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For a few days, my finger would hover over the TikTok hole on my home screen. But it was all for naught: There was nothing there to click. TikTok debuted at exactly the wrong time for me. I downloaded the short-form video app during my junior year of high school, just as in-person activities shut down for the COVID-19 pandemic and my life dissolved into an endless loop of virtual lectures. The infinite scroll was comfortingalmost intoxicating. Before long, I was spending multiple hours a day on the platform, with most conversations among friends revolving around which TikToks wed recently liked. In January 2025, I deleted the app for good. Former President Joe Bidens TikTok ban was looming, and I assumed my friends would be booted off the platform soon enough. It felt like the perfect moment: I could reclaim my media habits, lengthen my attention span, and finally break up with short-form video. Six months later, I have no plans to re-download it. Deleting TikTok saved my attention span For years, I was a double-screener. Fueled by a steady diet of brain-rot TikToks, my eyes would drift toward a second device the moment I started a film or TV show. I tried crocheting and adult coloring booksanything to keep my hands busy while focusing on what was in front of me. Still, Id grow bored and restless. Eventually, Id cave, scrolling through X (or worse, TikTok on mute) while the movie played. There are dozens of reasons to delete TikTokfrom concerns over Chinese data privacy to simply reclaiming a few hours each day. But for me, the main goal was even simpler: I wanted to reengage with long-form media. And that effort has mostly been successful. I read more now, and watch moviesoften with my phone in another room. Sometimes, I even listen to a podcast without touching my screen. Rebuilding my attention span required more than just deleting TikTok. I committed 2025 to investing in my focus. I bought print subscriptions to The New Yorker, New York magazine, and The Atlantic so I could read long-form journalism away from a screen. I subscribed to the Criterion Channel to watch deeper, more thoughtful films than the typical Netflix churn. I bought a Kindle. But I havent sworn off social media entirely. (No, I did not buy one of those janky dumbphones or leave my phone mounted to the wall like a landline.) I still spend more time scrolling on X than Id like, and Ill browse Instagram once every few hours. (Just no Reels: That breaks the short-form ban.) Im also not uniquely consuming high-brow long-form media: The Real Housewives is still my TV fix of choice. But for the first time since early high school, I can watch a movie without reaching for my phone. That feels like a win. How I warded off TikTok FOMO When I deleted TikTok, my biggest fear was losing cultural literacy. I didnt care about the dances or memes, but I worried about missing out on the latest joke or buzzy TV show. TikToks walled garden and cultural saturation among Gen Z can make it feel essential, as if not having it means missing something crucial. From the outside, though, Ive realized most TikToks are just sludge and noise. I read enough news to know whats trending in film and TV. When I want a thoughtful take, I turn to critics or the occasional YouTube video essay. I dont need a 17-year-old explaining why everyone on Love Island USA is crazy. I remember the first time a friend referenced something I didnt recognize. It was March, and we were making dinner at my college place when he said, What the helly. I thought hed misspoken; he assumed I hadnt heard him. Turns out, it was a TikTok trend that had taken off after Id deleted the app. I had feared losing a shared language with my friends, but in that moment, I didnt really care what the reference meant. I just moved on. These days, my friends are more annoyed than I am about my TikTok-free life. They still send me screen recordings of TikToks that remind them of me, usually followed by complaints about the extra effort. But their pleas for me to re-download the app fall flat. Im happier without it.
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James Kimmel, Jr., is a lecturer of psychiatry at the Yale School of Medicine, a lawyer, and the founder and co-director of the Yale Collaborative for Motive Control Studies. He is the creator of The Nonjustice System, the Mircale Court app, and Saving Cainbreakthrough tools for recovering from grievances and revenge desires and preventing mass violence. Whats the big idea? Revenge is more than an emotionits an addictive behavior. We get hyped about an epic revenge story to watch on the big screen, or cheer for the politician that will get even with our societal oppressors. We ruminate about that person who cut us off on the highway and daydream about how good it would feel to teach their bumper a lesson. Whether real or imagined, the satisfaction of payback is a dangerous craving. The first victim of any revenge story is the mind thinking about it. Even if you never dole out a sentence in the real world based on the trials held in the courtroom of your mind, those fantasies harm you. By learning the healing power of forgiveness, using established addiction treatment methods, and rewiring our mental machinery, we can free ourselves from the self-inflicted damages of revenge and protect society from cycles of hate. Below, James shares five key insights from his new book, The Science of Revenge: Understanding the Worlds Deadliest Addictionand How to Overcome It. Listen to the audio versionread by James himselfbelow, or in the Next Big Idea App. [Photo: Next Big Idea Club] 1. Revenge is addictive. There is a hidden addiction plaguing humanity: revenge. Neuroscientists have identified retaliation as the root cause of most human aggression, from social media outrage and road rage to school shootings, gang violence, domestic abuse, and terrorism. The common thread? The perpetrator nearly always sees themselves as a victim seeking justice. When were hurt or humiliated, the brains pain-processing centerthe anterior insulaactivates. In response, we crave relief. When we fantasize about or act on revenge, dopamine floods the brain, lighting up the same neural pathways triggered by opioids or cocaine. But instead of intoxication, we crave payback. Like any addictive behavior, the high is short-lived and followed by more pain. And the more we ruminate on a grievance, the stronger the cravings become. Most of us can control our urges for revenge, but for some, the dopamine surge can make the desire to get even feel irresistible. Thats how otherwise ordinary, peaceable individuals can end up committing extraordinary acts of violence. The key to prevention is recognizing revenge for what it isnot just an emotion, but an addictive behavior that demands a public health response. 