Last week, I wrote about why the social media addiction verdicts against Meta and YouTube should worry anyone who cares about the open internet. The short version: plaintiffs’ lawyers found a clever way to recharacterize editorial decisions about third-party content as “product design defects,” effectively gutting Section 230 without anyone having to repeal it. The legal theory will be weaponized against every platform on the internet, not just the ones you hate. And the encryption implications of the New Mexico decision alone should terrify everyone. You can read that post for more details on the legal arguments.

But there’s a separate question lurking underneath the legal one that deserves its own attention: is the scientific premise behind all of this even right? Are these platforms actually causing widespread harm to kids? Is “social media addiction” a real thing that justifies treating Instagram like a pack of Marlboros? We’ve covered versions of this debate in the past, mostly looking at studies. But there are other forms of expert analysis as well.

Long-time Techdirt reader and commenter Leah Abram pointed us to a newsletter from Dr. Katelyn Jetelina and Dr. Jacqueline Nesi that digs into exactly this question with the kind of nuance that’s been almost entirely absent from the mainstream coverage. Jetelina runs the widely read “Your Local Epidemiologist” newsletter, and Nesi is a clinical psychologist and professor at Brown who studies technology’s effects on young people.

And what they’re saying lines up almost perfectly with what we’ve been saying here at Techdirt for years, often to enormous pushback: social media does not appear to be inherently harmful to children. What appears to be true is that there is a small group of kids for whom it’s genuinely problematic. And the interventions that would actually help those kids look nothing like the blanket bans and sweeping product liability lawsuits that politicians and trial lawyers are currently pursuing. And those broad interventions do real harm to many more people, especially those who are directly helped by social media.

Let’s start with the “addiction” question, since that’s the framework on which these verdicts were built. Here’s Nesi:

There is much debate in psychology about whether social media use (or, really, any non-substance-using behavior outside of gambling) can be called an “addiction.” There is no clear neurological or diagnostic criteria, like a blood test, to make this easy, so it’s up for debate:

• On one hand, some researchers argue that compulsive social media use shares enough features (loss of control, withdrawal-like symptoms, continued use despite harm) to warrant the diagnosis for treatment.
• Others say the evidence for true neurological dependency is still weak and inconsistent because research relies on self-reported data, findings haven’t been replicated, and many heavy users don’t show true clinical impairment without pre-existing issues.

Her bottom line is measured and careful in a way that you almost never hear from the politicians and lawyers who claim to be acting on behalf of children:

Here’s my current take: There are a small number of people whose social media use is so extreme that it causes significant impairment in their lives, and they are unable to stop using it despite that impairment. And for those people, maybe addiction is the right word.

For the vast majority of people (and kids) using social media, though, I do not think addiction is the right word to use.

That’s a leading expert on technology and adolescent mental health, someone who has personally worked with hospitalized suicidal teenagers, telling you that for the vast majority of kids, “addiction” is the wrong word. And she has a specific, evidence-based reason for why that distinction matters — one that should be of particular interest to anyone who actually wants platforms held accountable for the kids who are being harmed.

Nesi argues that overusing the addiction label doesn’t just lack scientific precision. It actively weakens the case for meaningful platform accountability:

Preserving the precision of the addiction label — reserving it for the small number of kids whose use is genuinely compulsive and impairing — actually strengthens the case for platform accountability, rather than weakening it. It’s that targeted claim that has driven legal action and regulatory pressure. Expanding it to average use shifts focus from systemic design fixes to individual diagnosis, and dilutes the very argument that holds platforms responsible.

This is a vital point that runs counter to the knee-jerk reactions of both the trial lawyers and the moral panic crowd. If you say every kid using social media is an addict, you’ve made the concept of addiction meaningless, and you’ve made it dramatically harder to identify and help the kids who are actually suffering. You’ve also given platforms an easy out: if everyone’s addicted, then it’s just a feature of how humans interact with technology, and nobody is specifically responsible for anything. Precision is what creates accountability. Vagueness destroys it.

