Six Tech‑Free Ideas from History for Designing Your Garden Without Turning to AI

Claude Monet's garden at Vetheuil in 1881 where he landscaped the terraces that ran down to the Seine and planted the sunflowers and placed his own blue and white pots. His young son stands on the sun-dappled steps. National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C. 

By Camilla Allen

Three gardens at the 2026 RHS Chelsea Flower Show have found themselves mired in controversy rather than the more usual mud. This year’s show gardens include one designed by Matt Keightley, who has used Spacelift, a design app he developed that incorporates AI. Advocates of such tools praise their potential to democratise garden design and make it more accessible. Critics, however, argue that these technologies risk reproducing or appropriating existing designs, and could ultimately threaten the livelihoods of professional garden designers.

Happily, gardening is an ancient practice and has long been managed and enjoyed without the use of technology. Here are six tech-free lessons from history to help you get started designing your garden without turning to AI.

1. Get back to books

Not sure where to start? A book is still one of the richest sources of guidance, and the history of gardening bestsellers offers a revealing window into changing tastes, practices and traditions.

This list of the 20 most popular titles for American public libraries suggests that food growing, biodiversity and design are key interests for budding gardeners.

Two Girls Reading in Sunlit Garden by Laura Knight (1910). Danum Gallery, Library and Museum

And it’s not just books from today that have something to offer. I’d recommend travelling back to the 17th century with diarist and polymath John Evelyn. His Elysium Britannicum, written in the 1650s, records a deep fascination with nature and design, showing that ingenuity and gardening have long gone hand in hand.

2. Go for a walk and imagine what is possible

The landscape painter and designer William Kent is said to have “leapt the fence and [seen] that all nature was a garden”. This moment is often taken to mark the shift away from the formal aristocratic gardens of the 17th century towards a more naturalistic style.

This philosophical turn helped shape the development of the English landscape garden, but it can also speak to the present moment, when we are being encouraged to make our own gardens – most of which are not landscape-scale – more welcoming to nature.

One of the simplest ways to begin is to look closely at your surroundings: explore your neighbourhood, observe what thrives and take note of what you like and what works well.

3. Consult the genius loci and start with the bones

Old Scott, the Gardener by Robert Lillie (1867). Lillie Art Gallery

Cartoonist Osbert Lancaster and his wife Anne Scott-James lightly ribbed 20th-century suburban gardens in their 1977 book The Pleasure Garden: An Illustrated History of British Gardening. Post-second world war urbanisation gave many more people the opportunity to have their own gardens, reflected in a kind of “consistent inconsistency” of patios, lawns, borders and vegetable plots.

The eclecticism they observed can instead be read as an invitation to consult the genius loci – the “spirit of the place” – and to engage with the features and atmosphere that give a garden its character, rather than treating it as a blank slate.

Indeed, in her 1971 book Down to Earth, Anne Scott-James recognised that most gardeners do not have perfect sites. Working with “the bones” of a garden, she argued, is therefore essential, achieved through creating harmony within the broader context.

4. Follow the rules and put things in perspective

There are plenty of principles and approaches that can be applied to garden design, from formal symmetry and a carefully chosen material palette to planting styles that range from sculpted topiary to naturalistic meadow.

Beginning with an aspiration can help to focus these choices, and looking at what has constituted garden design through the ages through the ages can be a useful way of anchoring your own vision.

5. Visit gardens

In 2027 the National Garden Scheme will be 100 years old. It represents a wonderful continuum of curiosity and conviviality as members of the public gain access to otherwise private gardens.

Lady Barber in Her Rock Garden by Nestor Cambier (1916). The Barber Institute of Fine Arts, CC BY-NC

The scheme was set up by Elsie Wagg, a council member of the Queen’s Nursing Institute and has subsequently evolved into an organisation that funds a range of health charities.

Being able to see what other gardeners have achieved – and the effort that has gone into making those spaces – is one of the most effective tech-free ways of learning. Taking a camera or sketchbook can be a simple way to observe more closely and carry those ideas back into your own garden.

6. Gardening is technology

The Reaper by Ralph Hedley (1900). Pannett Art Gallery, CC BY

When economic historian Roderick Floud turned his attention to the history of gardening in An Economic History of the English Garden (2019), he revealed the scale and long-term economic impact of the sector.

Did you know that many innovations in central heating, water engineering and glasshouse construction have their roots in gardens? It’s a point many people may not be aware of, making it a useful story to share when showing visitors around your dahlias – while also quietly recognising that technology has always been embedded in gardening, even when we don’t immediately see it.

