Most people in the Western World will have heard of the phenomenon known as the Fear of Missing Out, or FOMO for short. Before the COVID-19 pandemic, it seemed I couldn’t go a few days without coming across an article analysing it, or a meme blasély throwing the term around. Lockdown changed the discourse somewhat, but with everyone online, the fear of missing out was as pronounced as ever.
As we move through 2022, with the world on the brink of environmental catastrophe, the appalling war between Ukraine and a megalomaniac’s delusions, and COVID-19 still merrily circulating, FOMO has evolved. Like the virus that nearly crippled the world, it feels like FOMO continues to mutate. And that frightens me. I have a fear of FOMO.
I would suggest that in our media-centric society, FOMO can be broadly placed into two categories. On the one hand, you have the lighter side of FOMO. These are the memes that mock you for not seeing the latest generic Marvel series on Disney+. Or feeling the itch to re-subscribe to Netflix, despite the relentless price hikes and fact you spend more time browsing than actually watching anything. These are the things whereby not missing out would allow you to be part of a conversation, in person or online. It’s cool to chat about shared interests with people. When you’re a busy adult, however, not having seen Marvel Knight isn’t a big deal. It doesn’t have a major impact on your life or lead to feelings of anxiety.
This “lighter side” of FOMO, however, shows how diluted the phenomenon has become. All the while, the “darker side” insidiously wreaks mental destruction. I don’t think that’s too melodramatic. The flipside of FOMO, in my opinion, is when it manifests into something else: anxiety. This is the kid fearing that missing out on the latest Fortnite skins will render him susceptible to playground bullying. Sadly, he may be right. Or the struggling artist who has their self-esteem eroded by all the boastful success stories on Twitter. This is the person whose feelings of inadequacy are reinforced by comparing themselves to others.
I’m sure I’m not the only one who can relate to the feelings of anxiety and low mood when confronted with the notion that you’re missing out on something important by not having that job, or not visiting that place, or not having that figure. My evidence is purely anecdotal, granted, but it seems to be everywhere. It’s just well hidden, because we generally don’t like to admit our insecurities to the world. (On a side note, this is why the renewed focus on mental health in the media and throughout the corporate world is so important. Provided, of course, it’s not just a box ticking exercise. We need to be encouraged to recognise when we’re feeling down, understand the reasons why and that we’re not alone in doing so, and seek help if we need it.)
But what I find truly disturbing isn’t that this “darker side” to FOMO merely exists, although of course that is a cause for concern. It’s that this isn’t some mystical phenomenon that has appeared unbidden from the ether, an act of nature for which there is no human explanation. No, FOMO is cultivated.
You can’t talk about FOMO without discussing the impact that social media has had. With so many platforms that encourage us to “share” (read: brag about) things with complete strangers, is it any wonder it’s so easy to feel envious and inadequate?
Most would agree that companies exist to make money, for themselves and for their shareholders. It’s their raison d’être. That’s hardly a radical notion. So, as we don’t pay to use Twitter or Instagram or Facebook, at least not the base platforms, where does the money come from? As the saying goes, if you’re not paying for a product, then you are the product.
In his terrific, thought-provoking book Four Thousand Weeks, writer Oliver Burkeman sums this up more eloquently than I. ‘It’s because our time and attention are so limited, and therefore valuable, that social media companies are incentivised to grab as much of them as they can’. It isn’t an unhappy coincidence that browsing social media platforms so readily makes us feel like we’re missing out; it’s a finely-tuned, constantly-evolving weapon in the hands of the wealthiest corporations in the world. If that’s not scary, I don’t know what is.
But what can we do about it? What’s the solution? As Burkeman points out, we’re wasting our time if we hope to open everybody’s eyes to the dangers of letting social media dominate our lives. Focusing on ourselves is a good place to start. In these troubled times, it’s more important than ever that we accept the reality of missing out. Every decision we make, every path we stumble down, means we cannot devote time to something else.
Burkeman argues that we should find the inevitability that we’re missing out liberating. I must admit I’m not there yet. I quit Twitter a few months back, but I still feel FOMO’s pull. Sure, I may be missing out on video game writing jobs by not using the platform. But Twitter comes with such emotional baggage that I’ll have to risk it. As I said at the beginning, I have a fear of FOMO. But I’d argue that fear is warranted and, dare I say it, even healthy.