Could you get through seven days without looking at a device? I tried—here’s what happened
BY Julien Blanc-Gras FROM L’O B S
It’s well-documented: our screens are cognitive prisons that pulverise our attention span, erode our mental health and spark polarised rage, all while exacerbating our carbon footprint. But can we free ourselves?
I’ve decided to try to live like it’s 1996, and go back to my pre-internet life, with a one-week digital detox—no computers or mobile phones. But before the big shut-off, I need to do a little preparation.
The Day Before
First, I need to explain the concept to my friends and family so they’re not wondering why I’ve suddenly fallen off the map. I set up an out-of-office reply: “I won’t have access to email until Sunday. If this is an emergency, call my landline at xxxx.”
Then I scribble a few useful phone numbers in a notebook—which will be my daily diary. I borrow my eight-year-old son’s watch (the last time I wore a watch, it was the 20th century), jot down my week’s appointments and map out routes. Next I find my long-abandoned landline phone and plug it in.
My digital detox hasn’t even begun and I’m already conscious of the fact that I underestimated my screen dependency. I feel nervous. I had envisioned the challenge as a soothing lull, but now, on the edge of the analogue abyss, I’m gripped by dull angst. I type these final words on my Mac, which I’ll put in the drawer along with my iPhone. I’ll shut the drawer and tape it closed. Once it’s sealed, there will be no turning back.
Day 1
The alarm clock goes off. I reach toward the bedside table. My phone isn’t there. I feel a void already. I’ve only been awake a few seconds.
No checking messages before I empty my bladder. No news roundup with breakfast. No weather forecast. I have no choice but to look out the window: it’s the early hours of a beautiful day.
I hop on my bike. I’m on my way to lead a writers’ workshop for middle-school students at a school I’ve never been to, so I bring a map of Paris with me, just in case. At the first traffic light, I pat my pocket, checking for my phone. Have I done that at every light these past few years? Possibly.
At the school, I’m aware that these kids, born in the 2000s, don’t remember life before the internet—and have only a vague idea that such a time existed. As I chat with them, I’m not thinking about the emails piling up in the phon