Camilla Allen, Lecturer in Landscape Architecture, University of Sheffield

Eurovision 2026: A Win for Bulgaria, Fourth for Australia, and Continued Controversy for Broadcasters

Delta Goodrem represented Australia in the grand final of the 70th Eurovision song contest at Wiener Stadthalle in Vienna, Austria, with the powerful ballad 'Eclipse'. Photograph: Christian Bruna/Getty Images. Cover picture of Yuima Nakazato Haute Couture SS26 by Andrea Heinsohn in Paris for DAM. 

By Jess Carniel

In a surprising turn of events, Bulgaria have taken home the crystal microphone trophy for the Eurovision Song Contest 2026 with Dara’s infectious dance hit Bangaranga.

It is Bulgaria’s first-ever win and all the more poignant given this year marked the country’s return to the contest after a three-year hiatus as its public broadcaster, BNT, has grappled with financial contraints.

Hosting Eurovision in 2027, while expensive, is expected to provide a welcome tourism economic boost.

Bulgaria’s win is the first time since 2017 the jury and public sentiments have been aligned. One tense moment during the voting saw Israel rise to first place thanks to the public vote, resulting in audible booing in the arena. However, Dara soared to the top of the board with 312 public votes to add to their 204 jury votes.

Bulgaria’s total of 516 points put it 173 points ahead of runner-up Israel, in the largest gap between first and second place in the contest’s history.

The bookmakers’ odds tipped Finland to win with Linda Lampenius x Pete Parkonnen’s duet of vocals and live violin, Liekinheitin. The fan favourites instead landed in sixth place.

Live instruments are not usually permitted on the Eurovision stage unless a case can be made that they are integral to the song’s artistry: it was argued successfully the violin was Lampenius’ “voice”.

Romania’s Choke Me by Alexandra Căpitănescu was another surprise favourite. Although she only gained 64 jury points, she came second in the popular vote (262 points) and third overall. It is the best outcome for a female-led rock act in the contest’s history.

In the lead-up to the contest, the song attracted some controversy, alleged to be “glamourising sexual strangulation”. In response, Căpitănescu stated, “The lyrics are about taking back control over anxiety and emotions that are choking you.”

Total eclipse of the heart

Australia’s entry was hyped by many as a potential winner. Even notorious Australia sceptic Graham Norton named Delta Goodrem’s Eclipse the one to beat.

Goodrem dazzled with Australia’s most ambitious staging since Kate Miller-Heidke’s 2019 performance. Dressed in a gown adorned with 7,000 Swarovski crystals, Australia’s golden girl was literally placed on a pedestal that ascended from a golden piano as she reached her vocal crescendo.

Australia placed second in the jury votes and ninth in the public votes to land fourth place. It is Australia’s second-best result, after Dami Im’s astounding second place in 2016.

Goodrem’s participation was partly funded by an Australian federal grant for international cultural diplomacy. Other recipients in the recent round include BlakDance Australia’s tour of the United Kingdom and Creative Australia’s support for Khaled Sabsabi’s Venice Biennale exhibit.

Goodrem’s funding underscores Eurovision’s usefulness for Australia’s cultural diplomacy and projection of “soft power”.

The inaugural edition of Eurovision Asia will be held in Thailand in November. Australia is not participating – the rules prohibit participating in both contests.

It remains to be seen whether Australia will stay in the original Eurovision or whether it will transition to Eurovision Asia in pursuit of regional diplomatic interests.

Broadcasters boycott

This year, Eurovision celebrated its 70th anniversary. But rather than uniting Europe (and Australia) through music, the absence of five regular participants indicated disunity.

Public broadcasters for Slovenia, Iceland, Ireland, Spain and the Netherlands withdrew from competition in protest of the humanitarian situation in Gaza and the European Broadcasting Union’s failure to have an open discussion and vote on Israel’s continued participation. While the contest claims to be non-political, critics point to the exclusion of Russia in 2022 after its invasion of Ukraine as a precedent.

Their absence is a blow to the European Broadcasting Union, financially and symbolically. Spain is usually one of the so-called “Big Five” – the five largest financial contributors to Eurovision. The Netherlands is also a large financial contributor but, more importantly, had been in the contest since the beginning in 1956.

The Dutch public broadcaster stated “participation cannot be reconciled with the public values that are fundamental to our organisation”. They cited humanity, press freedom and political interference as key reasons for their withdrawal.

