Unveiling Teen Struggles: Lauren Greenfield’s New Documentary Delves into Adolescence & Tech

Viewers of Lauren Greenfield’s documentary series Social Studies generally have two different reactions. Young audiences find it affirming, while older viewers see it as a frightful glimpse into youth culture. Teenagers’ smartphone screens are like secretive portals that adults rarely get to peer into. Greenfield emphasizes, “Our children are in front of us, yet their inner worlds remain largely unknown to us.”

Her five-part series shines a spotlight on the digital and real-world lives of teenagers and young adults, the pioneers of the social media era, and it’s now being considered for an Emmy award. Greenfield captures scenes of teenagers sneaking out of their homes, sharing explicit images online, engaging in extreme fasting, and navigating personal traumas like rape, cyberbullying, racial identity issues, unrealistic beauty standards, and thoughts of suicide. She portrays adolescence as a lawless frontier.

“I approached this project as a sort of social experiment,” Greenfield explains during a video call from the Fahey/Klein Gallery in Los Angeles, where a photographic exhibition related to Social Studies is on display through July. Initially, she conducted over 200 brief interviews at high schools in Los Angeles, eventually narrowing her focus to approximately 25 students. These participants allowed her to film them in various settings—homes, schools, parties, and discussion groups—throughout the 2021-22 school year. Importantly, they agreed to share their digital interactions by recording their screens, offering Greenfield a real-time window into their online activities. The result is a dynamic, all-encompassing documentary that blends digital and physical experiences in a sometimes overwhelming flurry of activity.

Greenfield’s career began in anthropology, with her first assignment from National Geographic involving photography of the Maya people in Mexico, a project co-authored with her mother, psychologist Patricia Marks Greenfield. However, after this project was discontinued, she turned her attention to her hometown of Los Angeles. Since her first major work, Fast Forward: Growing Up in the Shadow of Hollywood, her focus has been on consumer culture, extreme wealth, addiction, and youth behavior.

The inspiration for Social Studies partly arose from observing her youngest son Gabriel’s habits with his smartphone. He was 14 when she began the project. “We constantly argued over his screen time,” she says. “I was never able to control his access or even see what he was viewing. He was very secretive about his phone, which probably fueled my curiosity to dive deeper into the world of smartphones and really see what was inside.”

In addition to roughly 1,000 hours of traditional documentary footage, Greenfield collected 2,000 hours of screen recordings. Her son assisted with the technical aspects. Being slightly younger than the subjects of her study, and encountering her own child at a party she was filming, provided Greenfield with a uniquely personal and challenging perspective as a parent.

Creating Social Studies also transformed her parenting approach. “I was faulting my son for his excessive screen time,” she admits. “But I came to realize that blaming him was like blaming an opium addict for their addiction. Social media platforms are deliberately designed to be addictive to maximize user engagement, with little regard for the consequences.” This project, she notes, helped her reconnect with her teenager.

Greenfield has acknowledged that her 2002 book Girl Culture opened her eyes to feminist ideas. Similarly, she wonders if her experience with Social Studies has turned her into an activist. “Certainly, it made me realize that we are exposing our young people to a perilous environment that needs addressing,” she reflects. “It motivated me to spread awareness and advocate for collective action.”

Interestingly, Greenfield initially did not plan to include parents in the documentary. However, those that do appear often seem either absent or indifferent. One mother, whose daughter creates provocative videos for TikTok, remarks, “I really don’t want to see Sydney’s TikTok.” Another father tries to curb his daughter’s app usage by paying her $50 a day not to use it.

“But these parents are representative of many of us,” Greenfield points out. “They’re not there to be judged but to prompt us to reflect on our own roles. This project revealed to me just how much I didn’t know about my own children’s concerns.” When discussing the project at home, she found herself asking her sons—her eldest then being 20 and in college—about topics such as the BDSM trend.

Despite the serious themes, the series does include moments of levity. For instance, a female participant comments on trading photos of feet: “We don’t judge each other for it, but we don’t feel particularly empowered by it either.” It’s unclear whether the teens are exceptionally worldly or simply naive. “You start a TikTok to live that effortless, movie-like lifestyle,” says 17-year-old Keshawn, who shortly becomes a father.

The influence of celebrity culture, especially Kim Kardashian, is evident throughout the series. In a telling moment, a young woman states she would release a sex tape if it would make her famous. Into this regulatory void steps 20-year-old Anthony, a self-appointed vigilante who collects evidence for assault victims and exposes perpetrators online. He observes, “I’m part of cancel culture. It sort of works, and sort of doesn’t.”

Greenfield herself becomes an integral yet almost invisible part of the narrative, asking the teens probing questions about their experiences. She originally considered involving a therapist or teacher but ultimately realized, “It had to be me.” Though she prefers not to assume an authoritarian role, her subtle presence allows the teens to share their stories more freely.

When asked how she copes with the emotional burden of the stories she documents, Greenfield reflects, “It’s an interesting question. I find this work incredibly fulfilling. It’s challenging to gain trust and access, but I’m most frustrated when I can’t share these stories. When I can, I feel a great sense of accomplishment. Many young people participated because they wanted their stories heard.”

Greenfield also candidly discusses her own work addiction, a theme explored in her 2018 documentary Generation Wealth. In it, her teenage son Noah calls her a workaholic, and her younger son Gabriel, then ten, holds up a sign to the camera stating, “You have a problem.”

In Social Studies, Greenfield’s personal experiences with the pressures of societal expectations resonate deeply. She recalls a childhood moment when she realized she didn’t meet conventional beauty standards, a memory that still influences her work. “The relentless comparison culture not only steals our innocence but our joy as well,” she observes. “You’re never fully satisfied with yourself.”

Greenfield emphasizes the importance of authenticity in her work, driven by her own personal experiences. When discussing her confrontations with her son over his phone use, she shifts the focus to the broader issue. “It’s easy to blame parents, but the tech companies could change the landscape if they chose to. These apps are meticulously crafted to captivate and addict young users. They even employ neuroscience, which I believe used to be considered unethical when creating products aimed at young people. We know from leaked research that apps like TikTok can become addictive in less than 35 minutes.”

Reflecting on a recent film about Jim Henson, Greenfield is moved by the collaborative efforts of artists and educators who prioritized what was beneficial for children, contrasting sharply with today’s tech-driven landscape. “It’s a different era now, one that often overlooks the wellbeing of young people,” she laments.

Recently, Greenfield traveled to Sacramento with some participants from Social Studies to discuss the issues with senators. She has also introduced the series into educational settings. “This project has definitely spurred me into action,” she states.

She points out that while places like Australia have implemented bans on social media for users under 16, and organizations like Common Sense Media are pushing for health warnings on social platforms, significant change in the U.S. may hinge on the collective concern of parents and educators rather than government or tech industry intervention.

In the final episode, the participants reflect on their experiences. For many, having a conversation without the distraction of phones was a novel freedom. “We all need to delete social media!” one declares, sparking applause. Yet, the clapping diminishes as someone asks, “How do you leave social media without being forgotten?”

“That struck a chord with me,” Greenfield admits. “They’re showing us there’s a problem and offering hints for a solution. But they can’t fix it alone.” So what is the solution? “We’ve handed our communication over to companies that prioritize profit over our welfare, and that’s frightening. We need a form of communication that’s independent, where our information isn’t commodified or sold.”

Asked whether a public-service communication platform is feasible, she responds, “I’m not a tech entrepreneur, so I’m not sure about the feasibility. But I do believe it’s possible.”