The Smart Fridge of Mental Health

Are we innovating ourselves into isolation?

Recently, I was on the subway in NYC when I looked around and noticed no eyes. Literally, everyone was looking down at their device, doing whatever they wanted while on their commute. I, too, a victim of my own device, was listening to music, but I kept my eyes up, taking in all that the NYC subway has to offer—all the sights and sounds (and smells). It made me wonder what interactions or wisdom I was missing because no one was engaging with anyone else.

I’ve thought about this before on airplanes. To be clear, I’m not the traveling type who wants to banter back and forth throughout my commute or trip. However—and this thought kept popping into my head—has technology and innovation taken us away from some of the most beneficial human functions, like communication and interaction? Functions that are essential not only for survival but also for our mental health.

This question took on a new form when I read about the Walgreens smart fridge fiasco. In a push to innovate and compete with digital giants like Amazon, Walgreens replaced traditional glass fridge doors with “smart screens.” This was what everyone was asking for, right (insert sarcasm here)? These screens promised to revolutionize shopping with sleek displays and ad-generated revenue. Instead, they obstructed shoppers from seeing what was actually in the fridge, frequently malfunctioned, and even caught fire(!!). The “smart” solution ended up being a massive failure—one that left people wanting the simplicity of a glass door.

It struck me that this isn’t just a retail problem, and that there’s a connection to the mental health world, too.

The Cost of Innovation Without Connection

Much like Walgreens’ smart fridges obscured the simple act of looking for milk or soda, our dependence on technology has started obscuring the fundamental ways we connect as humans, e.g. see my example above. Sure, we have apps for mindfulness, telehealth therapy sessions, and AI chatbots that promise to listen to us, but do these innovations genuinely help us? Or, are they like the smart fridges—promising something sleek and futuristic while making it harder to access what we truly need?

Human connection, after all, is one of the greatest determinants of mental health. Studies show that regular social interaction can reduce anxiety, improve mood, and even extend our lifespan. Yet, as we increasingly rely on digital tools to “simplify” our lives, we do the risk of losing the human touch that these tools can’t replicate. Ever. A chatbot might offer coping strategies, AI might blow you away with its illusory brilliance, but neither can replace the warmth of a friend’s voice or the reassurance of a hug. These tools simply will never be able to grasp the nuance of our context and uniqueness of our individuality.

The Illusion of Progress

The Walgreens story is also a cautionary tale about innovation for the sake of innovation. What problem were they trying to solve with these screens? Glass doors were working just fine, I assume. Similarly, in mental health, we’ve seen a wave of “smart” solutions—apps that track your mood, send motivational notifications, or provide virtual therapy. While these tools can be helpful, they’re often marketed as replacements for traditional human interaction rather than supplements to it.

Consider this: You can have an app that sends you reminders to “practice gratitude,” but without a meaningful connection to someone else, those reminders feel hollow. Being kind to yourself and showing yourself gratitude can be helpful, but without the ability to show that gratitude to others, it does start to fall flat. Technology can be one guide towards better mental health, but it can’t do the work for us. Like shoppers frustrated by opaque smart fridges, we might find ourselves longing for the simplicity of a real conversation, where nothing is filtered or mediated by a screen. I know when my work day is done, the last thing I want is more screen time.

When Solutions Become the Problem

Walgreens’ smart fridges didn’t just fail—they actively created more problems. Customers couldn’t see the products they wanted, employees had to resort to taping paper signs to the doors, and sales likely suffered as a result (how could they not when you can’t get in a fridge!). This mirrors a growing trend in mental health: the tools designed to help us sometimes end up making things harder.

For example, think about the rise of mental health apps that claim to track your progress or improve your habits. While some people find them useful, others report feeling overwhelmed by constant notifications or discouraged when their progress doesn’t meet the app’s algorithmic benchmarks. Instead of alleviating stress, these tools can amplify it—much like the smart fridge that couldn’t decide whether to show a certain drink or just black out entirely.

Reconnecting with What Matters

So, what’s the takeaway here? It’s not that innovation is inherently bad. After all, mental health tools like telehealth have made care more accessible to people who might otherwise go without. But we need to be thoughtful about how we use technology and what we sacrifice in the name of progress. Plus, technology and innovation do not always go hand in hand.

Much like a glass fridge door that lets you actually see what you’re looking for, the best mental health solutions are often simple and transparent. They don’t try to replace human connection; they facilitate it. They don’t promise to “fix” us; they support us in doing the work ourselves alongside others.

The next time you’re on a subway or an airplane, take a moment to look up. Maybe you’ll see someone who reminds you of the value of connection. Or maybe you’ll just see the world for what it is—unfiltered and imperfect, but real. That’s something no smart screen or app can replicate. Ever. No matter how fancy the “smart” glasses or goggles get.

In the end, the best thing we can do—for our mental health and our humanity—is to remember that some of the best solutions aren’t revolutionary. They’re just real.