Short Videos Are a Threat

A short video lasts, on average, between fifteen and sixty seconds. In one hour, a person can watch more than a hundred. I've done that. I've spent an entire hour scrolling, and when I looked at the clock, I couldn't remember almost anything I'd seen. I remembered a joke, a dog, a punchline. The rest was gone. And that's when I started to suspect the problem wasn't the content. It was the format.

I don't want to write the obvious piece. The obvious piece says short videos are bad, that youth is lost, that things used to be better. I don't believe that. Most of what I watch is harmless. Some are funny. Some are useful. Some are beautiful. The problem isn't in what they show. It's in what they train.

What the format teaches

Every format teaches something. The book teaches you to sustain attention for long periods. The film teaches you to follow a narrative with a beginning, middle, and end. The article teaches you to follow an argument. The short video teaches something else: it teaches you to expect the reward every fifteen seconds. It teaches that, if something doesn't grab your attention immediately, it can be swapped. It teaches that the discomfort of boredom is solved with a flick of the finger.

These lessons don't stay in the app. They come out with us. And they start showing up elsewhere. In the difficulty of reading a long text. In the impatience with a conversation that has no twist. In the boredom we feel on an afternoon without a stimulus. In the discomfort of waiting for the bus without reaching for the phone. The format doesn't just change what we do. It changes what we're able to do.

What constant reward does

Constant reward does something quiet: it redefines what we consider normal. If every time I feel bored I reach for the phone, my brain learns that boredom is unbearable. If every time a conversation slows down I glance at the screen, my brain learns that slowness is a problem. If every time something requires effort I swap it for something easier, my brain learns that effort isn't worth it.

None of this is a conscious decision. It's training. And training, repeated enough, becomes a pattern. The pattern isn't "I watch too many short videos." The pattern is broader: "I can't sit with what is slow anymore." And that pattern charges a price in places where slowness is necessary — in study, in prayer, in relationships, in the difficult conversation, in silence.

The threat isn't the video

The threat isn't the short video itself. It's the substitution. When the short video replaces the book, the problem isn't the video. It's what the book did and the video doesn't. When it replaces the conversation, the problem isn't the video. It's what the conversation did and the video doesn't. When it replaces boredom, the problem isn't the video. It's what boredom did and the video doesn't.

Boredom, by the way, is one of the most underrated things in modern life. It's in boredom that we think. It's in boredom that we create. It's in boredom that we notice what we're feeling. The short video kills boredom before it can do its work. And boredom's work is precisely to give us back to ourselves.

I'm not telling anyone to stop watching. I watch. I watched while writing this piece, actually, and I'm not proud of it. I'm saying we need to know what we're trading. The trade isn't neutral. It has a cost. And the cost doesn't show up in the app. It shows up in life.

What I would tell someone starting out

If you're starting to notice that short videos are taking up too much space, three things can help — not as rules, but as practices.

First, treat boredom as an ally, not an enemy. The next time you feel bored, don't reach for the phone immediately. Stay with it for a minute or two. It will be uncomfortable. It will be strange. But it's in that discomfort that the mind starts working again. Boredom isn't the problem. Boredom is the beginning of something. We're the ones who learned to interrupt it before it begins.

Second, protect one slow space per day. It doesn't have to be an hour. It can be ten minutes. A passage of a book read without rushing. A walk without headphones. A meal without a screen. The goal isn't to eliminate short videos. It's to keep alive the muscle of sitting with what is slow. A muscle that isn't used atrophies. And the muscle of slow attention is one of the easiest to lose.

Third, ask what you're avoiding. Every time you pick up the phone to scroll, ask a quick question: what am I avoiding right now? Sometimes the answer is simple: nothing, I'm just bored. Other times the answer is harder: I'm avoiding thinking about something, feeling something, starting something. The short video isn't the problem. The problem is what it's covering. And it covers very well.

The short video isn't going away. I'm not asking for that. I'm asking that we don't disappear along with it. The format is a tool. A good or bad tool depends on the use. And the use depends on knowing what's at stake. Knowing what's at stake is the beginning of any choice that isn't just habit.

I still scroll. I still watch. But now I know what I'm trading. And knowing what I'm trading is the beginning of choosing on purpose — instead of just following the finger.