We highlighted something similar back in January, when a study published in Nature’s Scientific Reports found that simply priming people to think about their social media use in addiction terms — such as using language from the U.S. Surgeon General’s report — reduced their own perceived control, increased their self-blame, and made them recall more failed attempts to change their behavior. The addiction framing itself was creating a feeling of helplessness that made it harder for people to change their habits. As the researchers in that study put it:

It is impressive that even the two-minute exposure to addiction framing in our research was sufficient to produce a statistically significant negative impact on users. This effect is aligned with past literature showing that merely seeing addiction scales can negatively impact feelings of well-being. Presumably, continued exposure to the broader media narrative around social media addiction has even larger and more profound effects.

So we’re stuck with a situation where the dominant public narrative — “social media is addicting our children” — appears to be both scientifically imprecise and actively counterproductive for the people it claims to help. That’s a real problem. And it would be nice if the moral panic crowd would start to recognize the damage they’re doing.

None of this means there are no risks. Nesi is quite clear about that, drawing on her own clinical work:

A few years ago, I ran a study with adolescents experiencing suicidal thoughts in an inpatient hospital unit. Many of the patients I spoke to had complex histories of abuse, neglect, bullying, poverty, and other major stressors. Some of these patients used social media in totally benign, unremarkable ways. A few of them, though, were served with an endless feed of suicide-related posts and memes, some romanticizing or minimizing suicide. For those patients, it would be very hard to argue that social media did not contribute to their symptoms, even with everything else going on in their lives.

Nobody who has paid serious attention to this issue disputes that. There are kids for whom social media is a contributing factor in genuine mental health crises. The question has always been whether that reality justifies treating social media as an inherently dangerous product that harms all children — the premise on which these lawsuits and legislative bans are built.

The evidence consistently says no. When it comes to whether social media actually causes mental health issues, the newsletter is direct:

The scientific community has substantial correlational evidence and some, but not much, causal evidence of harm. Studies that randomly assigned people to stop using social media show mixed results, depending on how long they stopped, whether they quit entirely or just reduced use, and what they were using it for.

And:

It is still the case that if you take an average, healthy teen and give them social media, this is highly unlikely to create a mental illness.

This is consistent with what we’ve been reporting on for years, including two massive studies covering 125,000 kids that found either a U-shaped relationship (where moderate use was associated with the best outcomes and no use was sometimes worse than heavy use) or flat-out zero causal effect on mental health. Every time serious researchers go looking for the inherent-harm story that politicians keep telling, they come up empty.

One of the most fascinating details in the newsletter is the Costa Rica comparison. Costa Rica ranks #4 in the 2026 World Happiness Report. Its residents use just as much social media as Americans. And yet:

It doesn’t necessarily have fewer mental illnesses. And it certainly doesn’t have less social media use. What it has is a deep social fabric, and that may mean social media use reinforces real-world connections in Costa Rica, whereas in English-speaking countries, it may be replacing them.

In other words, cultural factors appear to be protective. The underlying challenges to social foundations — trust, connection, belonging, and safety — are what drive happiness. Friendships, being known by someone, the sense that you belong somewhere: these are the actual load-bearing pillars of mental health, more predictive of wellbeing than income, and more protective against mental illness than almost any intervention we have.

If social media were inherently harmful — if the “addictive design” of infinite scroll and autoplay and algorithmic recommendations were the core problem — Costa Rica would be suffering the same outcomes as the United States. They have the same platforms, same features, and same engagement mechanics. What actually differs is the strength of the social fabric, not the tools themselves.

This is a similar point I raised in my review of Jonathan Haidt’s book two years ago. If you go past his cherry-picked data, you can find tons of countries with high social media use where rates of depression and suicide have gone down. There are clearly many other factors at work here, and little evidence that social media is a key factor at all.

That realization completely changes how we should think about policy. If the problem is weak social foundations — not enough connection, not enough belonging, not enough adults showing up for kids — then banning social media or suing platforms into submission won’t fix it. You’ll have addressed the wrong variable. And in the process, you’ll have made the platforms worse for the many kids (including LGBTQ+ teens in hostile communities, kids with rare diseases, teens in rural areas) who rely on them for the connection and community that their physical environment doesn’t provide.

