I want content with substance. Long texts, extensive posts, books, comics, articles packed with words.
In online spaces , whenever I see a lengthy post, I dive right in. Of course, not all of them suit my taste, and I don’t like every single one, but I read them with joy and satisfaction.
And I feel a little sad when I see the infamous "TL;DR" "too long, didn’t read."
It saddens me because it hits home, as I imagine it does for others too.
It affects me because I’m constantly struggling to maintain my ability to actively focus, to concentrate, to consume content that has depth and length. Over the years, my brain has started adapting to short texts, brief videos, and bite-sized entertainment.
Of course, short-form content has its benefits. You can watch several short videos, read quick summaries, get a general idea of a topic, or just relax when you're too exhausted to focus.
As time goes by, short content keeps gaining popularity. We saw TikTok explode with 10-second videos, we saw fast-forward features (which people use even on those short clips). We saw YouTube Shorts. We saw the ability to speed up content even on platforms like Netflix—people watching shows at max speed just so they don’t waste time but can still participate in viral discussions. Now, we also have AI: no need to read long search results, an app will summarize them for you, highlighting only the key points.
Overall, there’s a battle for our attention. Streaming services, platforms for shows, movies, and music, video games offering hundreds of subscription-based titles (so much that we don’t know what to pick when we sit down to play). Algorithms "spit out" videos based on your taste, requiring minimal effort from you. Texts are shrinking.
I don’t judge people who consume this kind of content. I do it too. Even if I didn’t, I still wouldn’t criticize those who do—whether it’s by choice, due to difficulty concentrating, or for any other reason.
But lately, I’ve been trying to step away from this approach. It wasn’t easy. I had to learn to sit in stillness, to exist without constantly engaging with something—other than my own thoughts. I had to start listening to full albums from start to finish, learning the melodies and lyrics, paying close attention to what enters my ears. I had to refocus countless times when reading books, as my mind wandered anywhere but the pages and the words.
Bit by bit, I made progress. I now listen almost exclusively to full albums, rather than random playlists on YouTube. I read books, and I’ve finally reached that ideal state—losing myself in the pages, reading multiple in a row without realizing how much time has passed.
There’s room for short texts, for brief songs, for quick videos. But I also want to keep space for long-form content—not just in my own mind, but in the world at large. A long text might be meaningless, dull, or tedious, but it can also deeply explore a subject. It can dissect it from every angle, analyze it, think out loud in words, make you change your mind, help you see something you never considered, reveal something that had gone unnoticed.
The same applies to TV series and movies. Longer doesn’t necessarily mean better, just as shorter doesn’t always mean shallow. Everything has its place and purpose, but the way we train our brains affects our ability to follow along. I’ve caught myself reaching for my phone while watching a movie. I’ve scrolled through messages and social media while watching a show—almost without realizing it, as if my hand moved on its own, out of habit.
And yes… I’ve watched shows and movies sped up. As ridiculous as it sounds, I’ve done it. Sometimes, I watched something that wasn’t my top priority, but I still wanted to be familiar with the plot. Due to limited time, exhaustion, and the existence of so many other shows and movies I wanted to see more, I thought, Why not speed it up? I’ll still follow the story through subtitles, slowing down only for key scenes.
But in the end, when you watch something this way, how much have you really watched? Sure, the subtitles and fast-moving images are enough to understand the plot from beginning to end. But you lose so much: an actor’s movements, the music, the pacing, the silence, the directorial choices, the entire vision of the creators. Everything is distorted when you speed through it.
A long text, too, can go deep—but it can also entertain. It can use its length in specific ways, play with structure and expectations, make jokes, move you, create a connection.
AI can summarize long articles and posts for us, but in doing so, it strips away details, erases atmosphere, removes the unique perspective of the writer. And if we keep following this path, we’ll eventually avoid books altogether—because there’s no way to "fast-forward" through them.
A long movie, a long series, a 700-page book, a 1,000-word post—all of these have a place. And there are people (I HOPE I’M NOT ALONE) who want them, who eagerly "like" massive posts, who devour thousands of words with focus and excitement, even if their eyes start to blur. Give me pages, words, deep-dive videos, give me something that takes time.
There will always be those who comment "TL;DR" under lengthy posts, but that’s fine. They’ll keep pushing toward a world of one-minute videos and 20-word posts, while we push in the opposite direction—with 1,000-word posts—to keep the balance. Almost every time I post something long, someone will write "TL;DR," signaling either that they don’t like reading long texts or just my long texts.
But honestly, it’s a bit weird. I don’t force anyone to read. It’s not like I trick people by hiding the length of my posts, as if I’m the digital equivalent of those supermarket shoppers who only have gum at checkout—until you give up your spot in line and suddenly they unload an entire truck of groceries. So, it’s odd when someone feels the need to announce that they didn’t read my "nonsense," instead of just… not reading it.
It feels as if short content is the only acceptable form of content now, and whenever we see something that deviates from that, we have to bring the creator "back in line"—by subtly mocking them and making them feel bad: "You wasted so much time writing this, without any material gain, just to entertain people, start a discussion, or share your thoughts? Well, now you’ll see! I’ll punish you!"
It’s like the digital world mimics the real one in strange ways. In real life, if I walk up to a guy drinking his coffee and talk to him for an hour, I might annoy him.
But online, it’s different—because that guy might not want to seem rude by walking away suddenly, or fear that I’ll follow him home, ranting about long posts and movie runtimes.
That doesn’t happen online. In fact, the opposite does. If I talk to someone on the public transports , they rarely say, "I can’t hear you, you’re talking too much." But on the internet, almost every time, someone will write it.
Luckily, the rules of the digital world are different from those of the real one.!