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But then, I reasoned, if war had broken out, might it be good not to know? At the very least, I could do without the accompanying overload of images and videos via social media. After all, it’s only in the past few decades that humans have become accustomed to constant updates on global conflict and suffering. Food for thought, I concluded, as I looked enviously at my fellow commuters scrolling TikTok.

There were other inconveniences from the get-go, too. The lack of Apple Pay meant I had to track down my debit card and carry a wallet around with me. For a university group assignment, I had to text a partner individually so she could then pass on my messages to the group chat. I went out to dinner, but was unable to order because my phone couldn’t read a QR code. I spent two days using a physical alarm clock, (you might know these from ’90s films), before realising my dumb phone did indeed have its own.

At one point – admittedly a low – I had to Google a new TikTok trend a friend was talking about, since by then I was out of the loop. As I typed the question, I felt there was an unnerving similarity to the time my dad searched, “what is a meme?”

There were positives, too. I fell asleep quicker.But I suddenly noticed just how much everyone around me was glued to their phones, because I wasn’t staring at mine. Even in situations with family and friends, it seemed as if everyone was on their phones almost constantly.

And the battery life was great. I haven’t needed to charge it once. I still read the news – albeit on my computer – but because I wasn’t carrying all the disasters of the world in my pocket, if felt more controlled, more manageable.

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All that aside, I’m sorry to admit that I had a moment of Gen Z weakness and cracked after three days. It was just too inconvenient.

The morning I returned to my smartphone, I got a news notification that a large company had crashed on the sharemarket. Was there going to be a recession? Were we all going under?

The truth is that my dumb phone inconveniences were innocent in comparison to the issues which smartphones cause me. Sure, I needed to organise a Skype instead of just FaceTiming my aunt, but I dodged the FOMO-related tribulations of Instagram for a week. Yes, I was 24 hours late to the news that Sam Docherty was returning for Carlton’s elimination final, but I didn’t end that day feeling guilty about how much time I had wasted on TikTok. Or envious about a friend’s trip to the Gold Coast. Or disheartened by the usual stream of cynical comments you encounter while browsing social media. The problems my smartphone creates are much more insidious.

In my opinion, the federal government’s social media ban is kicking the can down the road. Social media is an inevitable, insipid part of modern life, and at some point we’re going to need the skills to manage it.

Raising the age is an adult-driven “solution” viewed as an imposition on us. The dumb phone movement is generated by Gen Z itself, so it at least has some credibility – though the inconveniences of a smartphone-free life are the biggest deterrents.

Admittedly, the dumb phone movement is small. And social media now sits alongside a passable haircut and non-Velcro shoes in the toolkit for surviving school, with 80 per cent of Australians aged between 13 and 24 using Snapchat and nine in 10 US teens on YouTube. But many young people realise the pain caused by our use of smartphones – like Stalin’s lackeys, we’re just too frightened to depose our tyrant.

Yet, the thinking behind the dumb phone renaissance is right. As Gen Z becomes sadder, lonelier, and more anxious, it’s time we seriously consider kicking it old school.

Daniel Cash is a law student at ANU and regular columnist.

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