Beyond Filters and Feeds: The Beach as Our Last Honest Place

Once upon a time—back in the post-millennium era—when people wanted to describe the middle of nowhere, they’d simply say: “where there’s no cell reception.” Today, that same out-of-reach place lies not in geography, but in spirit: on a beach somewhere between harsh truth and absurd virtual reality.

For now, at least, it remains untouched.

The Beach, the Bombshell Car, and a Childhood That Wasn’t for Show

“We used to go to the sea with my father almost every Sunday. He had this ancient car, shaped like a missile, which we affectionately called Karaiskakis,” writes Greek author Margarita Liberaki in Three Summers, her 1946 novel set under the dazzling summer light of Attica. “Some kid on the street yelled it out once as we passed by, and the name stuck. It wasn’t an ordinary car—it deserved a name.”

Its color? Somewhere between brown, gray, or maybe khaki. The inside was lined in real burgundy leather—an unexpected touch of luxury. Tall, completely open with no roof, its engine was chopped off in the front like the face of a scrappy dog. The back ended in a pointed tail, resembling the plume of a hoopoe bird. There, a wooden box held swimsuits, fishing gear, and whatever else we tossed in.

In short, this was a car with attitude—provocative and proud.

That was the flavor of Greek summer. Unfiltered. Uncurated. Raw.

There Are No Filters for Sunsets

You can’t Photoshop the evening sky. You can’t add a GIF of confusion above your broken umbrella. You can’t auto-sync your beach selfies with Robbie Williams’ Me and My Monkey. And no, there’s still no app that can perfectly adjust your swimsuit to your body. SPF 30 or SPF 50 are your only filters here.

Nostalgia works like a camera obscura: it inverts reality to help us see it more clearly. It reminds us that there’s something deeply psychedelic—and irresistibly real—about salt-crusted hair drying over a damp bikini. In the most exposed place of our lives (perhaps second only to our bathtubs), we are, for once, offline. Away from the digital shell we’ve built, far from the parallel identity we tend so carefully on social media.

Lonely in the Age of Hyperconnection

Are we lonelier now than ever? It’s not just a rhetorical question. At least not for Derek Thompson, the perceptive American journalist from The Atlantic and author of Hit Makers and On Work: Money, Meaning, Identity.

Thompson describes our times as the Anti-Social Century, a period plagued by a self-inflicted loneliness that he believes reshapes “our personalities, ideologies, even our relationship with reality.” It’s not just theoretical for him—he feels it in his own life, and sees it ripple through his social circles.

In a 2024 YouGov study, more than half of young Americans aged 18–29 said they’d feel comfortable discussing mental health issues with AI. That statistic is telling.

In one of his articles, Thompson begins with a scene that doubles as parable: A Mexican bar in North Carolina he once loved. It used to buzz with conversation and cold beers. Now? It’s just a glorified takeout joint. The kitchen pumps out meal trays by the minute. Patrons tap their phones, grab a paper bag, and leave—no eye contact, no chatter, no connection.

A perfectly efficient choreography of consumption. And, to Thompson, deeply depressing.

When AI Becomes Your Therapist

As of now, ChatGPT boasts around 400 million weekly active users worldwide. An increasing number of them are turning to it not just for facts, but for companionship. Many speak to the AI bot about their fears, hopes, and mental health, rather than confiding in a real person.

It’s not hard to see why. AI doesn’t judge. It doesn’t get bored or distracted. It’s always there.

But maybe that’s the problem.

Back to the Shoreline of Reality

When we shake the sand from our towels and leave the beach behind, nothing in the world will have changed. The loneliness, the digitized interactions, the frictionless yet faceless convenience—they’ll all still be waiting.

But at least, for a moment, we will have experienced something true. Something tactile. Something real.

Even if we did ask Siri what time sunset is, just so we could catch one more golden-hued story for our feed.

And maybe, that’s enough.

For now.