allow me to set your expectations:

this essay sucks.

i didn't do any research, it's completely off the cuff, and i'm going to deliberately lie to you at various points because it doesn't matter: no one's going to read this, and no one's going to fact check me, because most of y'all can't even finish a book — much less an essay — and those that can simply have better things to do, innit?

and i'm not going to do anything to temper my disdain or un-strawman my arguments either.

i'm rude, everything's dumb and gay, and the only thing that works in this situation is to fuck all the way off.

seriously, go call your mom or some shit. it'll be better for you than reading this. it's not good.

and now, since you haven't — and were never going to pretend to anyway — buckle up, chucklefuck. it's about to get even worse.

first, let's start with disclaimers — because no self-respecting asshole worth their fart smell is gonna step up to the "let's talk about dopamine" plate without first telling you that, hey, guess what, we don't actually have a solid understanding of how dopamine works or why!

the best theories are:

• it signals the anticipation of a reward (not the reward itself; common misconception).

• it signals that an outcome was better than expected (and oh my god now you see why i told you this article would suck: i'm already exploiting you because, tbh, it's that fucking easy.)

cool, right?

wrong.

now let's talk about Farcaster and how awful it is.

because, as far as your brain health goes, it's worse than all the others.

social media is already fucked up: a lot of really powerful people spend a shit-fuck-ton of money to get some of the smartest people on the planet to use basic psychology to ruin your whole fucking life.

and it's quite profitable for them!

"but Farcaster is different! the team behind it is super duper ethical!"

oh for sure! you're SOOOOO right! they want what's best for you!

they want you to eat a healthy diet, and spend a reasonable amount of time looking at your screen, and nurture your relationships with your friends and family to the best of your ability!

they would NEVER EVER EVER do anything that would cause you to lose track of time, or forget to eat, or check your phone multiple times a day when you get a notification about a sex-based mini app that you would never talk to your coworkers about, or play hot-or-not with people's art, or literally fucking gamble in the middle of a work day.

neverrrr.

because they LOOOOOVE you!

Farcaster is SOOOOooooOOOOOoooo DIFFERENT!

lol.

lmao, even.

but let's put aside how much hate and anger and disgust i am actively expressing here. just for one teensy minute.

instead, let's talk about what makes this place great — and why, chemically, that's exactly what makes it so fucking pernicious (which, for the dumb, means "chronically bad, but in a low-key way").

and that thing is: the people.

the talent density here is ASTOUNDING.

everyone's somehow a rocket scientist, or a 10x engineer, or a five-time Emmy award winner, or July.

your access to smart, interesting people that share your views (also a red flag) who are willing to reciprocate your attention is second to none.

so when you log onto Farcaster, you can reasonably anticipate (ding!) that you will come across something interesting; and when you do, it is often MORE interesting than you expected (ding ding!); which leads you to engage deeper via a reply or a quote because you can reasonably anticipate (ding again!) further engagement; which often elicits a high quality response from the person you admire (on the fucking internet of all places! holy shit! MUCH better than expected! another ding ding!).

are you starting to see how it works?

but Caden... these all sound like good things. why are you framing them as bad things?

because the point, you fucking moron, is not that Farcaster is a better place to spend your time.

the point is that Farcaster is ruining your brain faster than any other place on the internet because of how good it is (probably. idk. i didn't do any research and i'm not gonna).

not that you give a fuck.

because the alternative is being alone with your thoughts for five fucking minutes, and we already know you're not about to do that because you're a trash human being that didn't call their mom when i told you to and instead chose to chase another goddamn dopamine high from a person that clearly doesn't respect you! jesus! get it together!

(except for you, Steve. i know you'll read this and i respect you.)

(... so enjoy that dopamine hit.)

GAWD you folks are easy to manipulate.

but let's talk about something else.

'cause this ride isn't over.

not yet, anyway.

let's talk about how posting regularly to social media causes us to constantly editorialize our lives, crafting a narrative and reinforcing a persona that we believe to be true and authentic — but is actually a product of the recursive function of the engagement we get from presenting it.

and to do that i'm gonna tell you about my favorite new concept that i've learned in the last two weeks: the "Keynesian beauty contest" — which has fuck-all to do with beauty and everything to do with how people are fucking retarded.

aaaaaah, the good ol' KBC (shortened to match your attention span — you're welcome) is, briefly, the idea that in certain social situations,

• we don't choose the option that we like most,

• we choose the option that we think OTHER people like most.

and, even though 900% of Farcaster is male (not a typo), i'm sure i'm still gonna lose most of you here because this next story concerns two things that y'all certainly are not:

1. physically impressive.

2. outside of your homes.

but it's time to talk about Mr. Olympia anyway.