2. Violence is a public health issue. Understanding revenge as an addiction changes everything we thought we knew about why people become violent and how to stop it. For decades, weve treated violence as a social or moral problem. But if revenge-seeking follows the same neurobiological pathways as substance use, then violence isnt just an emotion or moral failingits the behavioral outcome of an unrecognized and untreated addiction. When scientists embraced the brain disease model of addiction in the late 1990s, it sparked a revolution in research, treatment innovation, funding, and public understanding. We now have the opportunity to apply the same science-based framework to violence prevention. Understanding revenge as an addiction changes everything we thought we knew about why people become violent and how to stop it. Revenge-seeking is a behavioral addiction. And like other addictions, it can be interrupted and treated. Viewing revenge through the lens of addiction expands our toolbox for treatment. Cognitive behavioral therapy, motivational interviewing, peer support, psychosocial approaches, and even anti-craving medications can be repurposed to help people manage revenge cravings. 3. America has a revenge addiction problem. From political polarization to courtroom dramas, and from superhero blockbusters to viral Twitter feuds, American society runs on revenge. Our legal system is a billion-dollar industry for selling revenge, packaged as justice. Our politics are fueled by grievance, with political leaders using the language of payback to rally supporters. Public calls to fight back and punish enemies reflect not just rhetoric but a deeper pathology: the weaponization of revenge cravings on a national scale. Even our entertainment is saturated with revenge narratives. Movies from The Lion King to The Avengers celebrate vengeance and create a cultural script that glorifies payback. Meanwhile, social media platforms serve as digital revenge machines, propagating grievances, cueing outrage, and rewarding public shaming with dopamine hits. When these cycles of grievance and retaliation become cultural norms, the result is a society trapped in a feedback loop of addictive violence. To recover, we need to tell new stories that center on healing, not harm. 4. How to unlock the superpower of forgiveness. Forgiveness often gets framed as a moral virtuesomething good people do when theyre feeling generous. But now, modern neuroscience is confirming what spiritual wisdom has taught for centuries, that forgiveness is not just spiritually liberating, but neurologically healing. Brain scan studies show that simply imagining forgiving a grievance deactivates the brains pin network, deactivates the pleasure and craving circuitry of revenge craving, and activates the prefrontal cortex of executive function and self-control. Research also shows that forgiveness reduces symptoms of stress, anxiety, PTSD, and even physical conditions like high blood pressure, pain, and insomnia. Refusing to forgiveunder the belief that youre somehow denying a gift to the person who hurt youachieves little more than denying yourself the healing you need. A common misconception is that forgiveness means giving something to the person who hurt you. It doesnt. Forgiveness is part of your brains biological pain management and revenge control system. The person who receives the benefits from forgiveness is you, the person who was hurt, not the person who caused the harm. You dont even have to tell the person who hurt you that youve forgiven them to receive these benefits. And you certainly dont have to overlook or condone their behavior. Forgiveness is a process that happens inside your brain. Refusing to forgiveunder the belief that youre somehow denying a gift to the person who hurt youachieves little more than denying yourself the healing you need. Thats a self-inflicted tragedy. Within the biology of the human brain, the person who receives the greatest gift from forgiving is you, the forgiver. 5. The courtroom of the mind. Before we take revenge in the real world, we often rehearse it in privateinside what I call the courtroom of the mind. This is where we hold imagined trials of the people who hurt us. We play every role: victim, prosecutor, judge, jury, even executioner. We summon evidence, hand down a sentence, and fantasize about carrying it out. Most of usgood, normal peopleare routinely putting the people who offend and mistreat us on trial inside the busy courtrooms of our minds. But these internal trials can have real life-and-death consequences. At their conclusion, we will choose whether to carry out our sentences in the real world. If we hope to secure personal and communal peace, harmony, and prosperityand reduce rage, violence, and aggression in all formswe must learn how to win the trials taking place inside our minds. Thats why I developed a 12-step program for revenge addiction recovery called The Nonjustice System (NJS). The NJS is a science-based intervention that utilizes the courtroom of the mind as a tool for healing rather than harm. In this guided role-play (which is also available as a free app called the Miracle Court app), you can imagine putting anybody who has ever wronged you on trial while playing all the roles yourself. This creates space to safely process pain, let go of destructive cravings, and explore forgiveness. The Nonjustice System and Miracle Court app have been used by people to heal from trauma, overcome intrusive revenge urges and rumination, and set themselves free from the wrongs of the past. Unlike the traditional justice system, the NJS and Miracle Court app arent about getting even; theyre about setting yourself free. By harnessing imagination and neuroscience, we can transform the mental machinery of revenge into a path toward wellbeing and recovery. This article originally appeared in Next Big Idea Club magazine and is reprinted with permission.
