On attention, outrage, and the slow death of thoughtful conversation
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I’ve listened to my share of Joe Rogan podcasts. He’s a decent interviewer, can ask good questions, lets guests talk, seems genuinely curious. You can tell he’s being himself, for better or worse. He’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but at least there’s an honest curiosity there, a desire to learn something. But he is not a giant of intellect either. Most of his interviews are actually with other comedians.
Then there’s Call Her Daddy. First I don’t want to slam her. She is a pop culture personality out there telling her truth. This isn’t really about her. But she had an event where she was on stage with a crowd of moms and preteen girls (and others), and the audience cheered when she talked about getting her first STD. Like jumping up and down with rapturous joy.
WTF.
How did we get here? When did we start trading intellect for shock value? When did attention become the only currency that matters?
I came across a piece by Dr. Roger McFillin this week “I Must Be Living in a Simulation—Because No Way This Is Real.” It’s a long, fiery read about that same Call Her Daddy event, and while he dives deep into the moral and cultural decay of it all, what stuck with me wasn’t outrage. It was sadness. Because he’s not wrong that something’s shifted. The line between authenticity and performance keeps moving, and the currency of attention has become the most valuable thing in the room.
These are just a couple examples of podcasts, but it goes much deeper. I’m not naïve about entertainment. Every generation has its provocateurs, from Howard Stern to TikTok influencers. But there’s a line between irreverent and empty, between self-expression and self-exploitation. What used to feel like rebellion now feels like a marketing strategy. And the algorithm doesn’t care if it’s good or bad for us, it only cares that we can’t look away.
The problem is, outrage is addictive. It lights up the same reward centers as gambling or junk food. So we gorge on it, then feel hollow afterward. The loudest, most extreme voices rise to the top, not because they have something to say, but because they’re willing to shout it. Thoughtfulness takes too long. Reflection doesn’t trend. The quiet middle, the curious, the cautious, the complex, gets pushed offstage.
And that’s not limited to podcasts or social media. The 24-hour news cycle runs on the same fuel. What used to be journalism has morphed into endless editorial, one long performance of opinion masquerading as information. “Breaking news” used to mean something urgent, world-changing. Now it’s slapped on stories about celebrity tweets or weather that might happen next week. Every headline screams that the sky is falling, because calm doesn’t keep viewers tuned in.
The lines between reporting and entertainment have vanished. Anchors banter like morning talk shows. Panels argue for ratings. Outrage has replaced investigation. The goal isn’t to inform anymore, it’s to provoke a reaction strong enough to keep your eyes glued to the screen through the next commercial break. It does all feel like an agenda, some aspect of Project 2025.
And yet, I don’t want to throw the whole internet, or the media, into the bin. There are still journalists doing real work, still creators using these platforms to build something honest and good. I’ve seen small artists find their people, communities build around shared kindness, art, and curiosity. I’ve seen open-hearted conversations, people helping strangers, voices amplified that once would’ve been silenced. It can be connective, inspiring, even hopeful.
But that’s not what the algorithm, or the network scheduler, is tuned for. It doesn’t reward balance, or grace, or empathy. It rewards engagement, and engagement feeds on extremes. So, for every thoughtful creator or reporter trying to build something meaningful, there are a hundred others mining attention like a resource, selling out dignity for dollars.
It makes me wonder, what happens to a culture when sincerity stops being profitable? When kids grow up believing that fame is proof of truth?
I’m not looking for a return to some sanitized “good old days.” I just want us to start noticing what we’re applauding and ask why.
Because somewhere between the podcasts and the headlines, we stopped elevating people who think and started celebrating the ones who perform.
What are the good parts? The moments that make it all worth keeping? I’d love to know what you’ve found, what corners of the internet still fill you with optimism.
Maybe the next big trend will be paying attention again. A man can hope.