“I’m reading a book or playing a game from the time I wake up until I go to sleep,” Dreis told WIRED. What they read comes from the library app Libby, so the books count toward overall screen engagement. Dreise currently has his phone’s autolock feature disabled so he can continuously play a mobile game that pays $35 for every 110 hours logged. (He’s made about $16 so far.)
Over the years, studies have revealed worrying data about the potential negative effects of excessive screen time on both physical and cognitive health. Concerns over the neurodevelopment and mental health of youth glued to their phones have led to major legislative and court battles; Recently a jury found Meta and YouTube liable for designing their platforms with addictive features.
Although the question of whether someone can be clinically “addicted” to something like social media remains a subject of fierce controversy, there seems to be a broad consensus this decade that people would be better off scrolling less. At the more extreme end, there are virtual communities that share strategies for quitting smartphones and digital detox retreats where no amount of information can get you there.
Yet there are people, like Dreis, who oppose the emerging common wisdom about reducing screen time. You might call them “screenmaxers”. Not that they necessarily have any holistic concept of their habits; Journalist Taylor Lorenz is probably in the minority of Screenmaxers eager to put the screen straight inside his brain, as he recently confessed to WIRED. It’s just that, for various reasons, they are on their devices almost all the time, and they don’t see it as any kind of problem.
Of course, part of the equation is work. Corina Diaz, 45, who lives in a remote wooded area of Ontario, Canada, works in video game marketing and influence management for a game publisher. “So, a lot of screen time,” she says.
Diaz met her husband online in 2005 and had a child three years ago – she says her screen time increased when she woke up at odd hours because of her newborn.
But Diaz has sought out online friendships since the 1990s, when it meant taking advantage of tools like Internet relay chat and bulletin board systems. “I’ve always felt that screens, phones or other things connect me to things I care about,” she says. “Especially, specific social groups that don’t have good visibility in the mainstream.” Now that she lives two and a half hours outside Toronto, the nearest major city, her screen is “a little connection lifeline,” she says.
Daniel Rios is in a similar situation. A computer programmer, he lives in the South American country where he grew up after living abroad for years. Most of his friends left and never returned.
As a result, Rios keeps in touch with people through his primary social outlet, Discord. Not living in a city, he doesn’t go out that much, and his entire day is filled with screens – though he says it’s “hard to quantify” how many hours it all adds up to. “When I’m not working [desktop] Computer, I’m playing on the computer or watching TV,” he says. “If I’m not on the computer, I’m looking at my phone. If I’m not doing any of the above, and I’m out of the house, I’m probably still listening to something on my phone.
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