It is quite likely that by now you are already familiar with the basics of the historic ruling that yesterday found Google and Meta liable for the addictive effects of their platforms on minors. A jury in Los Angeles determined that Instagram and YouTube were deliberately designed to hook young people, disregarding the risks these practices posed to their mental health.
This verdict requires these technology companies to pay six million dollars to a young woman, now 20 years old, who suffered from depression and anxiety after years of compulsive use. Although the amount is largely symbolic, the verdict sets a milestone in the sector: for the first time, the judiciary has identified the design of algorithms and interface—not the content itself—as directly responsible for the harm caused, thereby opening the door to a possible avalanche of thousands of pending lawsuits. Other companies implicated in the trial, such as TikTok and Snapchat, avoided the conviction by reaching settlements out of court.
For those of us who have been around for a number of years, this entire situation, this scrutiny from courts, consumer associations, and political representatives, strongly recalls what happened in the 1990s with the tobacco industry. In a society where it was not at all uncommon to see physicians smoking in front of their own patients, the series of complaints and verdicts against major tobacco companies created an earthquake that ultimately (fortunately) led to a “tobacco seriously damages health” warning at first, and subsequently, to a ban on smoking in public places.
[There are hundreds of books and films depicting this history. Personally, I recommend John Grisham’s “The Runaway Jury,” an outstanding work and as addictive as the industry it portrays.]
Despite the fact that a growing number of high-profile individuals—including Spanish PM Pedro Sánchez—are now focusing scrutiny on the social media ecosystem and its “failed state”, it is difficult to imagine that, in the near term, we will encounter a “Social media seriously damages health” warning upon entering TikTok or Instagram. However, it is clear that users are—indeed, we are—increasingly aware of the potential harms that using these platforms may entail. This is especially true for vulnerable individuals, such as the plaintiff in the recently decided case.
Mark Zuckerberg created Facebook in 2004. Jawed Karim published the first-ever official YouTube video in 2005. Instagram was launched on October 6, 2010, in San Francisco by Kevin Systrom and Mike Krieger.
And I am certain that none of these individuals intended to go down in history as the creator of a perverse tool that leads people into depression or even suicide.
Over the last twenty years, the history of social media has undergone very different stages. Certainly, none of them idyllic. Nevertheless, I would argue that it was not until the late 2010s that social networks began to rapidly slide down the dangerous slope of dark patterns—those “traps” designed to capture every millisecond of your attention in order to keep you watching videos, photos, comments, and—above all—scrolling, endlessly scrolling.
An infinite scroll.
In this downward trend, the algorithmic component has certainly played a central role. As these networks have moved us further away from true social interactions, understood as personal connections with our closest contacts, friends, and family, they have increasingly drawn us into feeds filled with “you will probably like…” content. Our phone screens have become crowded with viral material, hyper-edited and meticulously crafted to capture our attention and monopolize our time.
In the context of today’s verdict, filters—specifically those that allow any image or video to be edited beyond the bounds of reason—play a key role that is directly linked to both harm to mental health and dark patterns.
On one hand, they are a clear driver of body dysmorphia. The lawsuit argued that facial enhancement filters (those that refine the nose, enlarge the eyes, and automatically smooth the skin) are not harmless creative tools, but rather mechanisms that alter minors’ perception of reality. Evidence was presented showing that constant use of these filters produces body dysmorphia, meaning young people (such as the plaintiff) develop an aversion to their own real face, unable to reach the algorithmic standard.
During the trial, it was shown that filters function as a hyper-addictive loop: users see themselves as “better” with the filter, and moreover, receive more likes and social validation. This prompts their brains to secrete dopamine, fostering a dependency on the platform to feel good about themselves. The verdict emphasizes that Meta was aware—thanks to its own leaked internal reports from Frances Haugen years ago—that Instagram was “toxic” for teenage girls due to social comparison, and yet the company continued to promote these filters in its recommendation algorithms.
This raises a simple question: could we imagine a social media environment without filters, without infinite scrolling, without influencers producing hateful videos, without dangerous misinformation threatening the health of viewers?
The brief answer is: “yes, but it will not be easy.” Most importantly, it will require regulation.
At the very least, authorities in some markets have begun to take action to limit the impact of social networks on vulnerable populations. In markets such as Australia, prohibitions are already in effect preventing minors from accessing these platforms. In other instances, such as in Spain, the Government has announced similar measures, also adding a dimension of combating hate speech to the equation. At the European level, the Commission, through the DSA, is regulating and imposing fines on large technology companies that refuse to abide by a minimum corporate code of conduct.
In reality, this situation also places brands in an uncomfortable position. For years, we have celebrated engagement and time-on-platform without examining too closely at what cost these metrics were achieved. If the design of these networks starts to be treated legally as a harmful product, brands should begin to reconsider their role within this chain.
For example, if beauty filters are driving body dysmorphia, brands that continue to overuse them in their influencer campaigns may be perceived as endorsing a communication model that the judiciary is beginning to identify as toxic. On the other hand, do we wish for our sneaker or software advertisement to appear as part of an infinite scroll specifically intended to retain minors through casino-style techniques? A controversy related to brand association with content categorized as offensive or toxic already triggered an exodus of advertisers from YouTube a few years ago.
It is difficult to determine what brands should do. Ultimately, the problem (or at least most of it) lies with the platforms themselves rather than the content. However, perhaps over time, in this newly developing context of more informed users and increased regulation, those brands that will thrive will be those that leverage social media to provide immediate utility (education, authentic entertainment, customer service) and encourage users to complete their task and close the app, rather than striving to keep them trapped in a never-ending feedback loop.
As you can see, the landscape emerging after this ruling is uncertain. Perhaps—just perhaps—through this new regulation and a probable series of court judgments soon to be handed down against the owners of social networks in their country of origin, Zuckerberg and his peers may finally begin to prioritize the well-being of their users at a much higher level in their hierarchy of priorities.
The social media of the future will either be healthy or, simply, it will no longer be legal.
Image: Gemini
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