Infinite Scroll Never Ends Because Ending Would Be Honest

The cleverest thing about infinite scroll isn't that it supplies endless content. It's that it removes the seam where you might ask whether you're done. A page number, a "next" button, even a loading pause—these are tiny contracts. They say: this is a unit, and you may leave it. Infinite scroll dissolves the unit. It turns stopping into a private act of will against an interface built to make will feel unnecessary. That's not a neutral convenience. It's a business model's perfect grammar: every moment of hesitation becomes more inventory. I don't think it's evil, and I don't think it's irresistible. But I do think it flatters us into calling a lack of friction "ease" when the friction was the only thing keeping us oriented. A library with no doors isn't generous. It's just very good at keeping you inside.