The paradox of modernity: we're more connected than ever—and more exhausted by that connection.
Think about a typical day for an office worker in Seoul, London, or San Francisco:
You wake up and first thing check your phone—messages on WhatsApp, Telegram, WeChat, notifications on Instagram, Facebook, LinkedIn, news.
On your commute, you scroll through social media, respond to emails.
At work—Zoom meetings, correspondence on Slack, Teams, calls, presentations.
In the evening—messages from friends, family chats, updates on TikTok, Twitter.
Before bed—you check your phone one more time.
You're constantly available. Constantly connected. Constantly responding.
And constantly exhausted.
Intimacy Fatigue
MIT sociologist Sherry Turkle calls this "intimacy fatigue"—a phenomenon where constant communication doesn't bring us closer, but pushes us apart.
We communicate a lot, but superficially. Hundreds of "friends" on social media, but no time for a deep conversation with one.
We send emojis instead of conversations. Give likes instead of calls. Share memes instead of meetings.
Technology promised us connection. It gave us the imitation of connection.
And at some point, many begin to feel: I want to disconnect.
Zhang Wei's Story: Marketer, 29, Shanghai
Zhang Wei worked at a digital agency in Shanghai. Her day consisted of endless messages, meetings, presentations.
"I communicated with hundreds of people every day," she recounts. "Clients through WeChat, colleagues on Slack, family in the family chat, friends in group chats. I was in constant communication mode."
In the evening, coming home, she felt depleted.
"Not physically tired—emotionally. I had been communicating all day, but I felt lonely. Because none of these communications were real."
After a year, she quit, moved to a small town, and became a freelancer—working remotely, with minimal meetings.
"Now I communicate ten times less," she says. "But the quality of that communication is a hundred times higher. I call my mom once a week—and actually talk to her for an hour, instead of writing 'ok' in the chat. I meet friends once a month—and we spend the whole day together, instead of grabbing coffee on the run."
Zhang Wei didn't become a hermit. She simply stopped being hyperconnected.
"And you know what? I feel less lonely than when I was surrounded by people 24/7."
FOMO and the Performance of Intimacy
Social media created a new type of loneliness: loneliness in a crowd.
From Instagram in Los Angeles to Xiaohongshu in Beijing, from TikTok to VKontakte—you see others having fun at parties, traveling, celebrating anniversaries. You see perfect lives, perfect relationships, perfect happiness.
And you feel: something's wrong with you.
This is FOMO—fear of missing out, the fear of missing something important. A phenomenon that researchers have discovered from the UK to Australia, from Brazil to Indonesia.
But the truth is that most of these posts are performances. People show the best 1% of their lives and hide the other 99%.
A couple posting romantic selfies in Paris might be arguing every day. Friends laughing in photos in Tokyo might not talk for months.
Social media created a culture of performative intimacy—we display connection without feeling it.
And those who choose solitude automatically lose in this game. Because there's nothing to post.
The Right to Disconnect
In recent years, a global trend has emerged: digital detox, conscious disconnection from technology.
People go on week-long internet-free retreats—to Indian ashrams, ranches in Arizona, Tibetan monasteries, Thai islands. They delete social media apps. Set limits on phone usage.
France even passed a law on the "right to disconnect"—employees are not obligated to respond to work emails after working hours.
This is an acknowledgment: constant connectivity is not a blessing, but a burden.
And more and more people around the world are choosing the opposite: solitude not as isolation from the world, but as protection from its intrusiveness.