**All the visuals in this article are from Serial Experiments Lain
"Have you ever felt like you don’t need to stay in the real world?"
Lain’s haunting question resonates more powerfully today. A few years ago, signing out was no big deal. It was a brief moment to recharge and re-engage with the outside world. Things have changed. With the rise of the new internet and screen time skyrocketing, disconnecting has shifted from a habit to a privilege.
The relief of touching grass, once a simple act of self-care, has turned into an exclusive perk for those who can afford JOMO over FOMO. In tech, the algorithm keeps everyone hooked, making constant connectivity feel like survival mode.
Being terminally online has become the default: hustles, clout, crypto-wallets, even identity itself. Under this late-stage capitalism, every scroll is a microtransaction. The digital condition demands individuals be e-workers, e-consumers, and data points all at once, caught in an endless loop of techno-dependence. And though dropping out sounds both ironic and challenging, it remains an act of defiance against a system built on monetizing attention.
The prospect of activating AFK mode grows more distant by the day, crumbling under the weight of accelerationism.
Online = Survival in Big Tech Capitalism
The grind is endless, anon.
Jobs, networks, even frenships. Everything runs on this exhausting model, where logging off means opting out entirely. The message is clear: slaying is the only option, and every moment is meant to keep you engaged.
The privilege of stepping away has turned into a luxury most can’t afford. Doing so means missing out on the pulse of the economy, culture, and personal growth. It’s a bit tragic: relevance now hinges on how many hours you spend doom-scrolling, where your status and career depend on your visibility.
The same tech that promised convenience now demands total presence.
Remote work, once sold as the ultimate freedom and flexibility, has turned into a darker reality. What was supposed to be liberation is now a digital panopticon, where the lines between work and life have dissolved.
Notifications come in at all hours, social app pings creating a constant sense of obligation. The office is never far away, even when you're supposed to be offline.
There’s no downtime. I love you.
The constant pressure to be available and productive has warped the 9-5 into something painful. This productivity spiral eats up time and wears down mental and emotional health, forcing people to perform for algorithms that depend on their participation.
AFK is a Power Move
Signing out used to be a chill. Now, it’s dominion.
The deeper the industry sinks into the matrix, the more power falls to the fortunate few who manage to escape. Yesterday, it was a break. Today, it’s resistance. And tomorrow?
As most stay locked in, tech continues to accelerate—AI, crypto, DeFi—turning the capacity to disappear into a form of control. Those who can take time off are the ones running the game, curating their presence, setting the terms.
Meanwhile, many are left fighting for impressions, grinding harder just to stay relevant.
Everything keeps getting more connected, so do the expectations: always online, always working, always performing. The space promises growth, but it’s the same speech on repeat, again and again.
The ability to disconnect has become power. The powerless? They remain trapped in the cycle.
Burnout Fuels the System
Constant pings keep people wired, present, and hyper-productive. But the price is steep. Burnout, anxiety, and the deterioration of mental health have become the (semi-)hidden costs of this pace. Accelerationism, the drive for faster, more efficient everything, leaves almost no room for anything else. This system never stops. It drains individuals and the pressure to not give up is relentless.
Because the narrative tells us that "racing" will bring success, going AFK feels almost rebellious, if not outright irrelevant. The harder people push, the more it demands, and the more they drown.
Here’s where it gets even more insidious: the same system that breaks people down also sells them the cure—at a price. Those who profit from exhaustion are the ones offering the very tools to recover from the stress they create.
Retreats, solarpunk dreams, low-tech yuppism—these get sold back to the industry as antidotes. The truth is, they aren’t real remedies. Framed as personal choices and paths to peace, they’re really just more products to consume, another facet of the same trap.
The wellness industry doesn’t challenge this pattern at all, it feeds off of it. The exhaustion of the netizen life has been commodified, packaged. Anyone unable to keep up is made to feel like a failure, only to be told the solution is yet one more service, often out of reach.
This loop is vicious: workers burn out, then buy the illusion of rebirth. Peace has a price, and it’s set by the inability to say "im going AFK."
Breaking the Loop?
The grind is by design, not an accident. Most platforms, projects, and employers could change things—mandatory AFK time, no-notification zones, flexible schedules. Of course, they won’t. Not unless there’s profit in it. The right to unplug shouldn’t be something tied to money, but that’s exactly what it is. Holistic getaways, ‘unplugged’ vacations, and high-end minimalism are just new ways to capitalize on the act of turning off the wifi, available only to the wealthiest.
If rest becomes a product, then disconnection isn’t freedom. It’s a paywalled experience.
Lain’s haunting question was ahead of its time. It was a warning. Can we still go AFK, or is the plug permanently stuck?
b.