Broadcasters have also expressed concerns that Israel had attempted to manipulate public voting in other countries over the past two years. Slovenia led the call for a detailed report on the 2024 and 2025 voting results, but member broadcasters received only a summary of its findings.

Eurovision’s Executive Supervisor Martin Green stated the contest organisers were confident the 2025 contest yielded a “valid and robust result”.

Despite this claim, before the 2026 contest broadcasters voted on a rule change seeking to mitigate third-party campaigning and interference in the voting process. As reported by the New York Times, the disparity between the statements of the executives and the resulting vote from the broadcasters raised much scepticism.

A reckoning in 2027?

Just before the 2026 grand final, Belgium’s Flemish broadcaster VRT released a statement they would be unlikely to participate in 2027 without “a clear framework for participation, an open debate, and a direct vote among [union] members”.

The European Broadcasting Union must take broadcasters’ concerns more seriously or risk losing more participants and reputational damage. Its members are seeing a gap between their values as public broadcasters and those expressed by the EBU through its actions and decisions.

Without change, this global phenomenon may also risk not seeing its next milestone anniversary.

Jess Carniel, Associate Professor in Humanities, University of Southern Queensland

Michaelina Wautier: An astoundingly Skilled Painter Returned to Her Rightful Place in the Spotlight

Flemish painter Michaelina Wautier's expressive "Self-Portrait with Easel" from the 1640s. Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna. Cover picture of the artist's "Two Girls as Saint Agnes and Saint Dorothea," (1643-59). Royal Museum of Fine Arts, Antwerp. 

By Gabriele Neher

The first modern mention of the Flemish painter Michaelina Wautier (1614–1689) introduces an artist who defies expectation. Referring to her monumental Triumph of Bacchus (1655–59), Gustav Glück, the first art historian to serve as curator of Vienna’s Kunsthistorisches Museum, wrote in 1903 that “even in an age of female emancipation, one would hardly wish to ascribe this picture, which shows a highly vigorous, almost coarse conception, to a woman’s hand”.

The Triumph of Bacchus by Michaelina Wautier

(1655-59) Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna.

And thereby hangs the achievement of Wautier: she may have been able to paint “like a man”, but in most of her works, she does not feel the need to do so. Instead, Michaelina Wautier emerges as an artist with a distinctive style of her own.

The Royal Academy of Arts (RA) in London is currently host to the most complete representation of her work to date. It is a landmark exhibition that reintroduces an artist who in her day was highly successful and championed by the court and elite in Brussels; but, who subsequently almost disappeared from public and scholarly notice for close on 300 years.

Restoring Wautier to a place in the artistic canon through an exhibition in the Royal Academy of Arts seems especially apt for an artist who defies expectation. The RA was the first institution to provide professional training for artists in Britain. Wautier’s work and the RA’s presentation of it shows clear evidence of the sort of training that was at the time the exclusive prerogative of male artists.

The point on her training is made straight away through the image that opens the show, a graceful and confident Study of the Medici Ganymede Bust (1654). The drawing depicts the famous ancient Roman sculpture, which was at the time in Rome. Drawing competently was a much valued skill and the Ganymede suggests not only a meticulously trained artist, but one whose work is up-to-date and reflects contemporary trends.

Wautier's genre painting titled 'Elk zijn meug'

from the mid-1600s. The Phoebus Foundation.

Many will be questioning where she sits in relation to the titan of Baroque painting and her contemporary, Artemisia Gentileschi (1593–1654) – the favourite subject of feminist art history. Both women disappear from view after the 1650s, both worked with close relatives (Wautier with her brother, Gentileschi with her father), both were championed by high-ranking patrons. But this is where the similarities end.

Gentileschi’s violent personal history has often overshadowed the discussion of her consummate skill and mastery of her craft. For instance, works like the Beheading of Holofernes (1612) are frequently interpreted as responses to her experience of sexual violence.

In Wautier’s case, however, there just isn’t much known about her life beyond bare facts such as who her parents were, that she shared a studio with her brother in Brussels and that she never married. This lack of information is partially due to the artist’s will going up in the flames of the French bombardment of Brussels in 1695.

So where for Gentileschi it feels as if we can’t separate the art from the biography; in Wautier’s case, there is nothing but the art. And, what wonderful art it is too.

The artist's 'Portrait of a Commander in the 

Spanish Army,' 1646. Royal Museums of

 Fine Arts of Belgium.

