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Why your feed wants you angry

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Why your feed wants you angry

An abstract illustration of a scrolling feed of cards, most of them calm and grey, a few glowing red, all being pulled toward a bright orange core at the center

A couple of weeks ago I was killing ten minutes in a waiting room, doing what everybody does in a waiting room these days - scrolling. I had opened Instagram Reels looking for something light, a cooking video or a dog doing something silly. Twenty minutes later (waiting rooms are never actually ten minutes) I had seen a car crash, a fistfight outside a nightclub, someone ranting about how a whole industry was "lying to your face," and exactly one dog. I left more agitated than when I sat down, and I hadn't searched for any of it.

I think most of us have had that exact experience, on TikTok, on Facebook Reels, on Instagram, on X. And I had always half-assumed it was just my imagination, or bad luck, or maybe just me being a grumpy Belgian. So this time I actually went and looked at the research. Turns out it isn't just me.

The pattern is real, but it's not as simple as "negativity always wins"

There is a growing body of work on exactly this. Short-form video platforms like TikTok, Instagram Reels and YouTube Shorts run on recommendation algorithms that optimize for engagement and watch-time, and several studies have found that this consistently favours viral, high-arousal, emotionally charged content - TikTok's "For You" page in particular has been shown to prioritise viral content in a way that keeps amplifying the same popular creators and themes, round and round.

Zoom out from video specifically and the same shape shows up in text and news sharing too. One widely cited analysis of hundreds of millions of posts on Facebook and X found that people are close to twice as likely to share a negative news article as a positive one. Anger and moral outrage in particular seem to have their own gravity online - researchers studying "moral contagion" have shown that posts using moral-emotional language spread faster and further, especially inside already-polarised communities.

And here's the part that I found genuinely interesting: it isn't just that algorithms notice this pattern and reward it. There's real evidence they can create it. The most striking example is still the Facebook Files - the internal documents that came out through Frances Haugen showed that a 2018 change to the News Feed algorithm, meant to boost "meaningful social interactions" between friends and family, ended up doing more or less the opposite. Internally, it was reported to reward outrage and reward sensationalism - not because anyone at Facebook wanted an angrier platform, but because outrage is what kept people scrolling, and the algorithm was simply built to chase whatever kept people scrolling.

That, to me, is the real story here. It's not that some engineer in Menlo Park sat down and decided the internet needed more rage-bait. It's that engagement-maximising systems have no sense of what they're maximising for. They are, as one researcher at the Decision Lab put it, essentially amoral - they don't know the difference between a video that delights you and one that enrages you, they only know which one keeps your thumb from swiping away. Human psychology already leans toward paying attention to threats and conflict (that's an old evolutionary story, nothing new there). Bolt a genuinely amoral optimization engine onto that existing human bias, run it at the scale of billions of daily users, and you get exactly the feed I scrolled through in that waiting room.

Before you conclude the internet is just doom now - a caveat

Now, I promised myself I wouldn't write a Positron editorial that just piles on more negativity about negativity (that would be a bit rich, wouldn't it), so let me add the caveat that actually made me feel a bit better.

Not all the research agrees that negative content wins, full stop. A recent study looking at news posts across six different countries found that negative posts were actually less common, and generated lower overall engagement, than non-negative ones - directly cutting against the simple "outrage sells" narrative. The same researchers point to older work showing there's a general positivity bias baked into human language itself, found consistently across dozens of text corpora and ten different languages. So it's not that we are all secretly starving for misery. It's more that negative content, when it does land, tends to land harder and spread faster in certain contexts - politically charged ones especially - even while positive and neutral content still makes up most of what we see and share day to day.

That distinction matters, I think. It reframes the problem from "humans are drawn to the worst of everything" to something narrower and, honestly, more fixable: platforms have built specific incentive structures - watch-time, shares, comments - that happen to reward our worst impulses disproportionately, in specific moments, on specific topics. That's a design choice, not a law of nature. Which means it can, in principle, be a different design choice.

I'll be exploring that "different design choice" idea properly in the next piece, where I want to zoom out from the algorithm itself to the business model sitting underneath it - something Cory Doctorow has given a wonderfully rude name to.

For now, next time your feed leaves you more wound up than when you opened the app, know that it's not just you, and it's not entirely your fault either. It's a machine doing exactly what it was built to do. Whether we want it to keep doing that is a different question.


Some of the sources that shaped this piece, if you want to go down the rabbit hole yourself:

Hope this was useful, or at least made your next scroll a little more self-aware.

Cheers / Rik

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