On June 25, 2026, Signal Akron reported that 22-year-old Kent State graduate Brooke Williams gave up most social media after starting college, later switched from an iPhone to a Sunbeam Aspen flip phone in March, and found that many friendships did not survive the move offline. The story is local, but the pattern is not. The newest rebellion against social media is not a nostalgia act or a productivity hack; it is a practical test of which relationships were real enough to survive outside the feed. For a generation told that connection is a platform feature, deleting apps is beginning to look less like withdrawal and more like audit.
The striking detail in Williams’ story is not that she left social media. It is that almost no one followed her to the older, less frictionless channels she offered instead. She told friends to text her; most did not. That small silence says more about the architecture of modern friendship than another screen-time chart ever could.
Social media has spent two decades flattening relationships into the same basic gesture: follow, like, react, view, reply, share. A classmate, a cousin, a former co-worker, a best friend, and a stranger with a good joke can all appear in the same scroll with the same interface chrome around them. Platforms call this connection because connection is the metric they can count.
Offline, relationships have a cost structure. Calling someone requires intention. Texting someone after they disappear from Instagram requires remembering them without an algorithmic prompt. Making plans requires calendar time, physical movement, and sometimes the minor embarrassment of asking directly.
That is why the departure from social media can feel so brutal. It does not merely remove entertainment; it removes ambient proof that one is socially present. The person who leaves stops appearing in stories, stops reacting to memes, stops being one tap away from low-effort maintenance. To everyone else, they have not necessarily made a philosophical choice. They have simply become less convenient.
Williams’ switch from an iPhone to a Sunbeam Aspen flip phone matters because it changes the default. A smartphone places social platforms, cameras, group chats, recommendation feeds, payment systems, maps, music, and school or work tools behind the same glowing rectangle. Even a disciplined user is constantly negotiating with a device designed to make every context porous.
A flip phone, by contrast, is a crude boundary-making machine. It makes some things harder, and that is precisely the appeal. The friction is not a bug; it is the feature. If someone wants to reach you, they can. If a platform wants to harvest your idle seconds, it has a harder time getting in.
This is also why the “just delete the apps” advice has always been too thin. Apps are not isolated temptations sitting on a neutral device. They are woven into identity, friendship, entertainment, news, dating, school, organizing, and family life. Leaving them is less like uninstalling software and more like changing neighborhoods.
The modern platform does not merely offer connection. It inserts itself into the maintenance layer of relationships. Birthday reminders, group messages, event invitations, tagged photos, shared videos, and private jokes all become platform-native. Over time, opting out can look to others like opting out of the group itself.
That is the dependency trap. Users may sincerely want fewer feeds, fewer notifications, and less algorithmic noise, but they fear the social penalty of leaving. The cost is not abstract. It can mean losing weak ties, missing plans, appearing aloof, or discovering that certain friendships had been reduced to mutual visibility.
Nguyen’s gradual approach reflects that reality. A sudden purge can feel righteous for a day and socially disastrous a week later. A slower exit allows people to move essential relationships onto channels they actually want to use. It also forces the harder question: what should replace the time, identity, and attention that platforms once absorbed?
Williams’ comments point to this distinction. She felt more loved once she stopped stretching herself across a broad field of marginal connections. That is not a rejection of community; it is a rejection of ambient obligation. The feed makes every weak tie feel available for maintenance and every ignored update feel like a tiny social failure.
This can be especially intense for college students and recent graduates, whose social worlds are already unstable. Classmates become friends, friends become acquaintances, acquaintances become people whose lives remain visible for years. The platform preserves the appearance of continuity long after the underlying relationship has ended.
In that sense, leaving social media can be clarifying in a painful way. It reveals which connections had become performative, which ones were sustained by convenience, and which ones had enough mutual care to survive a channel change. The result may be a smaller social world, but not necessarily a lonelier one.
But addiction is not the whole story, and making it the whole story can obscure the broader design failure. Many people do not remain on social platforms because they love them. They remain because the platforms have become infrastructure. They are bad landlords of social life, but landlords nonetheless.
Amber Ferris, director of the University of Akron’s School of Communication, makes an important distinction in the Signal Akron report: dependency is not automatically addiction. The harm depends on use, context, and consequence. A young person using social media to maintain distant family ties, find a marginalized community, or organize real-world plans is not in the same position as someone losing sleep and self-worth to algorithmic comparison.
