In 2013, I was around 19 years old. I worked, studied, and, digitally, entertained myself with social media, Netflix, and games that my old laptop could handle. I’ve always been passionate about technology, and I wish I had known about Bitcoin back then—a regret that many probably share. But that’s not the point.

Like many people at the time, I used Facebook, Foursquare, Twitter, and some trendy apps like Evernote. Instagram wasn’t part of Meta yet and was only available for iOS. One of my favorite pastimes was watching Netflix. It was cheap, had good movies and series, and despite my routine, I still had plenty of free time.

One day, while searching for something to watch, I came across a documentary that caught my attention: Terms and Conditions May Apply. It talked about privacy on the internet, a subject that, at first glance, seemed like the same old warnings: “don’t use the same password,” “don’t pick easy passwords,” “don’t click on suspicious links.” So what could this one add to my understanding of privacy? The answer: everything.

My entire perspective on privacy changed. The real issue wasn’t just scammers sending fake emails from Nigerian princesses asking for help to store their fortunes. The real danger lay with those who controlled the platforms through which all our data flowed. After all, if you’re not paying for the product, you are the product.

Over-the-top terms of service, full of legal traps, existed solely to benefit Big Tech. They were their weapons, extracting valuable information from us—information we didn’t even realize we had. No one reads those terms, even today. And thanks to them, these companies can predict our needs, access our emails, know what we jot down, map out our friendships, and, based on that, even suggest reconnecting with someone we haven’t seen in decades. They know everything. And we were the ones who handed it over.

After watching the documentary, I decided to erase all traces of myself from the internet. I became paranoid, as if I had uncovered some hidden truth. Over time, I learned how to use tools that gave me back control over my privacy—or at least, I like to think so. And I wasn’t alone. Many people around me started to care about digital security. No one wants to be treated as a product. Signal, Tor, Firefox, DuckDuckGo, Linux, and other tools became allies in this fight, not just for me, but for my friends as well.

Since then, companies have started to appear more committed to privacy, giving users greater control over their data. Today, you can delete your data from major social networks—at least, that’s what they claim. But as long as you’re still inside, you are their product.

Years later, I stumbled upon that documentary again and reflected: where the hell have we ended up? We’re living in an era of total digital exposure, where no one cares about being the product. Data is traded for scraps and a few laughs on the feed. What changed in the last 12 years?

The answer might lie in how different generations grew up. My generation created social media. The next generation was born into it. For these younger people, privacy was never an option because they never experienced a world without constant surveillance. The idea of protecting their data simply doesn’t make sense to them.

And that saddens me. Because, despite what many believe, privacy matters. If it didn’t, bathrooms wouldn’t have doors.