The Belief Loop: Why Doomscrolling Isn’t Just About Dopamine Hacks

It's about your values and beliefs

Photo by Dasha Yukhymyuk on Unsplash

You doomscroll because the app is addictive. It hijacks the reward centers of your brain, floods you with dopamine, and traps you in a cycle of compulsive use.

That’s the story we’ve been told.

Books like Hooked, along with much of the psychology literature on doomscrolling focus on how modern apps are designed to manipulate the unconscious mind. And they’re right: these platforms borrowed heavily from the gambling industry to engineer habit-forming loops.

But I think we’re missing something crucial.

Yes, the attention economy exploits the reflexes of the brain. But what if another part of us—our conscious, reasoning mind—is playing along?

In psychology, we often divide the mind into two systems. System 1 is fast, intuitive, automatic. System 2 is slower and more deliberate—what we typically think of as “rational thought.” Most research on doomscrolling targets System 1: the dopamine circuits, the stimulus-response conditioning, the unconscious hooks.

Lately, though, I’ve been thinking about System 2—about beliefs. And about the role they play in keeping us locked to our screens.

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Let’s start with gambling.

It’s well known that many addictive elements of modern apps borrow directly from the gambling industry’s most profitable machines—slot machines. One example: the “pull to refresh” gesture. It mimics pulling a slot machine’s lever. Maybe this time there’ll be a new notification, or a video that hits just right.

This is what psychologists call a variable reward mechanism—a system where rewards arrive unpredictably. It’s been shown to produce some of the most persistent, resilient habits across species. Rats, pigeons, dogs, humans—if it has a brain, it’s susceptible.

But here’s the thing: No one would play a slot machine if it didn’t pay out.

Addictive behaviors need to offer something we want. And for something to be desirable, it has to fit into a structure of beliefs that give it value. Slot machines offer money. And people want money—not just because it’s shiny, but because of what they believe it gets them.

Here’s where belief comes in.

We can break down the belief system behind addiction into three levels: core beliefs, situational beliefs, and parasitic beliefs.

• Core beliefs are near-universal. They're the primal convictions that steer human behavior across cultures and time. Beliefs like:

  • Having resources keeps me safe.

  • Learning helps me act effectively.

• Situational beliefs are more local. They’re shaped by context, upbringing, and current circumstances. Beliefs like:

  • Money can be traded for the things I need.

  • I don’t have enough money.

  • I’m bad at my job.

  • I’m lucky.

• Parasitic beliefs are the hijackers. They attach themselves to core and situational beliefs and distort them.
  Imagine someone deep in debt who pulls a slot machine lever on a whim—and wins enough to cover rent. Suddenly, a new belief blooms:

  • Slot machines are the best way for me to get money.

This is how parasitic beliefs infect a belief system.

Let’s map it out:

• Core belief: I need resources to survive.

• Situational belief: I’m low on money. I need more to be okay.

• Parasitic belief: Slot machines are my best shot at getting it.

Put those together and you’ve got not just a habit, but a compelling internal logic for returning to the machine. The flashing lights and dopamine spikes matter—but they don’t create addiction out of nothing. They piggyback on a belief system that already finds the behavior meaningful.

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The apps don’t give us money. So, what are they giving us?

Well—what do you value?

Maybe you want to be a good friend. Stay close to your family. Learn more about your hobbies. Be an informed citizen. Be useful, thoughtful, competent.
These are admirable goals. They’re also exploitable.

Take these beliefs: I’m a life-long learner. YouTube helps me learn.

I held the latter belief for years. To some extent, I still do. And I’m not alone—people sing YouTube’s praises as a modern Library of Alexandria. Want to watch full lecture series from Harvard or MIT? They’re on YouTube. Want tutorials on woodworking, gardening, astrophysics? Also there.

And yet, I almost never watch them.

Almost—that’s the hinge.

That almost is where the parasitic belief sneaks in. Because sometimes, YouTube does help me learn. Sometimes I stumble across a great explainer on the Linux kernel, or a video essay that changes how I think about writing. Those moments reinforce the belief, even if most of the time I have to wade through mounds of click-bait only to settle on some digestible, fast-paced “educational entertainment”.

Still, variably, YouTube rewards my love of learning.

Here’s how the belief chain might look:

• Core belief: Learning is valuable. It makes me more effective.