That nuance matters because moral panic produces bad advice. If all use is treated as pathology, users who benefit from online connection will rightly tune out. If all concern is dismissed as nostalgia, platforms get a free pass. The harder argument is that social media can be useful and still overpowered, socially necessary and still corrosive, connective and still a poor substitute for care.
The smartphone did that for personal life. It collapsed contexts into one device and then let attention-maximizing platforms compete inside it. Social media did not become powerful merely because the apps were compelling; it became powerful because the smartphone made them always present, always updated, always able to vibrate at the edge of consciousness.
That is why “screen time” can be a misleading shorthand. The same device can host a video call with a parent, a banking app, a lecture recording, a transit pass, a doomscrolling session, a panic search, a group chat, and a manipulative recommendation feed. Counting minutes alone misses the distinction between agency and capture.
The lo-tech turn is, in part, an attempt to recover context. A laptop can still be a better machine for intentional internet use because it is less likely to follow you into bed, into a crosswalk, or into every awkward pause in a conversation. A flip phone is more extreme, but the principle is the same: separate the tool from the twitch.
That is the part digital wellness branding often softens. We like the idea of reclaiming time, reading more books, sleeping better, touching grass, and becoming less anxious. We are less eager to admit that reducing social media may shrink a person’s social world. The exit can expose relationships that were mostly held together by reactions and proximity.
Still, the loss of weak ties is not automatically good. Weak ties matter. They help people find jobs, discover communities, maintain a sense of belonging, and move through civic life. A society made only of tight private circles can become smaller, less generous, and less informed.
The question is not whether weak ties are valuable. They are. The question is whether commercial social platforms are a healthy default mechanism for maintaining them. A feed optimized for engagement may preserve weak ties while also turning them into comparison fuel, outrage channels, and ad inventory.
This is where many digital detox attempts fail. They correctly identify the platform as a problem but underestimate the vacuum it leaves behind. If Instagram was where someone performed identity, TikTok was where they relaxed, Snapchat was where they maintained friendships, Reddit was where they learned, and Facebook was where they tracked family, deleting everything in one weekend can feel less like freedom than sensory deprivation.
A serious exit plan has to be social before it is technical. It means telling people how to reach you. It means moving group logistics somewhere else. It means deciding which relationships deserve active maintenance. It means tolerating the awkwardness of being less visible.
It also means accepting that some people will not make the move with you. That can hurt, but it is information. Platforms have trained users to confuse reachability with reciprocity. When the platform disappears, reciprocity has to stand on its own.
This is why Nguyen’s frustration with an ever-growing list of mitigation tactics resonates. There is something absurd about needing apps to manage the apps that manage your social life. The user becomes responsible for resisting systems built by companies with far more data, designers, and behavioral insight than any individual can reasonably match.
Platform companies have learned to speak the language of well-being while preserving the mechanics of compulsion. They can offer parental controls, teen defaults, and time-limit prompts without surrendering the recommendation engines, social metrics, and infinite feeds that keep users returning. The result is a kind of managed dependency.
A more honest design philosophy would make leaving easier. It would support portable social graphs, interoperable messaging, less manipulative notification systems, and humane defaults for minors. But those reforms threaten the lock-in that makes platforms valuable. The industry is happy to help users feel better about staying; it is less enthusiastic about helping them leave.
That mismatch leads to bad interventions. Confiscating a phone may reduce exposure, but it can also sever a student from peer logistics. Banning an app may remove a distraction, but it does not teach a teenager how to maintain friendships without algorithmic prompts. Telling young people to go outside is not a plan if their local world lacks safe, accessible, unstructured places to gather.
Schools have a role here, but not as phone police alone. They can teach digital literacy that includes social dependency, persuasive design, privacy, and the emotional economics of constant visibility. They can also create more offline social opportunities that do not require students to already belong to the right group chat.
Parents face the same challenge in miniature. The goal should not be to produce children who never use social platforms. It should be to raise people who can tell the difference between a tool and a tether. That skill will matter long after today’s dominant apps have been replaced by whatever comes next.
A college graduate with supportive close friends, family contacts on Facebook, and enough social confidence to weather the transition has options. A gig worker dependent on platform messages, an immigrant maintaining transnational family ties, a young person in a hostile offline environment, or a small business owner reliant on Instagram discovery may not. For them, leaving is not just emotionally hard; it may be materially costly.