Wautier excelled in portraiture, with her elegant palette and her mastery of textures – be it hair or textiles. In her portraits, especially in the depiction of children, she is vivacious and lively and so observant of quirks and foibles. You can see this in her Five Senses (1650) series. For instance, Smell features a little blond boy clutching a rotten egg in one hand and pinching his nose shut with the other, recoiling from the egg’s stench.

Despite their brilliance, however, she never signed her portraits. She did, however, sign two large-scale religious paintings, a Mystic Marriage of Saint Catherine of Alexandria and an intriguing and unusual panel depicting the Education of the Virgin. Both panels centre on educated, confident, elegant female protagonists, defined by their actions.

These paintings defy contemporary ideas that women artists excelled at imitation but lacked the capacity to imagine and create a subject from scratch. Wautier signs these paintings “invenit et fecit”, which translates as “invented and executed”. Here she is staking her claim to possessing the imagination to execute significant work at large scale. She attests to be a master of her craft, and this is nowhere more apparent than in the centrepiece of the Royal Academy’s exhibition, her immense Triumph of Bacchus.

Here, Wautier tackles the epitome of artistic mastery: a large-scale mythological subject that featured in the work of her most significant contemporaries, such as Andrea Mantegna, Titian and of course the artist who dominated the market in Flanders and the Netherlands, Peter Paul Rubens.

Wautier’s Triumph of Bacchus is larger than that of her male competitors, and she combines in her image the fleshiness of the central male nude with the grace and the elegance of Titian. She presents the viewer with a powerful image of a flabby Bacchus reclining in a wheelbarrow, surrounded by his followers. Wautier’s skill in painting a variety of male nudes in a range of poses looks effortlessly competent, with the Bacchus becoming the work that firmly places her within art history, a masterpiece designed to defy the challenge that a woman can not paint like a man.

This one can, but she takes the challenge up a notch with the intriguing inclusion of a self portrait. Wautier depicts herself as an elegant, bare-breasted Bacchante, a female follower of Bacchus, clad in a striking robe of salmon-pink, looking out at the viewer, the only person to do so in the array of figures depicted. Wautier’s Bacchante stands tall and proud, inviting the viewer to look at her. But it’s Wautier who controls this gaze; in the painting, a sallow-skinned faun attempts to grab the Amazonian, composed woman. She shrugs off his leering, and ignores him grabbing her hair. She is in charge.

Michaelina Wautier is on at The Royal Academy in London until June 21, 2026

Gabriele Neher, Associate Professor in History of Art, University of Nottingham

Almost Unimaginable Beauty and Opulence: the Paradise Pleasure Gardens of Ancient Persia

Nine paradise gardens in Iran are collectively listed as a UNESCO World Heritage site, the Eram Garden (pictured above) built in the 12th century is one of the most splendid.  

By Peter Edwell

Some of the most enduring ancient myths in the Persian world were centred around gardens of almost unimaginable beauty and opulence.

The biblical Garden of Eden and the Epic of Gilgamesh’s Garden of the Gods are prominent examples. In these myths, paradise was an opulent garden of tranquillity and abundance.

But how did this concept of paradise originate? And what did these beautiful gardens look and feel like in antiquity?

Pairi-daēza is where we get the word ‘paradise’

The English word “paradise” derives from an old Persian word pairidaeza or pairi-daēza, which translates as “enclosed garden”.

The origins of paradise gardens lie in Mesopotamia and Persia (modern Iraq and Iran).

The Garden of the Gods from the Epic of Gilgamesh from about 2000 BCE is one of the earliest attested in literature.

Some argue it was also the inspiration for the legend of the Garden of Eden in the book of Genesis. In both of these stories, paradise gardens functioned as a type of utopia.

When the Achaemenid kings ruled ancient Persia (550–330 BCE), the development of royal paradise gardens grew significantly. The paradise garden of the Persian king, Cyrus the Great, who ruled around 550 BCE, is the earliest physical example yet discovered.

During his reign, Cyrus built a palace complex at Pasargadae in Persia. The entire complex was adorned with gardens which included canals, bridges, pathways and a large pool.

One of the gardens measured 150 metres by 120 metres (1.8 hectares). Archaeologists found evidence for the garden’s division into four parts, symbolising the four quarters of Cyrus’s vast empire.

Technological wonders

A feature of paradise gardens in Persia was their defiance of often harsh, dry landscapes.

This required ingenuity in supplying large volumes of water required for the gardens. Pasargadae was supplied by a sophisticated hydraulic system, which diverted water from the nearby Pulvar River.