Nesi’s column has some practical advice that is pretty different than what that best selling book might tell you:

If you know your teen is vulnerable, perhaps due to existing mental health challenges or social struggles, you may want to be extra careful.

If your teen is using social media in moderation, and it does not seem to be affecting them negatively, it probably isn’t.

That sounds so obvious it feels almost silly to type out. And yet it is the exact opposite of the approach we see in the lawsuits and bans currently dominating the policy landscape, which assume social media is a universally dangerous product requiring universal restrictions.

The newsletter closes with a key line that highlights the nuance that so many people ignore:

Social media may be one piece of the puzzle, but it’s certainly not the whole thing.

We’ve been making this point at Techdirt for a long time now, often in the face of considerable hostility from people who are deeply invested in the simpler narrative. I’ve written about Danah Boyd’s useful framework of understanding the differences between risks and harms, and how moral panics confuse those two things. I’ve covered so many studies that find no causal link that I’ve lost count. I’ve pointed out how the “addiction” framing may be doing more damage than the platforms themselves.

That’s why it’s encouraging to see credentialed, independent researchers — people who work directly with the most vulnerable kids — end up in the same place through their own work. Because this conversation desperately needs more voices willing to acknowledge both realities: that some kids are genuinely harmed and need targeted help, and that the sweeping narrative of universal social media harm is not supported by the science and leads to policy responses that may hurt far more people than they help.

The kids who are in that small, genuinely vulnerable group deserve interventions designed for them — better mental health funding and access along with better identification of at-risk youth. What they don’t deserve is to have their suffering used as a blunt instrument and a prop to reshape the entire internet through lawsuits built on a scientific premise that the actual scientists keep telling us is wrong.

Ctrl-Alt-Speech is a weekly podcast about the latest news in online speech, from Mike Masnick and Everything in Moderation‘s Ben Whitelaw.

Subscribe now on Apple Podcasts, Overcast, Spotify, Pocket Casts, YouTube, or your podcast app of choice — or go straight to the RSS feed.

In this week’s round-up of the latest news in online speech, content moderation and internet regulation, Mike and Ben cover:

• It’s official: Australia’s teen social media ban isn’t working, yet (Crikey)
• Social Media Minimum Age – Compliance update (eSafety Commision)
• Blunder from Down Under (Ctrl-Alt-Speech)
• April 3 could create a dangerous gap in child safety across Europe (Thorn)
• Commissioners pile pressure on Parliament to pass child sexual abuse bill (POLITICO)
• Weeks After Denouncing Government Censorship On Rogan, Zuckerberg Texted Elon Musk Offering To Take Down Content For DOGE (Techdirt)
• What Is YouTube’s Dominance Doing to Us? We Asked Its C.E.O. (The New York Times)
• This Episode is Broadly Safe To Listen To (Ctrl-Alt-Speech)
• Meta will “substantially reduce” describing Instagram teen accounts as PG-13 (Engadget)
• Rated R for Ridiculous (Ctrl-Alt-Speech)

If you’ve got Elon Musk in your Ctrl-Alt-Speech 2026 Bingo Card this week, you’re in luck.

Back in October, Meta announced that its new Instagram Teen Accounts would feature content moderation “guided by the PG-13 rating.” On its face, this made a certain kind of sense as a communication strategy: parents know what PG-13 means (or at least think they do), and Meta was clearly trying to borrow that cultural familiarity to signal that it was taking teen safety seriously.

The Motion Picture Association, however, was not amused. Within hours of the announcement, MPA Chairman Charles Rivkin fired off a statement. Then came a cease-and-desist letter. Then a Washington Post op-ed whining about the threat to its precious brand. The MPA was very protective of its trademark, and very unhappy that Meta was freeloading off the supposed credibility of its widely mocked rating system.