That complicates the romance of going lo-tech. The flip phone can be a liberation device, but it can also be a privilege signal. Many modern institutions assume smartphone access for authentication, scheduling, payments, navigation, and emergency communication. Even opting out requires infrastructure.
The better framing is not purity. It is agency. A healthy digital life is not defined by owning the least capable device or deleting the most accounts. It is defined by whether the user can choose channels, set boundaries, preserve important relationships, and avoid being coerced into participation by social or institutional pressure.
A smaller network has limits, of course. It can become insular. It can reduce serendipity. It can make public life feel more fragmented if everyone retreats into private circles. But there is a difference between choosing depth and being trapped in narrowness.
Williams’ experience suggests that depth returned when the performance layer receded. She had more time for people she cared about. Those who cared about her became more present. The social world did not vanish; it reorganized around effort.
That is the lesson platforms do not want users to learn. Once people realize that not every connection deserves maintenance, the value of the feed begins to look inflated. The platform’s promise of endless social abundance starts to feel like an unpaid part-time job.
The cleanest exits seem to share a few traits. They are gradual enough to preserve essential relationships, explicit enough that friends know where to go, and purposeful enough that free time does not become a vacuum. They also involve a willingness to let weak or one-sided ties fade.
That may be the hardest part for users raised inside quantified social systems. Platforms encourage the hoarding of connections. Leaving requires curation in the old sense: not optimizing a profile, but choosing what deserves care.
The Social Graph Was Never the Same Thing as a Social Life
The striking detail in Williams’ story is not that she left social media. It is that almost no one followed her to the older, less frictionless channels she offered instead. She told friends to text her; most did not. That small silence says more about the architecture of modern friendship than another screen-time chart ever could.Social media has spent two decades flattening relationships into the same basic gesture: follow, like, react, view, reply, share. A classmate, a cousin, a former co-worker, a best friend, and a stranger with a good joke can all appear in the same scroll with the same interface chrome around them. Platforms call this connection because connection is the metric they can count.
Offline, relationships have a cost structure. Calling someone requires intention. Texting someone after they disappear from Instagram requires remembering them without an algorithmic prompt. Making plans requires calendar time, physical movement, and sometimes the minor embarrassment of asking directly.
That is why the departure from social media can feel so brutal. It does not merely remove entertainment; it removes ambient proof that one is socially present. The person who leaves stops appearing in stories, stops reacting to memes, stops being one tap away from low-effort maintenance. To everyone else, they have not necessarily made a philosophical choice. They have simply become less convenient.
The New Lo-Tech Mood Is a Stress Test, Not a Time Machine
The renewed interest in flip phones, app blockers, dumbed-down smartphones, and intentional disconnection is often framed as a quirky Gen Z revival of older technology. That reading is comforting and mostly wrong. The flip phone is not the point. The point is that some younger users are trying to strip the internet back down to tools they can use without being used in return.Williams’ switch from an iPhone to a Sunbeam Aspen flip phone matters because it changes the default. A smartphone places social platforms, cameras, group chats, recommendation feeds, payment systems, maps, music, and school or work tools behind the same glowing rectangle. Even a disciplined user is constantly negotiating with a device designed to make every context porous.
A flip phone, by contrast, is a crude boundary-making machine. It makes some things harder, and that is precisely the appeal. The friction is not a bug; it is the feature. If someone wants to reach you, they can. If a platform wants to harvest your idle seconds, it has a harder time getting in.
This is also why the “just delete the apps” advice has always been too thin. Apps are not isolated temptations sitting on a neutral device. They are woven into identity, friendship, entertainment, news, dating, school, organizing, and family life. Leaving them is less like uninstalling software and more like changing neighborhoods.
Deleting the App Does Not Delete the Dependency
Gabriela Nguyen, the founder of Appstinence, gets at the central problem when she describes social media as both psychologically addictive and socially necessary. That dual role is what makes the exit so hard. A slot machine can be avoided by not entering the casino; a social platform becomes difficult to avoid when the casino is also where your friends plan dinner.The modern platform does not merely offer connection. It inserts itself into the maintenance layer of relationships. Birthday reminders, group messages, event invitations, tagged photos, shared videos, and private jokes all become platform-native. Over time, opting out can look to others like opting out of the group itself.
