Rewired...

The Pandemic Made Us Weird, and Social Media Didn’t Help

The Social Regression: How COVID-19 and Social Media Changed Our Relationship with Reality

The way the world socially regressed should be studied! I remember a time, not too long ago when the world felt more... alive. You could walk down the street and bump into a neighbor, strike up a random conversation, and even get lost in the hustle and bustle of a busy city. You could walk into a café without checking your phone to see if you knew anyone. But now, there's this ever-present unease when you're around people—this palpable discomfort in crowds, like you’re not really there, or you’re not supposed to be there. It’s not a coincidence that after months of isolation, we emerged into a different world—one where the digital world feels more tangible than the physical one. And it’s not just me. It’s a lot of us.

In fact, the more I think about it, the more it seems like a cultural regression. Social behaviors that once felt natural—engaging in spontaneous conversations, feeling comfortable in public spaces, or even just smiling at strangers—have become alien concepts. It’s almost as if we were all forcibly removed from society for so long that we forgot how to interact, how to *be* around people. COVID-19 didn’t just keep us in our homes for weeks—it rewired us. And, like it or not, we were pushed into this new way of living that increasingly involves staring into a screen, scrolling through TikToks, or curating our lives for Instagram.

The Great Shift: Phones as Our New Lifelines

Let’s talk about the phones for a second. They weren’t just tools during the pandemic—they became lifelines. The world outside was locked down, and while some of us were lucky enough to be able to work from home, many others had their social lives entirely confined to small screens. FaceTime with family was the closest thing to a hug we could get. Online chats, Instagram DMs, TikTok videos became the new norms. They were our windows to the outside world, our social currency. Everything from news to entertainment to our friendships became filtered through these devices.

Think about how the landscape shifted: before, you might’ve grabbed a coffee and ran into a friend on the way to work. Now, you scroll through your feed, maybe like a few posts, send a meme to a friend, or keep up with everyone’s stories. We were connecting, sure, but in such a detached, hyper-curated way. Every interaction, every moment had to be packaged, edited, and perfected for public consumption. The lines between our digital and real lives started to blur—and maybe we started to forget where one ended and the other began.

I can’t help but feel like we’ve all been *trained* to communicate through our phones, to express ourselves through memes and status updates, rather than face-to-face conversations. That’s why it feels so strange now, to walk into a room full of people and feel like you’re not sure how to engage with them. I used to thrive in social situations, but now? I find myself hesitating, wondering how to read the room, how to make small talk without falling into the silence of awkwardness.

And I don’t think I’m the only one.

Social Media: The New Script for Our Lives

It’s not just about our phones being our primary mode of communication—it’s also how social media platforms, especially TikTok and Instagram, have shaped how we view and perform reality. What I mean by that is—every day, we’re all creating our own "reality shows," curating moments that look picture-perfect, scripted, and ideally, designed to get likes and comments. We're all becoming actors in a world that feels more like a continuous performance.

Think about TikTok. Everyone’s creating a story, whether it’s through a dance challenge or a funny skit. It’s like the world is one big reenactment of what we see online. Take Nara and Lucky Smith, for example. This isn’t to bash anyone—*I*, too, am guilty of watching her videos—but she presents this picture-perfect mom life, where she’s making everything from scratch while being a full-time model, influencer, and mother, and let’s not forget the outfits she cooks in. It’s completely unrealistic. Yet, we’re all drawn to it, liking and sharing, even though we know it’s curated perfection. It’s a prime example of how social media shapes our idea of reality, creating pressures we can’t always live up to.

Are we seeing real people? Or are we seeing versions of themselves shaped by algorithms and trends? And how much of this affects the way we interact with each other outside of social media?

The world feels like it’s been programmed to fit this mold. You’re expected to *be* something, to perform something, to curate yourself in a way that is palatable to the masses. And when we step out of that bubble—when we leave our phones behind and try to interact with others in person—it feels weird. People don't know how to behave anymore. What’s genuine? What’s performative? What’s expected of me? How do I show up in real life when I’ve spent so much time filtering my reality for an online audience?

The Impact of Social Isolation After COVID-19

All of this—the heavy reliance on social media, the isolation during the pandemic, and the detachment from real human interaction—did something to us. We were cut off from the world for months, and when we finally emerged, the world had changed, but so had we. It was like we were all stuck in social stasis, waiting for things to go back to "normal," but that never really happened. It’s like waiting for Walmart to return to 24-hour service...and it still hasn’t. Even when the world reopened, there were still lingering rules—social distancing, masks, the constant reminder that things weren't fully back to how they were. Honestly, I wasn’t too upset about the distancing; I like my space, but you get the point. It felt like we were all waiting for a reset that never came, and now we’re just trying to figure out how to move forward in this new version of reality.

After COVID-19, I noticed a shift not just in how we interacted with each other, but how we *felt* about being around people. I used to love going to parties, hanging out with friends, chatting with strangers. Now, I get nervous in big crowds, and it feels almost *wrong* to be surrounded by so many people. There’s a discomfort in the noise, the space, the energy. Social anxiety, once a fringe issue, has become far more common. And it’s not just because people are introverted or don’t like being around others; it’s because we've collectively adapted to a new way of living that has pulled us out of those natural human interactions.

And it’s not just me. I hear it from my peers, my family, even from kids today—they just *don’t like being around people* as much anymore. That’s something we don’t talk about often enough: the possibility that maybe, just maybe, this "avoidance" of social spaces isn’t just about personality traits. It’s a result of the environment we were thrown into during COVID. We were conditioned to communicate through our phones, to interact with people from behind a screen, to exist in a bubble that felt safer, more controlled.

So, now that the bubble’s been popped and we’re back in the real world, we don’t know how to act. We feel unsure, anxious, and disconnected.

Moving Forward: Can We Unlearn This?

I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that the social regression we’ve experienced since the pandemic is something that should be studied—because it’s more than just a "phase." It’s an ongoing shift in how we relate to one another, how we interact, and how we view ourselves in relation to the world. The post-COVID world isn’t just about getting back to "normal." It’s about figuring out what "normal" even looks like now.

The question is—how do we unlearn this digital detachment? How do we reintroduce ourselves to human connection in a way that doesn’t feel forced or awkward? Do we even want to go back to the way things were before, when we didn’t feel the constant pull of our phones or the pressure to keep up with online trends?

I don’t know. But what I do know is that this weird new world we live in—the one where we feel both connected and isolated at the same time—is something that needs to be acknowledged, and eventually, maybe even embraced. Because we can’t keep living in the shadows of our screens. If we’re going to re-learn how to live together, we need to start by accepting that we’re all navigating this strange new reality together.