I quit TikTok—and got my attention span back

Fast Company

2 days ago

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 comforting—almost intoxicating. Before long, I was spending multiple hours a day on the platform, with most conversations among friends revolving around which TikToks we'd recently liked.
In January 2025, I deleted the app for good. Former President Joe Biden's 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 books—anything to keep my hands busy while focusing on what was in front of me. Still, I'd grow bored and restless. Eventually, I'd cave, scrolling through X (or worse, TikTok on mute) while the movie played.
There are dozens of reasons to delete TikTok—from 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 movies—often 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 haven't 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 I'd like, and I'll browse Instagram once every few hours. (Just no Reels: That breaks the short-form ban.) I'm 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 didn't care about the dances or memes, but I worried about missing out on the latest joke or buzzy TV show. TikTok's 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, I've realized most TikToks are just sludge and noise. I read enough news to know what's trending in film and TV. When I want a thoughtful take, I turn to critics or the occasional YouTube video essay. I don't need a 17-year-old explaining why everyone on Love Island USA is crazy.
I remember the first time a friend referenced something I didn't recognize. It was March, and we were making dinner at my college place when he said, 'What the helly.' I thought he'd misspoken; he assumed I hadn't heard him. Turns out, it was a TikTok trend that had taken off after I'd deleted the app. I had feared losing a shared language with my friends, but in that moment, I didn't 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.