That is the dependency trap. Users may sincerely want fewer feeds, fewer notifications, and less algorithmic noise, but they fear the social penalty of leaving. The cost is not abstract. It can mean losing weak ties, missing plans, appearing aloof, or discovering that certain friendships had been reduced to mutual visibility.
Nguyen’s gradual approach reflects that reality. A sudden purge can feel righteous for a day and socially disastrous a week later. A slower exit allows people to move essential relationships onto channels they actually want to use. It also forces the harder question: what should replace the time, identity, and attention that platforms once absorbed?
The Platforms Sold Ambient Intimacy, and Users Are Noticing the Difference
There is a particular kind of social media closeness that feels convincing until it is tested. You know what someone ate, where they went, what they are angry about, what music they are using in a short video, and whether they have entered a new relationship. But knowledge is not intimacy. Surveillance is not care.Williams’ comments point to this distinction. She felt more loved once she stopped stretching herself across a broad field of marginal connections. That is not a rejection of community; it is a rejection of ambient obligation. The feed makes every weak tie feel available for maintenance and every ignored update feel like a tiny social failure.
This can be especially intense for college students and recent graduates, whose social worlds are already unstable. Classmates become friends, friends become acquaintances, acquaintances become people whose lives remain visible for years. The platform preserves the appearance of continuity long after the underlying relationship has ended.
In that sense, leaving social media can be clarifying in a painful way. It reveals which connections had become performative, which ones were sustained by convenience, and which ones had enough mutual care to survive a channel change. The result may be a smaller social world, but not necessarily a lonelier one.
The Addiction Debate Misses the More Ordinary Problem of Social Infrastructure
It is tempting to frame social media entirely through addiction. The language fits many users’ experience: compulsion, relapse, tolerance, withdrawal, loss of control. The U.S. surgeon general’s 2023 advisory on youth mental health gave institutional weight to concerns that heavy social media use can carry serious risks, particularly for adolescents.But addiction is not the whole story, and making it the whole story can obscure the broader design failure. Many people do not remain on social platforms because they love them. They remain because the platforms have become infrastructure. They are bad landlords of social life, but landlords nonetheless.
Amber Ferris, director of the University of Akron’s School of Communication, makes an important distinction in the Signal Akron report: dependency is not automatically addiction. The harm depends on use, context, and consequence. A young person using social media to maintain distant family ties, find a marginalized community, or organize real-world plans is not in the same position as someone losing sleep and self-worth to algorithmic comparison.
That nuance matters because moral panic produces bad advice. If all use is treated as pathology, users who benefit from online connection will rightly tune out. If all concern is dismissed as nostalgia, platforms get a free pass. The harder argument is that social media can be useful and still overpowered, socially necessary and still corrosive, connective and still a poor substitute for care.
The Smartphone Made the Feed Ubiquitous, but the Feed Made the Smartphone Sticky
For WindowsForum readers, the most familiar version of this story is not the flip phone but the operating system. We know what happens when software moves from a discrete tool to a default environment. Once something becomes the place where work, identity, files, messages, authentication, entertainment, and memory all converge, leaving it becomes exponentially harder.The smartphone did that for personal life. It collapsed contexts into one device and then let attention-maximizing platforms compete inside it. Social media did not become powerful merely because the apps were compelling; it became powerful because the smartphone made them always present, always updated, always able to vibrate at the edge of consciousness.
That is why “screen time” can be a misleading shorthand. The same device can host a video call with a parent, a banking app, a lecture recording, a transit pass, a doomscrolling session, a panic search, a group chat, and a manipulative recommendation feed. Counting minutes alone misses the distinction between agency and capture.
The lo-tech turn is, in part, an attempt to recover context. A laptop can still be a better machine for intentional internet use because it is less likely to follow you into bed, into a crosswalk, or into every awkward pause in a conversation. A flip phone is more extreme, but the principle is the same: separate the tool from the twitch.
The Friendship Purge Is the Feature People Do Not Advertise
The most uncomfortable part of quitting social media is that it can look socially destructive before it looks healthy. Williams lost multiple friends. Jessica Greene, a University of Akron psychology student quoted in the report, also saw friendships fade when she stopped maintaining them through social platforms. Both ultimately describe that loss as clarifying rather than purely tragic.That is the part digital wellness branding often softens. We like the idea of reclaiming time, reading more books, sleeping better, touching grass, and becoming less anxious. We are less eager to admit that reducing social media may shrink a person’s social world. The exit can expose relationships that were mostly held together by reactions and proximity.
