Last week, when I talked about getting my daughter a used Hyundai so our insurance rates would go down, I opened Instagram and saw an ad for used Hyundais — and another for car insurance options. I had searched a bit earlier, but it wasn’t until I said it aloud that the ads appeared in my feed.

It felt creepy, not comforting.

Who’s listening, and why?

Once I saw it, I couldn’t unsee it. Every scroll, every pause, every click — it’s all data. Not for me, but about me.

Will they stop if I buy something, or will the ads only increase?

We’re told these platforms are “free,” but nothing about them is free. We’re not the customer; we’re the product.

Platforms don’t sell content — they sell access to our attention.

Creators chase watch time and engagement because the platform’s survival depends on ads. The real customers are advertisers; the rest of us — viewers, creators, communities — are the inventory.

It’s an illusion of generosity: the idea that we’re being given connection and entertainment at no cost. But we’re paying a high price — just in a different currency. We pay with our privacy, our focus, and our peace of mind.

And it’s not just the ads. The very structure of these platforms trains us to crave stimulation, not substance. Content stretches thinner to fit more ad breaks. Algorithms reward outrage and novelty over thought and quality. Even creators feel manipulated, optimizing themselves for an invisible machine that decides what’s seen, what’s ignored, and who gets paid.

It’s like living in a marketplace where every conversation has a sponsor and every friend is a salesperson. After a while, you forget what it feels like to talk without being sold something.

That’s when I realized I didn’t want to be the product anymore.

I wanted to watch, learn, and connect without feeling harvested.

Could there be another way?

What if platforms didn’t treat attention as the end goal?
What if curiosity and creativity could exist without being monetized by someone else?

There could be a healthier model — one that doesn’t sell user data, one that values integrity over impressions. A model that gives both the customer and the creator their dignity back.

Imagine a space where value flows between creators and their communities — not through ads, but through trust.

A space where your curiosity isn’t a commodity.
Where discovery is built for you, not for sale.
Where creators can share their work, their ideas, and even their AI-powered tools — without feeling they’ve entered into a bargain with an algorithm.

That’s what a new digital world could look like. A world where technology amplifies the best of us rather than exploiting our impulses.

We used to say, “If you’re not paying for it, you’re the product.”

But maybe the next generation of platforms will prove there’s another way. Maybe they’ll show that technology can serve people instead of consuming them — that we can build a digital ecosystem grounded in respect, quality, and real connection.

Because I still love the internet.

It’s given me access to information, ideas, art, and inspiration I couldn’t have imagined as a kid. It’s helped me learn new skills, connect with incredible people, and feel part of something bigger.

But I want to feel safe there again. I want to trust that what I see isn’t being shaped by an algorithm designed to profit from my attention. I want spaces online that are more like communities and less like shopping malls disguised as friendships.

I still love the internet.
I just want it to love us back.