street Roots, February 16, 2018. https://www.streetroots.org/news-stories/2018/02/16/society-addicted-consumerism-movement-anti-consumers/
Reith, Genevieve. Addictive Consumption: Capitalism, Modernity and Excess. Routledge. https://www.routledge.com/Addictive-Consumption-Capitalism-Modernity-and-Excess/Reith/p/book/9780415268271
Schmich, Mary. Chicago Tribune, December 24, 1986. First printed use of 'retail therapy.' Referenced in: "Retail Therapy." Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Retail_therapy
Smit, Gwen. "Consumerism: Why Now More Than Ever?" The Bubble, November 29, 2024. https://www.thebubble.org.uk/culture/philosophy-religion/consumerism-why-now-more-than-ever/
The Appalachian Online. "Opinion: Consumerism Shouldn't Be a Hobby." September 13, 2025. https://theappalachianonline.com/opinion-consumerism-shouldnt-be-a-hobby/
Tron. "Mindless Consumption Vs. Hobbies." Medium, August 21, 2025. https://medium.com/@TheTangent/mindless-consumption-vs-hobbies-4236e54a8e3a
Veblen, Thorstein. The Theory of the Leisure Class. 1899. Referenced in: MasterClass. "Consumerism Definition: Examples, Pros and Cons." https://www.masterclass.com/articles/consumerism-definition
Academia.edu. "Consumption, Planned Obsolescence and Waste." https://www.academia.edu/429782/Consumption_Planned_Obsolescence_and_Waste
Surface vs Depth: A Culture of Unnoticed Nosedive Euphoria
People today live inside an overflow of information. News, posts, clips, arguments, gossip, and advertisements arrive faster than anyone can sort them. Yet all that noise has not made life more thoughtful. In many places, it has made life thinner. Attention follows what is loud, recent, emotional, or easy to swallow. A rumor moves faster than a careful argument. A viral clip travels farther than a hard truth. A polished influencer image often seems to matter more than a personâs character. Pleasure, reaction, and spectacle now take up more room than depth, patience, or sincerity.
This is not only a problem of individual weakness. Modern habits reward surface attention at every turn. Social media feeds keep people moving from one hit of stimulation to the next. Gossip works because it is short, vivid, and easy to pass along. Toxic behavior gets attention because conflict grabs the eye more quickly than calm thought. Influencers thrive because they turn identity into something visible and marketable. Even pleasure has become faster and more engineered, delivered in endless bursts that leave little space for self-examination. The result is a culture that trains people to skim life instead of living inside it.
The trouble with a culture shaped by surfaces is not that pleasure, style, or social connection are worthless. The trouble is that they start taking the place of meaning. A person can spend hours chasing trends, watching scandals, and comparing their life to the polished lives of strangers, then still feel strangely empty. In that environment, attention breaks into pieces, and the mind loses its appetite for anything that asks for effort. Reading becomes slow. Listening becomes rare. Thinking beyond the immediate moment feels unfamiliar. What should be ordinary maturity begins to look unusual.
There is also a hard emotional cost to living this way. Gossip invites judgment without understanding. Toxicity rewards cruelty dressed up as honesty. Online performance teaches people to display opinions instead of living by them. Once life revolves around appearances, empathy weakens, because other people stop being fully seen. They become labels, content, targets, or props. After that, it becomes easier to dismiss pain, mock weakness, and treat disagreement as a reason to humiliate rather than understand. A culture built on constant reaction can make people feel connected while making them less humane.
Authenticity asks for something different. It asks a person to slow down, to know what they actually believe, and to bring their inner life and outer behavior closer together. That kind of life is harder because it cannot be performed in a quick scroll. It requires honesty, and honesty often feels uncomfortable. It requires a person to be less impressive and more real. It means sitting with silence, uncertainty, and complexity without rushing to cover them with noise. Authenticity is not the same as perfection. It is a refusal to remain false.
Depth changes how people treat one another. A deeper person listens before judging. They notice context. They ask what a person feels, not just what a person says. They understand that suffering is often hidden and that cruelty often comes from something wounded underneath. That does not make them passive. It makes them more exact. They can disagree without stripping someone of their dignity. They can criticize without staging outrage. They can stay present without needing every moment to entertain them. That kind of attention is a form of respect.
An intellectual life matters for the same reason. Thinking deeply is not about sounding superior or collecting clever ideas. It is about learning how to see beyond the surface of things. It helps people recognize manipulation, question easy stories, and resist emotional shortcuts. Intellectual discipline gives shape to judgment. It teaches a person to notice what a story leaves out, what motives may sit behind a trend, and what consequences no one wants to name. In a culture that prizes speed over understanding, this kind of thinking keeps a person from being easily led.
Empathy completes the picture. Intelligence without empathy can turn cold. Empathy without thought can become sentimental and unstable. Together, they make a way of living that is more human than the frantic chase for attention and stimulation. An empathetic person sees that other people are not props in their story. They have histories, wounds, fears, and dignity. They deserve care even when they are inconvenient. They deserve patience even when they are difficult. That recognition is what turns shared space into real community.
The task is not to reject modern life altogether. It is to refuse to be reduced by it. People can step back from constant consumption. They can spend time with books, long conversations, honest friendships, art that asks something of them, and work that rewards patience. They can be more selective about what receives their attention. They can decide that not every trend deserves a reaction, not every rumor deserves a voice, and not every pleasure deserves devotion.
A meaningful life does not come from chasing every signal that flashes across a screen. It comes from learning what lasts. Depth over spectacle. Sincerity over performance. Understanding over outrage. Compassion over cruelty. A person who chooses those things may look less fashionable in a world obsessed with surfaces, but they are living with a stronger kind of freedom. They are not just being carried by the current. They are learning how to think, how to feel, and how to remain fully human.
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