Still, the loss of weak ties is not automatically good. Weak ties matter. They help people find jobs, discover communities, maintain a sense of belonging, and move through civic life. A society made only of tight private circles can become smaller, less generous, and less informed.
The question is not whether weak ties are valuable. They are. The question is whether commercial social platforms are a healthy default mechanism for maintaining them. A feed optimized for engagement may preserve weak ties while also turning them into comparison fuel, outrage channels, and ad inventory.
Appstinence Points to the Part Silicon Valley Usually Ignores
Nguyen’s advice to find something to run toward rather than merely something to run away from is the most practical line in the entire story. It treats disconnection not as a stunt but as a migration. A person leaving social media needs replacement rituals, replacement channels, and replacement forms of identity.This is where many digital detox attempts fail. They correctly identify the platform as a problem but underestimate the vacuum it leaves behind. If Instagram was where someone performed identity, TikTok was where they relaxed, Snapchat was where they maintained friendships, Reddit was where they learned, and Facebook was where they tracked family, deleting everything in one weekend can feel less like freedom than sensory deprivation.
A serious exit plan has to be social before it is technical. It means telling people how to reach you. It means moving group logistics somewhere else. It means deciding which relationships deserve active maintenance. It means tolerating the awkwardness of being less visible.
It also means accepting that some people will not make the move with you. That can hurt, but it is information. Platforms have trained users to confuse reachability with reciprocity. When the platform disappears, reciprocity has to stand on its own.
The Industry Will Sell Moderation Before It Allows Escape
The tech industry’s preferred answer to overuse is usually more tooling: screen-time dashboards, notification summaries, focus modes, bedtime reminders, grayscale settings, app timers, and AI-assisted nudges. Some of these features help. None changes the basic incentive structure of platforms that profit from attention.This is why Nguyen’s frustration with an ever-growing list of mitigation tactics resonates. There is something absurd about needing apps to manage the apps that manage your social life. The user becomes responsible for resisting systems built by companies with far more data, designers, and behavioral insight than any individual can reasonably match.
Platform companies have learned to speak the language of well-being while preserving the mechanics of compulsion. They can offer parental controls, teen defaults, and time-limit prompts without surrendering the recommendation engines, social metrics, and infinite feeds that keep users returning. The result is a kind of managed dependency.
A more honest design philosophy would make leaving easier. It would support portable social graphs, interoperable messaging, less manipulative notification systems, and humane defaults for minors. But those reforms threaten the lock-in that makes platforms valuable. The industry is happy to help users feel better about staying; it is less enthusiastic about helping them leave.
Parents and Schools Are Fighting the Last Interface
For parents, educators, and administrators, the Signal Akron story lands at an awkward moment. Many adults still think of social media as something young people do on top of real life. Young users know it is often where real life is coordinated, displayed, judged, and archived.That mismatch leads to bad interventions. Confiscating a phone may reduce exposure, but it can also sever a student from peer logistics. Banning an app may remove a distraction, but it does not teach a teenager how to maintain friendships without algorithmic prompts. Telling young people to go outside is not a plan if their local world lacks safe, accessible, unstructured places to gather.
Schools have a role here, but not as phone police alone. They can teach digital literacy that includes social dependency, persuasive design, privacy, and the emotional economics of constant visibility. They can also create more offline social opportunities that do not require students to already belong to the right group chat.
Parents face the same challenge in miniature. The goal should not be to produce children who never use social platforms. It should be to raise people who can tell the difference between a tool and a tether. That skill will matter long after today’s dominant apps have been replaced by whatever comes next.
The Real Digital Divide Is Becoming a Divide Over Attention
The old digital divide was about access: who had a computer, who had broadband, who could get online. That divide still exists, but a newer one is emerging around attention and autonomy. Some people can afford to disconnect cleanly; others cannot.A college graduate with supportive close friends, family contacts on Facebook, and enough social confidence to weather the transition has options. A gig worker dependent on platform messages, an immigrant maintaining transnational family ties, a young person in a hostile offline environment, or a small business owner reliant on Instagram discovery may not. For them, leaving is not just emotionally hard; it may be materially costly.