The tradition continued throughout the Achaemenid period. Cyrus the Younger, probably a descendant of Cyrus the Great, had a palace at Sardis (in modern Turkey), which included a paradise garden.

According to the ancient Greek writer, Xenophon, the Spartan general Lysander visited Cyrus at the palace around 407 BCE.

When he walked in the garden, astounded by its intricate design and beauty, Lysander asked who planned it. Cyrus replied that he had designed the garden himself and planted its trees.

Perhaps the ultimate ancient paradise garden was the legendary Hanging Gardens of Babylon.

In one tradition, the gardens were built by the neo-Babylonian King, Nebuchadnezzar II (605–562 BCE).

The gardens were so magnificent and technologically advanced they were later counted among the Seven Wonders of the World.

Perhaps the ultimate ancient paradise garden was the legendary Hanging Gardens of Babylon. mikroman6/Getty Images

In a later Roman account, the Hanging Gardens consisted of vaulted terraces resting on cube-shaped pillars.

Flowing water was a key feature, with elaborate machines raising water from the Euphrates river. Fully grown trees with vast root systems were supported by the terraces.

In another account, the Hanging Gardens were built by a Syrian king for his Persian wife to remind her of her homeland.

When the Sasanian dynasty (224–651 CE) came to power in Persia, its kings also built paradise gardens. The 147-hectare palace of Khosrow II (590–628 CE) at Qasr-e Shirin was almost entirely set in a paradise garden.

The paradise gardens were rich in symbolic significance. Their division into four parts symbolised imperial power, the cardinal directions and the four elements in Zoroastrian lore: air, earth, water and fire.

The gardens also played a religious role, offering a glimpse of what eternity might look like in the afterlife.

They were also a refuge in the midst of a harsh world and unforgiving environments. Gilgamesh sought solace and immortality in the Garden of the Gods following the death of his friend Enkidu.

According to the Bible, God himself walked in the Garden of Eden in the cool of the evening.

But in both cases, disappointment and distress followed.

Gilgamesh discovered the non-existence of immortality. God discovered the sin of Adam and Eve.

Paradise on Earth

The tradition of paradise gardens continued after the Islamic conquest of Persia in the 7th century CE.

The four-part gardens (known as chahar-bagh) of the Persian kingdoms were also a key feature of the Islamic period.

The Garden of Paradise described in the Quran comprised four gardens divided into two pairs. The four-part garden became symbolic of paradise on Earth.

The tradition of paradise gardens has continued in Iran to the present day.

Nine paradise gardens in Iran are collectively listed as a UNESCO World Heritage site. The Eram garden, built in about the 12th century CE, and the 19th-century Bagh-e Shahzadeh are among the most splendid.

Today, the word “paradise” evokes a broader range of images and experiences. It can foster many different images of idyllic physical and spiritual settings.

But the magnificent enclosed gardens of the ancient Persian world still inspire us to imagine what paradise on Earth might look and feel like.

Peter Edwell, Associate Professor in Ancient History, Macquarie University

Stuck in a Creativity Slump at Work? Here are Some Surprising Ways to Get Your Spark Back

Research indicates that if you want to be consistently creative, it is important to break away from the things that helped you achieve creative success in the past. 

By Poornika Ananth, University of Bath

The latest entry in the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s movie slate, Captain America: Brave New World, arrived earlier this year with the hopes of continuing the legacy of the beloved sub-franchise. But the film struggled to hit the heights of the three earlier instalments. Critics hit out at its messy plot, unremarkable characters, tired visuals – and an overall absence of creativity.

This raises an interesting and broader question about creativity at work. Most advice on this focuses on having one creative idea. But what does it take to stay creative over time? After all, creativity at work isn’t just about having great ideas – it’s about having them consistently.

Yet over time, even the most innovative minds and organisations like the Marvel Cinematic Universe can hit a creative slump that they struggle to recover from.

Long-term creativity is often hindered by two broad factors. The first is the “expertise trap”. Expertise can initially be great for creativity. After all, as a person develops greater knowledge and skills, they can combine different elements of that knowledge to develop unique ideas and solutions to problems.

Over time however, expertise can actually limit flexibility and creativity. When people become exceptionally skilled or knowledgeable in a particular field, they tend to experience “cognitive entrenchment”, a fixation where deeply ingrained knowledge of a topic leads to rigid ways of thinking.

This might work well in familiar situations, but it can also make it harder for people to see things in a new light.

The second factor is the “success trap”. Research suggests that success – and receiving recognition for a creative idea or outcome – can affect creativity in unexpected ways.

