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The recent lawsuit against Meta forces a question the company has long tried to sidestep: Is Instagram merely “problematic,” as its executives claim, or is it addictive by design? As a practicing psychotherapist, I don’t have to speculate. I see the answer every day in my office.
In my clinical work, I’ve watched a clear behavioral shift unfold over the past decade, tracking almost perfectly with the rise of algorithm-driven social media. Patients describe struggling to focus, feeling restless when their phones aren’t nearby, and opening Instagram almost automatically. Many tell me they’ve tried to cut back or quit entirely and failed. They delete the app only to reinstall it days later. They promise themselves they’ll check for five minutes and look up 45 minutes later, wondering where the time went.
That pattern should sound familiar. It’s exactly how addictive behaviors work.
The psychology behind it is not mysterious. Instagram runs on intermittent positive reinforcement, the same mechanism that keeps people glued to slot machines. You never know when the reward will come. Likes, messages, and notifications arrive unpredictably, keeping the brain engaged because the next payoff might appear at any moment.
Add infinite scroll, and the pull becomes even stronger. Unlike a book or a television show, Instagram never ends. There is no natural stopping point. The feed refreshes endlessly, removing the moment when a person might otherwise decide to stop. You don’t consciously choose to keep scrolling. The design removes the need to choose at all.
In my practice, I see how this spills into real life. Relationships suffer because partners feel they are competing with a screen for attention. Couples argue about divided attention, one person scrolling during dinner, during conversations, or even in bed. Work suffers too. Patients check Instagram between tasks or during meetings, fragmenting attention and reducing productivity. Sleep is delayed. Exercise routines disappear. People who genuinely want to log off feel an almost magnetic pull to keep going. This is no longer a minor inconvenience. It’s behavioral interference.
The changes even reshape how people experience time. One patient recently told me he now watches most videos at double speed and finds ordinary conversation painfully slow. He joked that he wished he could “2x” people in real life, but he wasn’t entirely kidding. His brain had adapted to rapid stimulation, making normal human pacing feel insufficient. Multiply that experience by millions of users, and the cultural shift becomes clear. We are training our brains to expect constant novelty, immediate validation, and nonstop stimulation. Attention shrinks, patience erodes, and quiet moments begin to feel uncomfortable instead of restorative.
We are living in a culture increasingly conditioned to seek immediate reassurance, constant stimulation, and relief from discomfort rather than the slower work of reflection, frustration tolerance, and self-command. Instagram didn’t create that habit of mind, but it has become the technology that perfects it.
This is why the lawsuit matters.
Companies such as Meta resist the label “addiction” for a reason. If a product is merely “problematic,” responsibility falls on the user. If it is addictive by design, responsibility shifts to the company. That distinction is not semantic. It is legal, cultural, and moral.
We’ve seen this pattern before. Industries built on engagement, from tobacco to gambling, have historically downplayed risk while emphasizing personal choice. The language is always similar: Use responsibly, know your limits, manage your habits. But when millions of people struggle with the same behavior, the issue is no longer individual discipline; it is design.
Instagram can connect people and inspire creativity. That’s true. But acknowledging benefits shouldn’t require denying reality. Algorithmic personalization, unpredictable rewards, constant notifications, and infinite scroll are not neutral features. They are behavioral engineering tools built to capture and hold attention for as long as possible. And they are working exactly as intended. Calling this merely “problematic” understates what’s happening.
Addiction is not limited to substances. Psychologically, it describes behavior that continues despite negative consequences and begins to displace more meaningful activities. When people lose sleep, struggle at work, withdraw from relationships, and repeatedly fail to cut back despite wanting to, we are no longer talking about a harmless habit.
From where I sit as a therapist, the consequences are no longer theoretical. They show up every day in people who feel increasingly disconnected from their own lives and more tethered to their screens. That doesn’t look like a minor problem. It looks like addiction.
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Jonathan Alpert is a psychotherapist in New York City and Washington, D.C., and author of the forthcoming book “Therapy Nation.” Find him on X @JonathanAlpert.
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