The internet has lost its sheen. Much like the high street, it’s become increasingly devoid of colour, whimsy and character. With every new social media account, YouTube channel and podcast, there seem to be fewer people doing or saying anything of value. I know I’m not alone in feeling this.

Today is one of those days when I want to delete myself from the internet altogether. If there were a big red delete button, I would surely push it. Being online is equal parts overwhelming and underwhelming. So much of my time, and this is something I’m currently working on, is spent consuming media via ‘commentary’ personalities. We use the term ‘commentary’ extremely loosely here. It ranges from people whacking their faces over other people’s content whilst saying nothing, to people telling you exactly what’s happening in the very video you’re already watching. It’s remarkable that this format became so successful online when television viewers would have switched channels the moment one of those awful talking-head shows appeared.

I rarely find content I actually want to engage with and so often now, I stick one of these awful videos on in the background whilst I’m doing something else. Ironically, this is only contributing to the engagement figures and convincing the algorithms that I enjoy that kind of content.

It’s a really difficult hellhole to escape. For some bizarre reason, it always seems to funnel me towards religious content. The number of times ‘Worst Influencers in the Wild’ has led to a livestreamed sermon is unbelievable. Worse still, Facebook seems convinced I want to watch videos of animals being destroyed.

Despite all this, any reprieve from social media is often short-lived. It’s never too long before I set up new profiles, with a newfound sense of hope. “I’ll only create the content I want to put into the world, and I’ll leave the platforms alone,” I tell myself. How naive.

There is no middle ground. There’s little ground to claim as your own, where you genuinely have any say over what you’re shown, and God forbid you genuinely just want to see what your friends are up to. Likes and follows, regardless of how many personalities beg for them, feel almost meaningless now.

As with most nostalgic rants, television is often spoken about as having enjoyed a heyday. The reality is that media consumption has always been hit and miss. Taste has always been subjective, and that’s always made live broadcasting something of a gamble. The algorithm is absolute, whereas broadcast programming is still, for the most part, curated by humans. The choice may still not be ours, but you’re likely to find something you want to watch on at least one channel. Now, there’s so much scrolling, and what feels like strategy involved in choosing something to watch, that the spare time we had is gone before we’ve even pressed play.

We, the audience, have always been the product. At least on the telly, adverts were targeted at the many and formed part of the experience. Online, it’s a direct exchange of our data for free access, while we hand over even more information and increasingly more money for subscriptions, purchases and, now, the privilege of seeing fewer adverts.

The internet got away with that for years because there was still wonder in it. You were immersed in brands you loved, looked forward to updates from people doing interesting things and picked up hobbies, tips and tricks. Now, it feels less like storytelling and more like, “I did something. Clap for me.” The consumer cannot win either way. Experientially, in terms of service and in terms of payoff. It’s one long beige corridor. We may as well pad the walls.

What is the answer? Switch off. But it’s just not that easy.