Creative success can motivate people to come up with more ideas, increasing the quantity and pace of their output. But on the other hand, it can also encourage creators to focus on the things that worked well in the past. They often try to replicate or tweak them instead of coming up with something genuinely new.

Of course all is not lost. There are inspiring examples of people and organisations who break out of a creative slump. Taylor Swift faced being pigeonholed after her initial country-pop success, but came back even stronger with her shift to synth-pop in 2014.

It’s hard to believe Danish firm LEGO ever struggled – but it built back better. olrat/Shutterstock

And Danish firm LEGO, which was on the brink of bankruptcy in 2003, regained its supremacy in the toy sector by coming up with new ways of making their core products – LEGO bricks – popular again. This even included taking the creative leap into movies based on their bricks.

Get your creative spark back

Research indicates that if you want to be consistently creative, it is important to break away from the things that helped you achieve creative success in the past.

This can mean moving away from familiar environments as your career advances. Or it could be adding to your knowledge sources so that you are not merely reliant on the depth of your knowledge but also on the breadth. You may also benefit from collaborating with people who already have that additional knowledge so you can combine your brainpower.

Second, if you have had a recent success this can often come with expectations to replicate it and chase more opportunities. While this may have some short-term benefits, in the long run insulating yourself from those expectations – and the rapid increase in opportunities – can give you the time and space to come up with new ideas instead of retreading old ground.

My own research suggests that sustaining creativity over time is not just about generating ideas repeatedly, it is also about managing a portfolio of developing ideas. This is a better approach than merely focusing on one central idea.

It involves putting aside (or stockpiling) ideas that have limited use or value right now and turning your attention to other ideas in the portfolio. Stockpiled ideas can exist and develop in the background, but you can return to them in the future and use them flexibly to learn from, seek inspiration or develop new projects.

For people who work in the knowledge economy, ideas can be their primary currency. But beyond that, creativity can also improve wellbeing and so is a fundamental part of being human. By following these tips to reignite your creative spark, you can reap those benefits of continued creativity over a long period of time.

Poornika Ananth, Assistant Professor in Strategy and Organisations, School of Management, University of Bath

Is Social Media Addictive? How it Keeps You Clicking and the Harms it Can Cause

The consequences of social media overuse can be significiant. Recent studies have identified a wide range of pernicious effects. 

By Quynh Hoang

For years, big tech companies have placed the burden of managing screen time squarely on individuals and parents, operating on the assumption that capturing human attention is fair game.

But the social media sands may slowly be shifting. A test-case jury trial in Los Angeles is accusing big tech companies of creating “addiction machines”. While TikTok and Snapchat have already settled with the 20-year-old plaintiff, Meta’s CEO, Mark Zuckerberg, is due to give evidence in the courtroom this week.

The European Commission recently issued a preliminary ruling against TikTok, stating that the app’s design – with features such as infinite scroll and autoplay – breaches the EU Digital Services Act. One industry expert told the BBC that the problem is “no longer just about toxic content, it’s about toxic design”.

Meta and other defendants have historically argued that their platforms are communication tools, not traps, and that “addiction” is a mischaracterisation of high engagement.

“I think it’s important to differentiate between clinical addiction and problematic use,” Instagram chief Adam Mosseri testified in the LA court. He noted that the field of psychology does not classify social media addiction as an official diagnosis.

Tech giants maintain that users and parents have the agency and tools to manage screen time. However, a growing body of academic research suggests features like infinite scrolling, autoplay and push notifications are engineered to override human self-control.

Video: CBS News.

A state of ‘automated attachment’

My research with colleagues on digital consumption behaviour also challenges the idea that excessive social media use is a failure of personal willpower. Through interviews with 32 self-identified excessive users and an analysis of online discussions dedicated to heavy digital use, we found that consumers frequently enter a state of “automated attachment”.

This is when connection to the device becomes purely reflexive, as conscious decision-making is effectively suspended by the platform’s design.

We found that the impulse to use these platforms sometimes occurs before the user is even fully conscious. One participant admitted: “I’m waking up, I’m not even totally conscious, and I’m already doing things on the device.”

Another described this loss of agency vividly: “I found myself mindlessly opening the [TikTok] app every time I felt even the tiniest bit bored … My thumb was reaching to its old spot on reflex, without a conscious thought.”

Social media proponents argue that “screen addiction” isn’t the same as substance abuse. However, new neurophysiological evidence suggests that frequent engagement with these algorithms alters dopamine pathways, fostering a dependency that is “analogous to substance addiction”.

