Short-Form Content May Be Eating Your Future

My wife Pam and I decided to go to a movie this week.

I love movies. I love popcorn. I also wanted to get out from under all the AI content I’ve been drowning in lately (both my own and other people’s).

I just wanted to sit in a theater with my wife and let someone else tell a story for two hours.

We bought tickets to ​Good Luck, Have Fun, and Don’t Die​. I knew almost nothing about it other than Sam Rockwell starred in it and it was getting strong reviews. That was enough for me.

The movie ended up being about technology reshaping humanity (of course).

I don’t think I’m giving away the movie by saying this, but the core story was about how technology rewires habits, attention, and identity over time.

Kids and adults alike are being shaped by short-form content, by endless feeds ​engineered for frictionless consumption​, by a device that is always within arm’s reach.

The irony was not lost on me. Just hours before we left for the theater, I had listened to an episode of The Diary of a CEO focused on humanity’s “​brain rot emergency​.” It wasn’t presented as hyperbole. It was presented as data-driven concern about what constant scrolling is doing to mood, attention, and long-term mental health.

I didn’t go looking for this topic. It found me twice in one day.

And as I sat there in the theater, I couldn’t stop thinking about one question: As creators, are we strengthening minds or destroying them?

See…even when I try to not think about work stuff I think about work stuff.

We Already Know This Isn’t Neutral

Most of us have seen the research connecting heavy social media use with increased anxiety and depression, particularly among teenagers. We’ve seen the conversations about sleep disruption, loneliness, and comparison culture. We know that short-form platforms are engineered for addiction. The next swipe might be amazing. It might be boring. You don’t know. That uncertainty keeps you engaged, just like a slot machine. Dopamine.

Neuroplasticity adds another layer. The brain adapts (aka “rewires itself”) to repeated behavior. What you do consistently, you get better at. That’s wonderful when you’re learning a language or practicing golf. It’s less wonderful when you are training your mind to live in constant interruption.

If you grew up without a smartphone, you at least remember what sustained attention feels like. You remember boredom and having to find something to do. You remember reading something longer than a few paragraphs without even considering reaching for a second screen.

Someone told me the other day that the only time they don’t have their phone with them is in the shower. Think about that for a second.

But what happens when a child is introduced to an iPad before they can form full sentences? What happens when a teenager’s entertainment pipeline flows naturally toward YouTube Shorts, Instagram Reels or TikTok? That brain is being trained early, and repetition always wins.

We know scrolling changes us. And the change is not good. And, as creators, we have a responsibility to look at our own actions.

The Creator’s Dilemma

Here’s the confession. Short-form works.

If you are trying to grow a podcast, newsletter, YouTube channel, or personal brand, short-form is often the most efficient discovery engine available. Robert and I have seen this firsthand with ​This Old Marketing​. A short clip can introduce us to people who have never heard of us. Some of those viewers become subscribers. Some turn into regular listeners on Spotify or YouTube.

Short-form feeds the top of the funnel. Short-form is what the platforms reward.

But what happens when the top of the funnel is also a brain trap? What happens when the format that drives growth is the same format we believe may actually be crippling people’s capacity for thinking.

We want to build. We want to reach. We want to contribute. Yet the most powerful distribution mechanism available may be shaping people in ways we don’t love.

The TLDR: Short-form works, but is the short-form we create hurting people?

That is the dilemma.

Welcome to the Brain Economy

We used to call this the attention economy. That phrase still works, but it may not go far enough. We are not just competing for attention anymore. We are participating in what I would call the brain economy. Repeated exposure shapes cognition. What people consume repeatedly influences how they think and process information.

Short-form content trains us to jump from thing to thing. It keeps our emotions bouncing up and down. It rewards whatever is new.

Long-form teaches patience. It lets ideas unfold instead of flash by. You start to see how things connect, and that makes them stick.

Neither format is inherently evil, but they are not equal. In general, long-form strengthens focus and understanding, while short-form tends to chip away at them.

So the question is not whether short-form is bad. The question is where it leads.

Is short-form a bridge to depth, or is it the destination? Are you using it to invite people into a richer experience, or are you optimizing for infinite scroll because that is what performs?

The Short-Form Responsibility Test

I am not suggesting we abandon short-form entirely (although I am personally considering it). For many creators, that would be unrealistic. I am suggesting we adopt a higher standard than “it works.” Before publishing, I think we need to ask better questions.

1. Does this lead somewhere deeper? If your clip exists only to keep someone scrolling, it becomes part of the machine. If it points toward a full episode, a thoughtful essay, a longer video, or a community where sustained attention is encouraged, that’s different. Short-form can function as a doorway, but it should not become the living room.

2. Does this reward curiosity or outrage? Outrage spreads quickly. It’s easy to monetize anger and fear. Curiosity does something else. It expands. It invites exploration. It builds understanding instead of just reaction.

3. Does this stand alone as useful, or only as addictive? Some short-form content genuinely delivers value in a compact way. A clear insight. A helpful tip. A moment of clarity. Other content exists purely to trigger the next swipe. We all know the difference when we see it, and if we’re honest, we know the difference when we create it.

The Real Opportunity

There is hope in this, but not the easy kind.

As more content becomes synthetic and optimized for speed and volume, more of it will lean into the mechanics of addiction.

The creators who stand out may not simply be the loudest. They may be the ones willing to slow down.

And here’s the part we don’t talk about enough.

That choice might cost you.

If you decide that your short-form must lead somewhere deeper or not exist at all, you may grow more slowly (or not at all).

You may get fewer views. Fewer shares. Less attention.

But you might sleep better.

We don’t control the algorithms. We don’t control the incentive structures of billion-dollar platforms (trillion?). But we do control what we publish.

Every post is a vote. Every clip either nudges someone toward depth or toward distraction. Every piece of content either strengthens the muscle of attention or chips away at it.

Maybe the next chapter of the creator economy isn’t defined by who mastered the feed. Maybe it’s defined by who decided not to.

So here’s the question I’m sitting with after that movie and that podcast collided in the same day:

When someone spends time with your content, do they leave more capable of thinking…

or more dependent on the next hit?

And if strengthening minds means growing a little slower, are you okay with that?