That complicates the romance of going lo-tech. The flip phone can be a liberation device, but it can also be a privilege signal. Many modern institutions assume smartphone access for authentication, scheduling, payments, navigation, and emergency communication. Even opting out requires infrastructure.
The better framing is not purity. It is agency. A healthy digital life is not defined by owning the least capable device or deleting the most accounts. It is defined by whether the user can choose channels, set boundaries, preserve important relationships, and avoid being coerced into participation by social or institutional pressure.
The Smaller Network May Be the More Honest One
The most radical part of Williams’ choice is not technological. It is her willingness to accept a smaller network. Social media trains users to treat social contraction as failure: fewer followers, fewer reactions, fewer replies, fewer visible ties. Offline, contraction can be a form of repair.A smaller network has limits, of course. It can become insular. It can reduce serendipity. It can make public life feel more fragmented if everyone retreats into private circles. But there is a difference between choosing depth and being trapped in narrowness.
Williams’ experience suggests that depth returned when the performance layer receded. She had more time for people she cared about. Those who cared about her became more present. The social world did not vanish; it reorganized around effort.
That is the lesson platforms do not want users to learn. Once people realize that not every connection deserves maintenance, the value of the feed begins to look inflated. The platform’s promise of endless social abundance starts to feel like an unpaid part-time job.
The Exit Ramp Is Narrow, but It Exists
The practical lesson from Akron is not that everyone should throw away a smartphone or disappear from every platform tomorrow. It is that quitting social media is a process of rebuilding social infrastructure. The app icon is the visible part; the dependency is underneath.The cleanest exits seem to share a few traits. They are gradual enough to preserve essential relationships, explicit enough that friends know where to go, and purposeful enough that free time does not become a vacuum. They also involve a willingness to let weak or one-sided ties fade.
That may be the hardest part for users raised inside quantified social systems. Platforms encourage the hoarding of connections. Leaving requires curation in the old sense: not optimizing a profile, but choosing what deserves care.
The Akron Story Turns Digital Wellness Into a Relationship Audit
This is where the story becomes useful beyond one student, one flip phone, or one local newsroom’s portrait of Gen Z disconnection. It gives users and families a more concrete way to think about leaving social media. The goal is not to become unreachable. The goal is to become reachable in ways that do not require surrendering attention to a feed.- Leaving social media tends to reveal which relationships depend on mutual effort and which ones depend mostly on platform convenience.
- A gradual exit is often more sustainable than a dramatic deletion spree because social habits need replacement channels.
- A flip phone or stripped-down device works because it adds friction where smartphones removed too much of it.
- Social media dependency is not automatically addiction, but it becomes dangerous when it damages sleep, work, school, self-worth, or relationships.
- The healthiest form of disconnection is not running from technology but running toward specific people, places, habits, and obligations.
- Users should judge digital tools less by how much connection they promise and more by how much agency they leave intact.
References
- Primary source: Signal Akron
Published: 2026-06-25T04:30:12.376029
Disconnecting from social media is more than deleting apps - Signal Akron
When recent Kent State graduate Brooke Williams gave up most social media after she started college, she lost multiple friends.signalakron.org - Related coverage: pewresearch.org
- Related coverage: hhs.gov
- Related coverage: publications.aap.org
Surgeon general advisory warns of social media’s effects on youth mental health | AAP News | American Academy of Pediatrics
The surgeon general pointed people to the AAP’s new Center of Excellence on Social Media and Youth Mental Health for guidance.
publications.aap.org
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US surgeon general warns of dangers of social media for youth
Amid what he calls the worst youth mental health crisis in recent memory, the U.S. Surgeon General wants more social media safeguards.www.statnews.com
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Surgeon General’s Advisory on Social Media and Youth Mental Health | Integration Academy
U.S. Surgeon General Dr. Vivek Murthy released a new advisory on the impacts of social media to the mental health of children and adolescents.integrationacademy.ahrq.gov
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Surgeon general issues advisory about social media risks for kids
The U.S. Surgeon General issued an advisory warning there's not enough information to conclude social media is kid safe.www.axios.com
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Teens Are Over Face-to-Face Communication, Study Says
A new survey from Common Sense quizzes teenagers on their usage of technology, particularly social mediatime.com
