I owe my longest friendship to YouTube.
My middle school years were awkward, as most are. I was shy and quiet, managing a growth spurt and a competitive all-girls school environment. Even worse, I was on the robotics team.
One day after a robotics practice, I walked to the parking lot with one of my teammates. Trying to make conversation, I let slip a niche YouTube reference. I looked up at her, embarrassed, but to my delight, she responded, “Is that from an AlishaMarie video?” Immediately, we began unabashedly discussing the characters and events of this online world we both felt a part of. We’ve been close friends ever since.
My parents, big fans of Common Sense Media (a media safety rating site), worked hard to keep me off the internet for as long as possible. Despite their best efforts, when my sixth-grade class was given access to Chromebooks, I quickly became engrossed in the world of YouTube. I loved lifestyle videos, DIY videos, and anything hyperrealistic I could get my hands on. In the throes of middle school insecurity, the girls I watched became constants in my life. I aspired to their level of hyper-saturated fun and Instagrammable bedrooms.
Just last month, YouTube was sued for its addictive features, along with Meta, TikTok, and Snap. A jury found the company’s product harmful, citing a young girl’s mental health distress because of features like infinite scroll and algorithmic recommendations.
For me, YouTube formed a community on the internet and in my in-person relationships. But today, it has transformed.
With the decline in attention spans, YouTube has modified its format, prioritizing “Shorts” over long-form videos. Akin to TikToks or Reels, these videos are around 30 seconds and work to immediately capture the viewer and keep them scrolling. This change in form is what’s responsible for intensifying addictions.
This reflects a broader shift in the social media landscape. Videos are no longer focused on deep-diving into issues or connecting with an audience for over 20 minutes—they’re as entertaining as possible in as short a time as possible to garner the highest amount of clicks. With the rise of short-form content, views on longer content have decreased immensely. Even if creators want to make more involved content, the platform does not reward them.
The videos I was watching in middle school were well-crafted, scripted, and personal. They were similar to mini documentaries or TV shows, sometimes even having multiple parts. I was invested, and often, I was learning.
What’s more is that virtually everyone was watching them. Not only did I find a community in the comment section, but I got to talk about it at school. YouTube drama became the real-life current events discussed in class and homeroom.
Realizing that my friend watched the same YouTuber felt so personal. There was a solidarity in being fans, something that the platform itself worked to foster in its early days. YouTube was created as a place for people to broadcast themselves with the goal of connecting with others and forming communities. Famous creators had fandom names to unite their viewers, created merchandise, and attended meetups. Conventions such as VidCon were incredibly successful and brought fans together.
The ability to comment on videos, like and dislike them, and even post your own video as a response is what makes YouTube such a uniquely participatory community. Long-form content directed at an audience fosters a sense of community that short-form does not. When videos directly addressed an audience, qualitative feedback improved. Connection is created over time, and like any relationship, it requires effort. Even as a fun hobby or escape, dedicating time to sit down and watch every week resulted in connections in the comments or in real life.
Of course, this phenomenon exists beyond teenage girls interested in life hacks and cute nails. The expanse of the YouTube world allowed a community to form in every niche imaginable. I’ve watched videos on ultramarathons, high-speed trains, Sex and the City, and how far back in Earth’s history I could have survived. There’s something for everyone, and more than something, there’s community for everyone.
In an increasingly siloed world, YouTube as a platform for real engagement and community is key. Online communities are not inherently bad; they provide a space for growth and can even blossom into meaningful, real-life friendships. The rise of short-form content numbs the brain, providing easy relief instead of calling users back in a way that allows for discussion, investment, and community.
Today, my best friend and I are at universities across the country. Neither of us is that into robotics, or AlishaMaria for that matter. But our formative bond remains unbroken. We know each other well and rely on each other for advice and company. The version of YouTube that introduced me to one of my closest friends asked for my time, my attention, and my investment. In return, it gave me a connection. Platforms like YouTube should recognize that their value isn’t just in how long they can keep us watching, but in what those hours actually mean.
