It Is That Deep: The Rise of Anti-Intellectualism
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“It’s not that deep.”
A phrase we’ve all heard or said at some point. Maybe you’ve commented it under a TikTok or heard it from a friend. Originally, the phrase was just a modern “don’t overthink it”, but the meaning has since shifted. Today, the saying is used in a condescending, dismissive way. Its ability to shut down nuance, flatten complexity and invalidate emotions reflects a broader rise in anti-intellectualism and, actually, anti-anything-deep.
What once reassured now dismisses. In our rush to simplify and consume everything, depth has become cringe. The most generous interpretation of this is that people are overwhelmed: by information, screens, crises, expectations, really anything real.
This has led to a preference for ‘vibes’ over knowledge. Contemporary anti-intellectualism thrives on a distrust of expertise and a discomfort with depth, aligning perfectly with trendy ideologies that view effortlessness as cool. It’s as if everyone’s scared to care: for people, for themselves and especially about learning. Trends like ‘brain rot content’ glamorise not paying attention, even zoning out, which turns disengagement into a kind of aesthetic.
Of course, there are culprits behind this cultural shift, and one of the biggest is the hunger for fame. The pressure to shrink yourself into a 15-second clip and package yourself into an algorithm-friendly format is enough to water anyone down. And even if you’re not trying to become part of this cycle, you’re certainly consuming it. This becomes your daily dose of “intellectualism,” setting the standard for how deep anything is allowed to be.
The “it’s not that deep” stance has become a shield rather than a description. People use it not just for reassurance but to avoid difficult emotions, dodge accountability (“if nothing matters, you can’t question my behaviour”), or shut down debates they can’t win. Along with the cultural fear of cringe, the belief in sincerity being embarrassing and detachment being cool feeds directly into how the phrase now functions. Depth requires vulnerability; learning requires effort. And many of us, desensitised or simply burnt out by the internet, recoil from anything serious, hastily rushing to label it “too much.”
And it’s not just TikTok. We call emotional needs “dramatic” as if detachment is the correct reaction to everything. We favour the relatable over the informed, rewarding polished but shallow commentary. We can’t even sit through anything longer than 15 seconds without needing fast-forwarding or speeding updates that have now been implemented in every major app.
Anti-intellectualism ultimately leads to shallow politics, shallow relationships, shallow lives. We avoid understanding the people closest to us, contributing to the rise of avoidant relationships and thus creating avoidant societies. We fool ourselves into thinking we know everything just because we’re learning very little about many things. Nuance isn’t elitism, nor is depth pretension. These things are how we make sense of the world.
The “nothing matters” mindset may feel safe, simple, even comforting in the moment, but it’s making society less informed, more manipulable, and more disconnected than ever. As young people inheriting a world in crisis, we have every right to be exhausted but we do not have the luxury of apathy. So maybe things are that deep. And uncomfortable as that is, it’s exactly why we should be paying attention.