Rage bait has become one of the defining features of our online lives; it slips into news feeds, social networks, and comment threads with a quiet ease, stirring us before we’ve even realised what’s happening. It’s crafted to provoke a sharp emotional reaction, often anger or disgust, because those feelings are powerful drivers of clicks and shares.

The content doesn’t need to be accurate, fair, or thoughtful; it only needs to be provocative enough to pull us in. Once we’re hooked, the algorithms reward the engagement, and the cycle repeats: outrage breeds interaction, interaction amplifies visibility, visibility shapes perception.

It’s tempting to think we’re immune, yet rage bait works precisely because it appeals to our sense of justice, our frustrations with the world, and our desire to defend what matters. It can leave us feeling riled and drained, as though we’ve spent energy on something hollow. Over time, it dulls our compassion, erodes trust, and narrows our ability to listen. It also strips away nuance, replacing it with a simplified ‘us versus them’ worldview that doesn’t honour the messy, complicated truth of real human experience.

Choosing not to take the bait is an act of quiet resistance. It asks us to pause, breathe, and treat our attention as something precious. It invites us to look for stories that build rather than break, and conversations that nourish rather than consume. In that pause, there’s space for curiosity, gentleness, and the recognition that most people are far more than the headlines designed to make us hate them.