Beware the Anger Economy
How outrage became a business — and why it’s affecting our mental health
At The Empowering Hive, I’ve been writing about wellbeing, stress management, and emotional health for some time. And the more I observe how we live today — how we consume information, how we react online, how we relate to uncertainty — the clearer it becomes that one of the biggest sources of modern stress is not only what happens to us, but what we emotionally absorb every single day.
We live immersed in a constant stream of news, opinions, and narratives designed to trigger strong emotional reactions. Anger, in particular, has become one of the most exploited emotions. Not because it’s new, but because it’s fast, contagious, and incredibly effective at capturing attention.
From a wellbeing perspective, this is not a minor issue. The nervous system doesn’t distinguish between a real threat and a perceived one repeated over and over again. Living in a state of permanent moral alert comes at a cost: fatigue, anxiety, emotional polarisation, difficulty regulating emotions, and a persistent sense of overwhelm.
That’s why this piece doesn’t come from politics, but from care. From the question of how living in a constant state of outrage impacts our mental health, who benefits from that emotional depletion, and how we can step out of that cycle without becoming indifferent.
This dynamic is often referred to as the anger economy.
Living in a Permanent State of Outrage
We live in a time where being angry feels almost like a moral obligation. If you don’t react immediately, if you don’t take a clear stance, if you don’t publicly express outrage, it can feel as though you’re failing as a conscious, ethical person.
But what if part of that anger isn’t as spontaneous as we think? What if we’re caught inside a system that relies on our outrage to survive?
How the Anger Economy Works
The mechanism itself is simple — and that’s exactly why it’s so effective.
Anger generates attention.
Attention turns into clicks, shares, and engagement.
And that engagement is converted into money, influence, or power.
This isn’t a flaw in the system. It’s precisely what the system is designed to optimise. Platforms, media outlets, and political actors have learned a basic truth: nothing captures attention like a fast, intense, morally charged emotion. And anger fits that formula perfectly.
Why It Works Even on Well-Intentioned People
What’s most unsettling about this system is that it doesn’t depend on bad intentions. It thrives on good ones.
Anger carries a biological reward. It activates stress responses, but it also releases dopamine. It creates a feeling of clarity, urgency, and moral certainty. Being outraged can feel purposeful.
Moralised anger often feels like ethical action.
“If I’m angry, it’s because I care.”
The problem is that feeling morally right doesn’t always translate into acting constructively. Very often, it simply means reacting faster.
Anger also simplifies. Faced with a complex, contradictory, and overwhelming world, it offers a comforting narrative: good versus evil, victims versus villains, us versus them. That simplification reduces anxiety — but at the cost of understanding, nuance, and often, the humanity of others.
Who Benefits From This System
The uncomfortable question isn’t who’s right, but who benefits when we live in a constant state of outrage.
Platforms benefit from capturing more of our attention.
Media benefit because emotional headlines outperform thoughtful analysis.
Political actors benefit because fear and anger build loyalty.
Extremes benefit because polarisation erases nuance.
And an entire industry of propaganda and disinformation thrives on outrage as fuel.
Meanwhile, the cost is absorbed by everyone else.
The Hidden Cost of Constant Outrage
Even when framed as moral engagement, this system comes with real consequences:
the dehumanisation of others
the breakdown of dialogue
emotional radicalisation
chronic mental exhaustion
the weakening of legitimate causes through constant noise
When everything is shouting, nothing is truly heard.
This Is Not a Call for Indifference
Let’s be clear: this is not an invitation to stop caring.
Anger in the face of injustice is human — and sometimes necessary. The issue isn’t feeling anger. The issue is when anger becomes identity, when it’s constantly triggered, and when it’s turned into a product.
Understanding the anger economy doesn’t mean minimising real harm. It means preventing our emotional reactions from being exploited.
How to Push Back (Without Moralising)
This system won’t be dismantled by abstract calls to “be better people.” It requires design, habits, and awareness.
Some practical shifts can make a meaningful difference:
adding friction before sharing content
prioritising traceable sources and verifiable information
maintaining basic conversational norms, such as criticising policies without turning identities into enemies
learning to recognise emotional spikes as signals to pause, not act
The moment of peak outrage is usually the worst moment for clear thinking.
A Simple Checklist to Avoid Emotional Manipulation
Before sharing a headline, post, or slogan, it’s worth asking:
Who benefits if I get angry about this?
Is this content informing me, or pushing me to react immediately?
Are people or groups being treated as a single, homogeneous block?
Are there facts here, or mostly emotionally loaded language?
What part of the story is missing?
Am I trying to understand — or just confirm what I already believe?
Does this build something, or does it only burn bridges?
This isn’t censorship. It’s mental hygiene.
Final Thoughts
Caring for mental health today also means learning to pause, filter, and avoid letting anger — legitimate, but amplified — hijack our attention and our nervous system.
Especially as more and more people live with constant anxiety, convinced that the world is about to collapse, that everything is falling apart, that no future is possible. That feeling doesn’t always come from immediate reality, but from prolonged exposure to messages designed to trigger fear, urgency, and catastrophe.
The nervous system wasn’t designed to process global crises in real time, all day, every day. When we force it to do so, the body shifts into survival mode, even when there’s no direct threat.
Perhaps one of the deepest forms of self-care today isn’t consuming more information, but consuming it more consciously. Choosing when, how, and from where we engage with the world. Reclaiming pause, discernment, and emotional regulation.
In an environment designed to keep us constantly activated, choosing clarity, calm, and independent judgment isn’t apathy.
It’s care.
And, whether it looks like it or not, a form of resistance.
This kind of awareness is part of what holistic wellbeing looks like in a world that constantly pulls at our nervous system.
