Social media platforms aren’t the new cigarettes. They’re worse

A jury in Los Angeles may have just done for social media what early lawsuits did for Big Tobacco. Outside the courtroom, families who said they have lost children to the effects of these platforms gathered in shirts that read “We Are K.G.M.,” expressing solidarity with the 20-year-old plaintiff. Inside the court on Wednesday morning, the jury of the landmark case K.G.M. vs. Meta and Google found the owners of Instagram and YouTube negligent for conduct that raises a question the country is just beginning to grapple with: What if app designs do not merely entail potential hazards, but are created deliberately to be harmful?

Contrary to the common comparison, social media is not addictive in quite the same way cigarettes are. For one, platforms such as TikTok, Instagram and YouTube are engineered to exploit what Judson Brewer, a Brown University neuroscientist, psychiatrist and addiction researcher, calls the “strongest type of reinforcement learning known”: intermittent reinforcement. Cigarettes provide a predictable satisfaction to a craving, but when our brains recognize uncertainty about whether we will receive a reward, such as a like or a comment, the mind says: “Hey, pay attention, because we need to figure out if that’s dangerous or if it’s nutritive.”

Also, unlike cigarettes, social media is constantly being redesigned to better capture and hold our attention. Documents from a 2024 lawsuit filed by Kentucky’s attorney general against TikTok illustrate how these addictive design features function in practice. According to these records, TikTok carefully tracked engagement metrics to inform design features such as continuous autoplay and algorithmically tailored content.

TikTok even used language consistent with how we therapists talk about addiction. For example, TikTok tracked user “habit moments,” the point at which engagement shifts from casual and intentional to more automatic, habitual behavior.

In my practice as a clinical psychologist, I regularly assess a person’s technology habits as part of the intake process. I often find that technology overuse is closely intertwined with mental health concerns — both as a symptom of underlying struggles and as a primary driver of psychological distress. I also find that individuals are often ashamed of their relationship with technology and have typically had little to no success managing it without professional help.

Willpower alone, without scientifically supported bolstering, is unlikely to be sufficient in breaking habitual social media use that has been engineered and reinforced. The idea that we “can quit anytime” is mostly a comforting — and dangerous — myth. How many of us have tried simple behavioral measures, such as hiding the phone in another room or using screen time blockers, only to find ourselves reverting within days?

And modern parents are generally not well-positioned to save teenagers from tech habits. Adults need to address their own compulsive phone use so they can better make the case to their children.

While these insights point to just how entrenched social media habits can become, we are not powerless. Personal intervention can be effective; it just requires us to treat the issue as a serious one, even an addiction, and draw from evidence-based strategies.

Breaking a habit requires operating on the same reinforcement learning processes that created it. Research from Brewer, the neuroscientist, shows that people can break compulsive habits by working with those reward systems, mindfully attending to urges and gradually becoming disenchanted with the reward itself. He has cited an example from his own life, in which he overcame a mindless habit of eating gummy worms by slowing down and paying attention to their taste and feel and whether he was actually enjoying them.

Try to notice the pang of anxiety that often precedes a reach for the phone or tap of a social media app. Also, pay attention to what mindless scrolling actually feels like. Notice the “reward” you are receiving and reflect on whether it is a worthwhile one. If distraction from anxiety or momentary stimulation is the “reward” you believe you are getting … are you actually getting it? And if so, for how long is it helpful?

The aim here is to prove to yourself, experientially and mindfully, that the actual payoff does not match expectation. Perhaps it did at one point but does not anymore. Anxiety, as it turns out, does not always have to lead us to our phones. We can notice the anxiety and decide how to respond to it, or whether to respond to it at all.

My clients rarely speak about the upside of their technology use. There’s little mention of how it helps them feel meaningfully connected to others, provides genuine relief after a long day, or brings sustained enjoyment or laughter. More often, there is a clear recognition that their phone use isn’t actually helping. And yet, they haven’t tried paying close attention to the experience itself long enough to notice how limited or fleeting the payoff really is, or to understand what keeps drawing them back in the first place. The regularity and accountability of professional intervention can be especially helpful in supporting this kind of awareness and follow-through.

Cigarette smoking, it should be noted, did not decline sharply only because people suddenly became more sophisticated about treating addiction. It declined because it was treated as a public health issue, with widespread mandatory anti-tobacco messaging and government regulations concerning who could smoke and where.

We have similar options against social media. As in Australia, our government could impose age restrictions. It also could set design limits, such as on autoplay or algorithmic amplification. Companies could also be required to disclose how they track and manipulate engagement metrics.

We can only hope that this trial marks the opening round in a far-reaching fight to protect our attention and, most importantly, that of our children.

Daniel Katz is a clinical psychologist in Cambridge, Mass., whose practice includes helping individuals with behavioral challenges such as compulsive phone use.