The unchecked growth of disorder sends a message: no one cares, so anything goes.

When I was a kid, I loved fire. Some of my fondest memories involve some kind of fire. Whether it was lighting the old dried-up Christmas tree on fire (dry pine needles burn rapidly), lighting so-called “Dino Fires” in the back garden with my older brother (after a fight, we would go light a fire with twigs in the back garden and let our dinosaurs fight it out), or even singeing all the hair off my arms, lighting a fire by soaking the wood in benzene, then throwing a match at it (advice for anyone wanting to try this – pull your hand back very, very quickly).

Throughout human history, fire has been a dual-edged weapon. Used and prized for its ability to refine, purify, and sterilize, but feared for its destructive nature that threatened to break free and destroy indiscriminately at any point. Fire could be used to cauterize a wound and prevent sepsis. Fire could cause burns that could become septic and kill.

Fire is a tool. But it should be used responsibly, with caution. Like a shark on a leash, it’s ready to turn around and take a bite. When mishandled, the problems begin—or, as it’s colloquially referred to: the dumpster fire starts.

There are online platforms that have become digital dumpster fires. TikTok, for example, is a platform with a wide range of content. It’s best described as brain rot in a dumpster fire. Not that I have a strong opinion at all. Or X, formerly Twitter. It used to have great content. Now it’s bots and spam.

Corey Doctorow has a phrase for this: enshittification—the gradual degradation of an online platform or service’s functionality, as part of a cycle in which the platform or service initially attracts users with benefits, then shifts to prioritizing profit at the expense of those same users. It’s also referred to, more politely, as platform decay.

Instagram is the classic example of this. Photographers originally loved Instagram for the ease with which they could share their photos. Square photos became the in thing. Then came stories, reels, videos, adverts, etc. And now Instagram is no longer even square. The death of photography on Instagram has been a long time coming.

In criminology, the broken windows theory holds that visible signs of crime, antisocial behavior, and disorder create an environment that encourages more of the same, escalating into serious crimes. The idea is that by targeting minor offenses—things like vandalism, loitering, public drinking, or fare evasion—you can foster a sense of order and discourage further chaos.

This theory operates on the premise that small, unchecked issues send a message that disorder is tolerated, creating a feedback loop where minor infractions escalate into more significant problems. In essence, addressing these smaller signs of neglect early can prevent them from snowballing into larger societal issues.

Here’s where the connection lies. Just as the broken windows theory explains how small signs of disorder can spiral into greater societal decay, the same principle applies to digital platforms. Enshittification is not just a top-down process driven by corporate greed. It is also a reflection of user behavior. Every piece of low-quality content that is shared, every act of trolling or spamming, every mindless engagement with clickbait—these are the broken windows of the digital world. Each one sends a signal: this is acceptable here.

Users are not passive participants in this process. We play an active role in platform decay. By engaging with sensationalist content, rewarding algorithms that prioritize outrage and clickbait, and failing to hold ourselves accountable for what we share and consume, we contribute to the downward spiral. Just as neglecting a broken window invites more disorder, neglecting the quality of our online interactions invites the chaos of enshittification.

Consider YouTube, once a bastion of creativity where anyone could share their talents and ideas with a global audience. It was a place of unfiltered expression. Yet, with the rise of monetization, algorithmic prioritization, and sponsored content, the quality of the platform began to suffer. Clickbait titles, shallow content, and recycled trends dominate, while the algorithm rewards sensationalism over substance. But this decay isn’t solely the fault of the platform. Users flock to the sensational, driving the algorithms that amplify it.

The modern web itself reflects this phenomenon. The early days of the internet were a Wild West of creativity and freedom. Now, it’s a place of endless pop-up ads, bloated websites, and intrusive cookies. Everywhere you look, there’s an attempt to capture your attention, your data, your time. The beauty of the early internet, a place of experimentation and unbridled creativity, has been replaced by a polished, sterile, and often soul-crushing digital landscape.

The internet, much like any other system in human society, is a reflection of our behavior. As long as users reward platforms that prioritize profit over quality, that indulge in the spectacle over the meaningful, the cycle of enshittification will continue. We’ve traded convenience and entertainment for substance and authenticity. And in doing so, we’ve become enablers of the very decay we lament.

Understanding this connection between broken windows, enshittification, and user behavior gives us a clearer picture of how digital platforms degrade. It’s not just the platforms or their creators who are at fault. It’s us. Each of us has the power to stop the spread of digital disorder. By choosing quality content, rejecting sensationalism, and being mindful of what we share and engage with, we can become part of the solution rather than the problem.

If we fail to recognize this, the spiral will continue. But if we take responsibility for our role in this cycle, there’s hope that we can break it. Just as a single repaired window can restore order to a neighborhood, a shift in user behavior can restore order to our digital spaces. It starts with us.