Strategies that keep users engaged

The argument that users should simply exercise willpower also needs to be understood in the context of the sophisticated strategies platforms employ to keep users engaged. These include:

1. Removing stopping cues

Features like infinite scroll, autoplay and push notifications create a continuous flow of content. By eliminating natural end-points, the design effectively shifts users into autopilot mode, making stopping a viewing session more difficult.

2. Variable rewards

Similar to a slot machine, algorithms deliver intermittent, unpredictable rewards such as likes and personalised videos. This unpredictability triggers the dopamine system, creating a compulsive cycle of seeking and anticipation.

3. Social pressure

Features such as notifications and time-limited story posts have been found to exploit psychological vulnerabilities, inducing anxiety that for many users can only be relieved by checking the app. Strategies employing “emotional steering” can take advantage of psychological vulnerabilities, such as people’s fear of missing out, to instil a sense of social obligation and guilt if they attempt to disconnect.

Vulnerability in children

The issue of social media addiction is of particular concern when it comes to children, whose impulse control mechanisms are still developing. The US trial’s plaintiff says she began using social media at the age of six, and that her early exposure to these platforms led to a spiral into addiction.

A growing body of research suggests that “variable reward schedules” are especially potent for developing minds, which exhibit a heightened sensitivity to rewards. Children lack the cognitive brakes to resist these dopamine loops because their emotional regulation and impulsivity controls are still developing.

Lawyers in the US trial have pointed to internal documents, known as “Project Myst”, which allegedly show that Meta knew parental controls were ineffective against these engagement loops. Meta’s attorney, Paul Schmidt, countered that the plaintiff’s struggles stemmed from pre-existing childhood trauma rather than platform design.

The company has long argued that it provides parents with “robust tools at their fingertips”, and that the primary issue is “behavioural” – because many parents fail to use them.

Our study heard from many adults (mainly in their 20s) who described the near-impossibility of controlling levels of use, despite their best efforts. If these adults cannot stop opening apps on reflex, expecting a child to exercise restraint with apps that affect human neurophysiology seems even more unrealistic.

Potential harms of overuse

The consequences of social media overuse can be significant. Our research and recent studies have identified a wide range of potential harms.

These include “psychological entrapment”. Participants in our study described a “feedback loop of doom and despair”. Users can turn to platforms to escape anxiety, only to find that the scrolling deepens their feelings of emptiness and isolation.

Excessive exposure to rapidly changing, highly stimulating content can fracture the user’s attention span, making it harder to focus on complex real-world tasks.

And many users describe feeling “defeated” by the technology. Social media’s erosion of autonomy can leave people unable to align their online actions, such as overlong sessions, with their intentions.

A ruling against social media companies in the LA court case, or enforced redesign of their apps in the EU, could have profound implications for the way these platforms are operated in future.

But while big tech companies have grown at dizzying rates over the past two decades, attempts to rein in their products on both sides of the Atlantic remain slow and painstaking. In this era of “use first, legislate later”, people all over the world, of all ages, are the laboratory mice.

Quynh Hoang, Lecturer in Marketing and Consumption, Department of Marketing and Strategy, University of Leicester

From Sonata to Sensation: How 19th-Century Virtuoso Franz Liszt Invented Pop Stardom

A portrait of the highly expressive composer Franz Liszt, who drove his audiences into delirium when he performed, painted by Henri Lehmann at the height of Lisztomania in 1839. 

By Timothy McKenry

In 1844, Berlin was struck by a cultural fever critics labelled Lisztomania. The German poet Heinrich Heine coined the term after witnessing the almost delirious reception that greeted Hungarian pianist and composer Franz Liszt in concert halls across Europe.

One widely circulated drawing from the 1840s crystallises the image. Women swoon or faint, others hurl flowers toward the stage. Men also appear to be struck by the pianist’s magnetic presence (or perhaps by the women’s reaction to it).These caricatured depictions, when paired with antagonistic reviews from contemporary critics, may still shape our cultural memory of Liszt.

He is often depicted not simply as a musician but as the first modern celebrity to unleash mass hysteria.

This 1840s drawing captures

Lisztomania in action with 

a swooning audience of 

women. Theodor Hosemann.

What happened at Liszt’s concerts?

We know a great deal about Liszt’s hundreds of concerts during the 1830s and ‘40s, thanks to reviews, critiques, lithographs and Liszt’s own letters from the time.