And now, this week, the two sides have announced a formal resolution in which Meta has agreed to “substantially reduce” its references to PG-13 and include a rather remarkable disclaimer:

“There are lots of differences between social media and movies. We didn’t work with the MPA when updating our content settings, and they’re not rating any content on Instagram, and they’re not endorsing or approving our content settings in any way. Rather, we drew inspiration from the MPA’s public guidelines, which are already familiar to parents. Our content moderation systems are not the same as a movie ratings board, so the experience may not be exactly the same.”

In Meta’s official response, you can practically hear the PR team gritting their teeth:

“We’re pleased to have reached an agreement with the MPA. By taking inspiration from a framework families know, our goal was to help parents better understand our teen content policies. We rigorously reviewed those policies against 13+ movie ratings criteria and parent feedback, updated them, and applied them to Teen Accounts by default. While that’s not changing, we’ve taken the MPA’s feedback on how we talk about that work. We’ll keep working to support parents and provide age-appropriate experiences for teens,” said a Meta spokesperson.

Translation: we’re still doing the same thing, we’re just no longer allowed to call it what we were calling it.

There are several layers of nonsense worth unpacking here. First, there’s the MPA getting all high and mighty about its rating system. Let’s remember how the MPA’s film rating system came into existence in the first place: it was a voluntary self-regulation scheme created in the late 1960s specifically to head off government regulation after the government started making noises about the harm Hollywood was doing to children with the content it platformed. Sound familiar? The studios decided that if they rated their own content, maybe Congress would leave them alone. As the MPA explains in their own boilerplate:

For nearly 60 years, the MPA’s Classification and Rating Administration’s (CARA) voluntary film rating system has helped American parents make informed decisions about what movies their children can watch… CARA does not rate user-generated content. CARA-rated films are professionally produced and reviewed under a human-centered system, while user-generated posts on platforms like Instagram are not subject to the same rating process.

Sure, there’s a trademark issue here, but let’s be real: no one thought Instagram was letting a panel of Hollywood parents rate the latest influencer videos.

Next, the PG-13 analogy never actually made much sense for social media. As we discussed on Ctrl-Alt-Speech back when this whole thing started, the context and scale are just completely different. At the time, I pointed out that a system designed to rate a 90-minute professionally produced film — reviewed in its entirety by a panel of parents — is a wholly different beast than moderating hundreds of millions of short-form posts generated by individuals (and AI) every single day.

So, yes, calling the system “PG-13” was a marketing gimmick, meant to trade on a familiar brand while obscuring how differently social media actually works — but the idea that this somehow dilutes the MPA’s marks is still pretty silly.

Then there’s the rating system’s well-documented arbitrariness. The MPA’s ratings have been criticized for decades for their seemingly incoherent standards. On that same podcast, I noted that the rating system is famous for its selective prudishness — nudity gets you an R rating, but two hours of violence can skate by with a PG-13.

There was a whole documentary about this — This Film Is Not Yet Rated — that exposed just how subjective and inconsistent the whole process was. Meta was effectively borrowing credibility from a system that was itself created as a regulatory dodge, is famously inconsistent, and was designed for an entirely different medium. And the MPA’s response was essentially: “Hey, that’s our famously inconsistent regulatory dodge, and you can’t have it.”

The whole thing was silly. And now it’s been formally resolved with Meta agreeing to stop doing the thing it had already mostly stopped doing back in December. So even the resolution is anticlimactic.

But there’s a more substantive point buried under all this trademark squabbling: the whole approach reflects a flawed assumption that one company can set a universal standard for every teen on the planet.

As I argued on the podcast, the deeper issue is that the whole framework is wrong for the medium. The MPA’s rating system was built to evaluate a single 90-minute film, reviewed in its entirety by a panel of parents. Applying that logic to hundreds of millions of short-form posts generated by people across wildly different cultural contexts — a kid in rural Kansas, a teenager in Berlin, a twelve-year-old in Lagos — was never going to produce anything coherent. Different kids, different families, different communities have different standards, and no single company should be setting a universal threshold for all of them. The smarter approach is giving parents and users real controls with customizable defaults, rather than having Zuckerberg (or a Hollywood trade association) decide what counts as age-appropriate for every teenager on the planet.

This whole dispute was silly from start to finish.