Before algorithms ruled our feeds, the internet was a mess — glitchy, chaotic and full of unexpected magic. Internet culture writer Michael Sun reflects on the wild digital world of the 2000s — and makes a funny, wry case for why we need to reclaim its spontaneity, weirdness and genuine connection. From niche Facebook groups to loading music onto your iPod, it might be time to borrow from the past.For a chance to give your own TED Talk, fill out the Idea Search Application: ted.com/ideasearch.Interested in learning more about upcoming TED events? Follow these links:TEDNext: ted.com/futureyouTEDSports: ted.com/sportsTEDAI Vienna: ted.com/ai-viennaTEDAI San Francisco: ted.com/ai-sf Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.
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You're listening to TED Talks Daily, where we bring you new ideas to spark your curiosity every day. I'm your host, Elise Hu. We spend a lot of time talking about the ways the internet and social media are destructive, ruining our attention spans, our ability to connect, our ability to discern truth from fiction.
But with all this knowledge, could there still be a way to live happier lives online? Like all Gen Zers, writer and designer Michael Sun grew up online and he knows the dangers.
But in his talk, he shares why he thinks it's possible to create a modern internet that lets us be vulnerable and connect with others in a more positive way and enjoy the randomness that life and the early internet has to offer.
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Let me tell you a story. This story begins in the summer of 2008. It's one of those scorching summers where everything stops and time itself seems suspended. I'm 11 and sitting in front of the computer for days on end, melting into my chair. Somehow my dad has found this website that he claims is this cool new virtual reality experience, and I'm 11, which means I still trust my dad.
So I hop on this site, right? It's called Exit Reality, which is exactly what I want to do because it's 42 degrees outside and there's no air con in our apartment. If you know what second life is, it's kind of like that. You can make your own avatars in the most rudimentary 3D graphics I have ever seen in my life.
And then supposedly you can meet with and talk to other avatars in this endless expanse of digital landscape engulfed in a permanent sunset. But because it is 2008, everything freaks out when you press any button. And the lag is enough to give anyone anxiety. I mean, I already had anxiety as an 11-year-old, so it made me want to literally die.
But I persevere, even though there's nary a soul in sight. I key-smash my way through pixelated deserts and abandoned streets, and then... in the corner of my screen, something appears. Someone appears. Their avatar is wearing a leather jacket and a mohawk, so I approach them, and I'm like, hey, nice mohawk. Once again, I'm 11, so please withhold your judgment. I'm begging you.
We start chatting, and he tells me his name is Tommy. And then he asks, ASL, which, of course, means age, sex, location. And obviously, I'm like, 17, male, Canada, even though I'm an 11-year-old boy living in northwest Sydney.
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