His programs combined works by the great composers with his own inventive reworkings of pieces familiar to audiences. Virtuoso showpieces also demonstrated his command of the piano.

Beethoven’s Appassionata Sonata or Pathétique Sonata might appear alongside Bach’s Chromatic Fantasy and Fugue, performed in Liszt’s highly expressive style.

Schubert was represented through songs such as Erlkönig and Ave Maria, reworked for piano alone.

Liszt also turned to the most popular operatic works of his time. His Réminiscences de Norma (Bellini) and Réminiscences de Don Juan (Mozart) transformed familiar melodies into large-scale fantasies. These demanded both virtuosity and lyrical sensitivity.

In these works, Liszt created symphonic structures on the piano. He wove multiple themes into coherent musical dramas far more than simple medleys of well-known tunes.

Liszt often closed his concerts with the crowd-pleaser Grand Galop Chromatique. This encore demonstrated his showmanship and awareness of audience expectations.

As critic Paul Scudo wrote in 1850:

He is the sovereign master of his piano; he knows all its resources; he makes it speak, moan, cry, and roar under fingers of steel, which distil nervous fluid like Volta’s battery distils electrical fluid.

His audience’s response, it would seem, regularly spilled beyond the conventions of polite concert etiquette and social decorum.

Another Romantic portrait of Liszt

by Friedrich von Amerling in 1838.

Artist and showman

In a series of 1835 essays titled On the Situation of Artists, Liszt presents musicians such as himself as “tone artists”, condemned to be misunderstood. Nevertheless, they have a profound obligation to “reveal, exalt and deify all the tendencies of human consciousness”.

At the same time, a letter to the novelist George Sand reveals Liszt was acutely aware of the practicalities of concerts and the trappings of celebrity.

He jokes that Sand would be surprised to see his name in capital letters on a Paris concert bill. Liszt admits to the audacity of charging five francs for tickets instead of three, basks in glowing reviews, and notes the presence of aristocrats and high society in his audience.

He even describes his stage draped with flowers, and hints at the female attention following one performance, albeit directed toward his partner in a duet.

This letter shows an artist who is self-aware, sometimes amused, and sometimes ambivalent about the spectacle attached to his art.

Yes, Liszt engaged with his celebrity identity, but clearly also felt a measure of distance from it. He was aware the serious side of his art risked being overshadowed by the gossip-column version.

Much of the music criticism of the time functioned in exactly this way. It was little more than the work of gossip writers, many disgusted by the intensity of audience reactions to Liszt’s performances.

Gossip, poison pens, and the making of Lisztomania

Not everyone shared the enthusiasm of Liszt’s audiences. Some critics attacked both his playing and the adulation it provoked.

In 1842, a writer using the pseudonym Beta described the combined effect of Liszt’s performance and the public’s response, writing that:

the effect of his bizarre, substance-less, idea-less, sensually exciting, contrast-ridden, fragmented playing, and the diseased enthusiasm over it, is a depressing sign of the stupidity, the insensitivity, and the aesthetic emptiness of the public.

Similarly, poet Heinrich Heine suggested Liszt’s performance style was deliberately “stage managed” and designed to provoke audience mania:

For example, when he played a thunderstorm on the fortepiano, we saw the lightning bolts flicker over his face, his limbs shook as if in a gale, and his long tresses seemed to drip, as it were, from the downpour that was represented.

These and other accounts fed the mythology of Lisztomania, portraying women in his audience as irrational and hysterical.

The term mania carried a medicalised, pathologising tone, framing enthusiasm for Liszt as a form of cultural sickness.

Lithographs, caricatures, and anecdotal reports amplified these narratives, showing swooning figures, flowers hurled on stage, and crowds behaving in ways that exceeded polite social convention.

Yet these accounts are not entirely trustworthy; they were shaped by prejudice, moralising assumptions, and a desire to sensationalise.

Liszt’s concerts, therefore, existed at a fascinating intersection: extraordinary artistry and virtuosity, coupled with the theatre of audience reception, all filtered through a lens of gossip, exaggeration and gendered panic.

In this sense, the phenomenon of Lisztomania foreshadows the dynamics of modern celebrity. (It was also the subject of what one critic described as “the most embarrassing historical film ever made”.)

Just as performers like the Beatles, Beyoncé and Taylor Swift provoke intense public devotion while simultaneously facing slander and sensational reporting, Liszt’s fame was inseparable from both admiration and the poison pen of his critics.

Timothy McKenry, Professor of Music, Australian Catholic University