People have become addicted to hype. Not just in technology. In everything.

Every new thing arrives with the same proclamation: this changes everything. And somehow, in order for the new thing to survive, the old thing must first be declared dead.

Movies are dead.
Books are dead.
Programming is dead.
Friendship is dead.
Art is dead.

The cycle repeats so often that people no longer pause to ask whether something actually disappeared, or whether we were simply taught to stop valuing it.

The word “hype” itself comes from hyperbole. And exaggeration has quietly become the default language of modern life.

For a moment, think about social media.

Social media was once surprisingly simple.
People uploaded blurry photos from cheap cameras.
Friends commented on each other’s posts.
Someone shared pictures from a birthday party.
Someone organized a meetup.
Someone staying far away felt a little closer.

That was enough.

Now every platform feels like an infinite marketplace of attention. Everyone is performing. Everyone is consuming. Everyone is selling a lifestyle, an opinion, a productivity system, a body, a belief.

Instagram especially feels strange to me.

It began as a place to share moments. Now it often feels like a showroom for wealth, status, outrage, and endless stimulation. Sometimes I wonder what the original creators envisioned. Was this always the destination? Or did the machine simply grow beyond human intent?

Maybe this is inevitable when billions of people gather in one place. Maybe scale changes the meaning of things.

What was once a small room full of friends eventually became a stadium full of strangers.

And perhaps that is what I miss most: not older technology, but smaller worlds.

One may ask, “Why not just stop using it?” Try it. You leave for a while, only to slowly find yourself returning again.

Maybe there is no solution. Perhaps every generation eventually builds its own noise. The only thing an individual can do is quietly choose what matters to them before the world chooses for them.