• Situational belief: I’m new at my programming job. I want to improve.

• Parasitic belief: Youtube has Programming content. Watching YouTube will help me become a better programmer.

This logic feels sound—even virtuous. But in practice, it’s slippery. I intend to watch a conference talk; I end up watching a 10-minute video on “Top 5 Coding Mistakes Juniors Make.” Informative? Maybe. Transformative? No.

And this dynamic isn’t limited to YouTube. It’s everywhere.

I don’t use TikTok, but I’ve heard people talk about the “hacks” they’ve learned—the productivity tips, the life advice, the mental health “insights.”
Even short-form content can hijack our core values. Our drive to learn, to grow, to care for others—they becomes the very things exploited.

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YouTube did teach me something.

Even in the shorter, flashier content, I often walk away having learned something—a new keyboard shortcut, a programming concept I hadn’t heard of, a book recommendation.

So you might be wondering: What’s the problem?

I value learning. YouTube teaches me things. Isn’t that a win-win?

Not quite.

The problem isn’t that YouTube fails to deliver value. It’s that it delivers just enough to justify the habit.

System 2—my rational, reflective mind—gets involved not to resist suboptimal system 1 choices, but to justify them. It sees a few useful tidbits and builds a narrative: This is educational. I’m learning. This is good for me.

It’s like working out, then deciding you’ve “earned” a greasy burger.
Technically, your body needs calories. But System 1 craves the fat and salt—and System 2 steps in, not to stop it, but to spin a story: This is fuel. I need this.

(aside: that’s fine some of the time. I’m not saying don’t ever treat yourself.)

YouTube works the same way.

System 1 craves novelty, stimulation, low-effort “learning.” Something that feels productive without demanding too much.
System 2, equipped with parasitic beliefs, doesn’t fight that craving—it justifies it. Well, I’m still learning something. It’s new information. It counts.

And so I go in planning to watch a lecture, study something hard, really go deep.
Instead, I skim quick tips and fast takes. I come away with a trickle of insight—just enough to feel productive. Not enough to change how I think.

And that little bit of value? It’s what keeps me from reaching for something better.

Because there are better ways to learn.

Books. Long-form courses. Focused practice. Real engagement with hard ideas. These are slower, less stimulating, but vastly more effective. YouTube—like any app designed for engagement—rewards the shallow hit, not the sustained effort.

That’s the hidden cost—not that YouTube teaches nothing, but that it teaches just enough to keep you scrolling, while pulling you away from the deeper, harder, more rewarding paths you meant to follow.

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Beliefs can be rewritten—but they have to be lived.

Yes, YouTube helps me learn is a belief that can hijack my love of learning. But it’s not the only story I can tell myself. I can form new beliefs that make apps like YouTube less rewarding—not by disabling autoplay or switching to grayscale (that’s System 1), but by consciously reshaping what I value. That’s System 2.

Here’s one I’ve been working on: Reading a book will teach me more than watching YouTube.

I knew that, intellectually. But I didn’t believe it—not in my bones—until I lived it.

For years, I spent hours watching YouTube videos about Vim and Linux—my two favorite things in tech. I watched tutorials, conference talks, productivity hacks. Occasionally I picked up a trick or two, but I never really got better. My skill plateaued, and deep down, I knew it.

Then I read two books: Practical Vim and Efficient Linux at the Command Line. Just 400 pages between them.

That changed everything.

Those books did more for me in a few focused sittings than years of passive video consumption ever had. They didn’t just give me more information—the kinds of “hacks” you find on YouTube or TikTok. They rewired how I think, teaching me systematically and guiding me through a holistic philosophy of these tools. They didn’t just show me what buttons to press or plugins to install—they showed me how to think like a Vim user, how to reason like a Linux admin. They gave me a depth I’d never touched before.

And now, that belief—that books teach better—isn’t just an idea. It’s a memory. A truth I’ve tested, and continue to practice.

Because once you start living with beliefs that actually serve your values, doomscrolling doesn’t hit the same.
Not through guilt. Not through willpower.
Through alignment.

Doomscrolling isn’t just about dopamine hacks that attention engineers slip into apps. It’s also about the beliefs we form—and the ones that get hijacked to keep us coming back.

That’s the real loop.
Not just the refresh gesture.
But the story we tell ourselves about why we’re still on the damn phone.

Thanks for reading,
Nathan Laundry

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