
(Photo: Hand on grass: whitebalance.space/Getty; Scanner graphic/Canva; Collage by: Ayana Underwood)
We should all be spending more time outside and offline—or, in contemporary terms, touching some grass. The slang phrase emerged (somewhat ironically) on social media in recent years as a means of letting someone know they need to unplug and reconnect with the real world. Now, there’s an app for that.
Studies show that time spent in nature can boost your mood and overall sense of well-being while lowering stress levels, improving memory, and attention span. In short, the best way to counter the effects of your screens is to step away from them and into the world.
According to the app’s calculator, at my current rate, I am likely to spend 2,007 hours, or approximately 83 days, online this year. That’s nine years over a lifetime.
Touch Grass is a fairly straightforward way to ditch your phone, laptop, or Netflix queue for a bit of fresh air. The app encourages users to physically step outside, find a patch of grass to touch, and perhaps even enjoy a walk, the elements, or a combination of the two. And so far, we’re a fan; Emma Veidt, editor of our sister publication Backpacker, has been using the app for months. “It has genuinely improved my doomscrolling,” she says. (She also ranked it among her favorite new products she’s used this spring.) So, I decided to give it a try for myself.
(Watch the video above to see our senior health editor show you how to touch some grass.)
Touch Grass is sort of like a digital lock box for your phone, or at least your most distracting apps. The impetus to trade a few moments of scrolling for a quick jaunt outside comes as soon as you open the app (currently available for download exclusively via the Apple App Store) or visit its eponymous website. As a welcome, prompts calculate your daily screen time, which, if you’re anything like me, is a chilling stat to have thrown in your face.
According to recent research, excessive screen time is linked to higher levels of depression and anxiety, not to mention eye, neck, and shoulder strain—aptly called “tech neck.” Studies have also linked screen time to substance use disorders and early-onset dementia.
According to the app’s calculator, at my current rate, I am likely to spend 2,007 hours, or approximately 83 days, online this year. That’s nine years over a lifetime.
Clearly, I need to go touch grass.
After a few introductory lines about the perils of spending your day staring at screens, the app links up to Apple Screen Time for stats (your daily screen time is listed on your profile). It then requests that you grant both camera (for the grass touching part) and location access (allowing you to set your app limits to align with sunrise and sunset). Finally, the app asks you to set a goal; options include things like “Connect with People” and “Be More Present.”
Next, you can select up to two apps—more, even entire categories like “games,” if you upgrade for $5.99/month or $49.99 annually—to block until you physically go outside and touch grass.
Block options include “quick break,” which can be adjusted from 15 to 60 minutes, and “medium break,” from 30 to 120 minutes, along with “smart break,” which uses sunrise and sunset times to block based on time of day. “Rest of day” blocks your chosen apps until midnight. You can toggle between block options and disable the more intimidating ones—it’s all very choose-your-own-adventure.
In short, the best way to counter the effects of your screens is to step away from them and into the world.
Once an app is blocked, you’ll notice that the icon looks faded out—the way an icon looks when it’s not finished downloading to your phone. A tiny hourglass symbol on said icon also indicates its blocked status.
When you attempt to open the app, Touch Grass prompts you to head outside and put your hand in the green stuff. Once the in-app camera verifies that you have, in fact, touched grass, you will have access to your app for your designated amount of time and are free to re-block when you’re done.
This was one of my biggest questions, and since the app dedicates a slide to it during its setup process, I am obviously not alone.
A “skip” option allows you to bypass the grass mandate, but there’s a catch—you only get one skip for free. After that, skips cost whatever price you’re willing to pay between $0.99 and $9.99.
If you’re wondering why you would choose to fork over money, it may help to know that 50 percent of Touch Grass’ revenue goes to planting trees and various rewilding charities in the UK.

While I would love to block all social media for hours at a time, my profession dictates that I stay relatively plugged in. (I want to blame my screen addiction on my day job, but time spent using Touch Grass reveals that my social media habit is a personal problem.)
Getting started with Touch Grass gave me instant anxiety. The unease that comes with blocking a well-used app (in my case, Instagram) for any amount of time, even while in full control of the choice, is definitely a sign of a greater problem. As I select Instagram as my to-be-blocked app, I am struck by an irrational fear that I will never be able to access it again.
What if something glitches and I’m locked out forever?
This does not happen. Instead, the small hourglass that appears on the now-faded Insta icon serves as a visual reminder that that mindless scroll is currently off limits. Though subtle, these visual cues are effective, deterring me from several unnecessary scrolls throughout the day.
Once my late afternoon slump hits, I convince myself that I’ve earned some Instagram brain rot. I tap the app, acknowledge Touch Grass’ pop-up, and head into my backyard to find some grass. I touch it, the app scans the photo, and Insta is unlocked. But then I notice the lilac tree blooming overhead, and I smell those blossoms instead of scrolling. I tilt my head up to feel the sun on my face. I stand outside for 20 minutes, listening and breathing and noticing.
I don’t scroll through Instagram; when prompted, I ditch my “short break” settings to “smart break.” Even though I don’t make it until sunset, the intention was there. Baby steps.
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