Mr. Olympia is a bodybuilding competition (oh my god it's like i can FEEL you scrolling to the next section, jfc), and it's kind of the "gold standard" in that world. if you win Mr. Olympia it basically means the rest of the bodybuilding world wants to look like you.

in 1975, Arnold Schwarzenegger took home his sixth straight title as Mr. Olympia and then retired to pursue acting.

then in 1980 he un-retired himself, just 8 weeks before the competition, and won it again for his seventh and final time, before officially retiring again.

now, because i know y'all don't lift weights (or care what you look like naked), i'm gonna express this in extremely clear and simple terms:

8 weeks is NOT enough time to build the best body in the world and then get on a stage to wink at the ladies in the audience. (it's mostly men anyway. gay.)

in fact, here's a photo.

i know, i know, to the untrained eye, all you can see is a bunch of speedos.

but trust me (some hostile asshole on the internet with dumb, gay opinions about other men's bodies): Arnold didn't deserve the win. his abs aren't even developed.

Mike Mentzer (third from the right, the guy in the speedo), clearly has the prime physique in this lineup. AND a mustache. like, it couldn't BE any more obvious.

but Arnold wins anyway.

"but why?" you don't ask.

because the judges thought that everyone ELSE would think that Arnold had the best body.

but he didn't.

trust me.

i tell you all that to tell you this:

what you post online is what you think people will like, based on what they've liked in the past. you post, anticipating likes (ding!), you get a few extra likes (ding ding! a better-than-expected outcome!) and then you subconsciously — chemically, even — begin to bias towards that.

and, over time, you stop living your life, because your brain can't stop reframing it through the lens of how to present it for likes. you're on a date thinking, "oh THIS'll be a good story for /farcasthim. i should take a pic for /food. i wonder if crazy candle lady would approve."

and then it's over for you.

the algorithm is in your fucking head now. you're curating a persona for an audience, then internalizing that persona, then performing it again in an endless feedback loop of bullshit.

but it's a fucking GUESS!

you don't know why you got the likes, you just got them!

so now, just like those stupid fucking Olympia judges, you're guessing based on previous guesses that worked, and it's suddenly become a fucking hall of mirrors, and it's training you to do what makes the people clap like you're some kind of goddamn circus seal!

and it's not even a decision!

it is LI-TER-ALLY a chemical addiction!

jesus christ, why am i even writing this, no one is still reading.

look, if you made it this far and you want to see what i mean, stop posting anything online for two weeks and feel how fucking paaaainfuullll it is for the first five days as you have little option but to helplessly observe your brain spin story after story about how this-or-that joke would KILL on Farcaster.

it literally hurts.

but i swear to god, by the end of two weeks, you'll feel alive again. eternity will stretch out before you like a cat on a rug, and you'll see the beautiful, vast richness of the life that has been passing you by.

i've got no insult to deliver there.

it's simply, truly wonderful to be free of the incessant desire to craft a narrative around your experience. your brain will open up. your mental capacity will increase. you'll call your mom. you'll go for a walk and just... walk.

it's fucking incredible.

final thing: too much of this stuff ruins your ability to learn.

cool, wrong?

right.

we learn (chemically speaking) when experiences are novel. our brains place greater emphasis on information that stands out.

but if we constantly barrage our brains with interesting shit, we literally lose our ability to remember ANY of it. nothing stands out, because EVERYTHING's trying to.

remember that thread from last week about the politics or the health outcomes or the social implications of whatever?

no?

but you were so interested in that thing!

oh. right.

your brain said "cool!" and then you scrolled and your brain said "cool!" again, and now it's done for.

but you THINK you're getting smarter, because you're saying "cool!" so often! hooray, new ideas that you never would've been exposed to if you hadn't been on Farcaster today and yesterday and tomorrow and forever! this place is sick!

*scrolls*

"cool!"

... fucking dipshit.

it's the same reason i'm not worried about calling everyone except Steve a gigantic pussy.

you'll just forget it tomorrow.

the shit that actually sticks comes from sustained attention, and that's a muscle.

it's hard.

and you've got fuckin' t-rex arms.

i'm wrapping this up (since your dad didn't), but there's a lot i didn't get to cover here.

• easy access to social interactions (or the simulation thereof) atrophies our ability to form meaningful relationships of any sort.

• the chemical highs of easy dopamine don't offset the chemical lows they bring.

• the lows of difficult work are VASTLY eclipsed by the highs of their rewards.

• how fucking bad crypto trading is for you (but read between the lines, re: how dopamine works).

• just how incredibly dumb and disgusting and irresponsible it is to put gambling apps into a social media feed.

• and so much more!

but this essay isn't meant to be comprehensive (you won't remember anyway), or give you the tools to change (you won't remember anyway), or even be entertaining (you won't remem—ah fuck it, what are we even doing here).

it's meant to tickle that same doomscrolling itch you've been scratching for the last three hours before you came across Steve's endorsement of my brand of humor.

which you won't remember anyway.

so do me a favor and go like my original cast so that i can get some Warpcast rewards this week.

do it now.

before you... y'know...

...aaaah fuck it, whatever.

Caden out.