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E-Commerce
As AI-generated content becomes ubiquitous, products that reveal the time, care, and judgment behind their creation will offer a powerful point of emotional and commercial differentiation. With todays AI tools, its possible to generate a complete brand experience in just a few hoursa name, a logo, a campaign, even a polished website. These systems visualize concepts with startling speed, compressing what once took weeks into an afternoon. And while most outputs remain virtual, were already glimpsing a future where AI begins shaping not just ideas, but production. As the barriers to creation continue to fall, and design becomes both instant and infinite, a new kind of value is emerging: the kind that takes time. At Whipsaw, weve embraced AI for what it enablesfaster workflows, more iterations, and rapid ideation. However, as the process becomes more efficient, we find that clients and consumers are increasingly drawn to something more challenging to replicate: the human element. Evidence of judgment. Taste. Craft. Intention. In a world of instant outputs, human hours are the new luxury. When anyone can make anything Part of AIs early allure came from its black-box noveltythe delight of watching something surprisingly good appear out of nowhere. But novelty wears thin. What once felt magical now feels pervasive. Consumers are learning to recognize when content lacks context, authorship, or accountability. As AI-generated content becomes more common, people are beginning to look for signs of authorship and intent. Tools like Adobes Content Authenticity Initiative reflect a growing demand for transparency in the creative process. At Whipsaw, we hear a version of this question every week: When AI can generate high-fidelity mockups in minutes, how do you prove the value of design that takes time? And increasingly, the answer is clear. You show your work. History, handwork, and value Throughout history, cultures have prized what visibly took time to make. A hand-thrown ceramic bowl. An embroidered sash. A gold-leafed manuscript. The visible labor wasnt just aestheticit was a testament to mastery and care. In the late 19th century, the Arts and Crafts movement emerged as a response to the soulless standardization of industrial manufacturing. In Japan, the philosophy of monozukuricontinuous, respectful craftsmanshipremains a foundational design ethic. These werent just artistic ideals. They were economic signals. They showed that something, or someone, mattered in the making. Today, were seeing a modern revival of that ethos. Proof of process, proof of value Revealing the process behind a product isnt just an old ethos. Its a contemporary design strategyand a powerful form of differentiation. Mercedes-AMGs One Man, One Engine program allows performance vehicle buyers to trace their engine to a single technician, whose name is engraved on a metal plate under the hood. Its not just a car. Its someones work. And the value of that signature is reflected in the price. Across industries, one thing is becoming increasingly clear: Products that demonstrate their creation processand the humans involved in itare commanding greater emotional and financial value. Authorship, on display Showing your work means embedding human decision making directly into the product experiencemaking authorship a feature, not a footnote. In physical products, this might manifest as exposed welds or tool marks that reveal the manufacturing process, or QR codes that direct users to a companys build videos or sourcing maps. Luxury brands have long recognized the value of visible labor: Each Herms Birkin bag is handcrafted by a single artisan, whose discreet signature marks authorship. That human connection helps justify a price point far above mass-produced alternativesbecause the object tells a story of time, mastery, and care. Digital products can do the same. Consider apps that annotate decisions, such as Headspace, which surfaces the humans behind its meditation protocols, or Are.na, which credits individual contributors to collaborative boards. Even subtle UI elements, like curated by tags or changelogs authored by designers, remind users that a personnot an algorithmshaped their experience. Brands can also spotlight their storytelling processes through behind-the-scenes content, documented iterations, or showing rejected directions that reveal how choices were made. The goal isnt to overwhelm, but to create touchpoints where human judgment is visibleand meaningful. The next innovation is intent As AI makes it easier to generate, replicate, and scale design, the rarest resource left is evidence of intent. Brands will increasingly compete not just on form or function, but on visible human investmentthe time, care, and discernment embedded in the work. Before AI, much of that effort lived behind the curtain. The magic was in the revealwhat was shown, not how it was made. But now that anyone can shortcut to a polished result, the real value lies in everything that cant be automated. Process. Judgment. Intent. For consumers in a world of automation, that kind of clarity signals trust. It says: This wasnt just made. It was considered. The brands and products that make human involvement visible wont just stand out in an AI-saturated markettheyll forge deeper, more lasting connections with users who crave authenticity. Thats not just good strategy. Its good design. Dan Harden is founder and CEO of Whipsaw
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