Parents are spending up to $19,000 on summer camps that ban their kids' phones

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Emma Bobson spends four to six hours a day on her phone.

At 13 years old, the middle schooler from Long Island, New York scrolls through TikTok searching shopping hauls, FaceTimes her friends to discuss daily drama, and texts friends (often the same ones) on iMessage.

So, for the first few days of summer camp in Pennsylvania — where WiFi is scarce, and tech is barred — she found herself reaching into her pocket for her phone all the time. It took "a few days or a week" for her to quit the reflex.

Emma is not alone. Gen Alpha is the first generation to have grown up in the smartphone era. These kids entered early education during the pandemic. They grew up with hybrid school, tech-filled classrooms, tablets on restaurant tables, and parents who sought out screens as their ally.

For some Gen Alpha kids, sleepaway camp is one of the few places where they spend weeks without their phones — and camp directors, parents, and kids say you can see the effect immediately.

Emma Bobson, 13, enjoyed her tech-free summer at camp

Courtesy of Jackie Bobson

The thousand-dollar digital detox

Phone bans aren't unusual at summer camps. 90% of these programs prohibit any use of technology, according to a survey done by the American Camp Association. Some of these camps have been in the childcare business for over 85 years and have remained strictly tech-free. This past summer, a camper was suspended for smuggling their phone in and had to leave the premises for three days.

Sticking to tradition, the kids write and mail letters to their families, though some camps have started scanning the letters and emailing them to parents instead. For most of the Gen Alpha campers, it's an alien experience; Emma said she has never written a letter outside camp. And while the idea of the exercise is to capture the creative spirit of a bygone era, she finds it annoying — it's a whole process to take out her clipboard and her stationery.

At the camps in this story, seven-week tuition runs from roughly $14,600 to $18,975. And yes, each of them takes the phone ban seriously.

For parents like Meredith Worth, part of what that money buys is something increasingly difficult to enforce at home: weeks in which their children simply can't reach for a phone. "There's no price tag on the experiences they get at camp," the Long Island mom told Business Insider.

Worth sends all three of her kids to a tech-free summer camp in Northeast Pennsylvania. It's the one time her daughter is off social media. "They learn how to be independent, and I hate to say it, but they learn how to network with other people," she added, "people from different states, people from different towns, and doing all of it without a phone."

At Greenwood Trails, a sleepaway camp in Connecticut, campers who arrive with their phones must turn them in. "Sometimes saying goodbye to their phone is actually more dramatic than saying goodbye to their parents," Andy Hicks, a director at Greenwood, said.

Hicks said he notices the children struggle with in-person interactions during the first meal, when the entire camp gathers to break bread. Sitting around various gingham-clothed tables, there's a notable lull in the dining room that he said is more palpable than in previous generations.

Sometimes saying goodbye to their phone is actually more dramatic than saying goodbye to their parentsAndy Hicks, director of Greenwood Trails

At home, "everybody kind of uses their phone as a safety blanket. You don't have that at camp," Hicks said.

This year, to make the kids feel secure, Hicks and the other camp counselors placed a deck of cards on every table, each with a different icebreaker handwritten on the front, like "What are you most looking forward to for the summer?" By the end of dinner, he said, the kids had eased their nerves and established a sense of unity.

Wendy Siegel, owner of Tyler Hill Camp in Pennsylvania, finds that technology's impact is most apparent when it's time for bed. Every night, the children head to their wooden bunks, which are filled with a dozen twin-sized and bunk beds. Each camper decorates their own space with colorful comforters, printed out photos of friends and family taped to the walls, and piles of stuffed animals.

She said that, compared to previous generations, the camp counselors notice that the kids struggle to fall asleep. Siegel said she can't help but wonder if this is connected to the bedtime scrolling ritual that many of these kids have — dozing off to a TV show or on their phones. When the lights turn out, it's a while before they hear snores.

Friendship without phones

Kids at Greenwood Trails, a tech-free summer camp.

Greenwood Trails

The adjustment can be awkward at first, but for some campers, losing their phones eventually makes socializing easier, not harder.

For Emma, the 13-year-old, one of the biggest differences she sees between friendships at camp and at home is how conflicts play out. At home, arguments can unfold over Snapchat and text messages, which can be screenshotted and shared around — it's happened to her before. At summer camp, without phones and while seeing each other daily, avoiding a friend is much harder.

"At camp, if there's drama, you're told to talk it out," Emma, who is in her fourth year of summer camps, said. "You can't really ghost anyone or pretend like nothing's wrong because you don't have your phone. You're in an environment where you have to stay with everybody… You actually talk to them. You can't just avoid it."

Emma said her friendships feel different, too. At home, she and her friends spend their playdates making TikToks. At camp, she said, "You actually get to talk to them. You know so much about them."

Her mom, Jackie Bobson, said that's one of the main reasons she sends Emma to summer camp. Without phones, she said, there's no worrying about her daughter adapting her behavior to the invisible guidelines of social media — who appeared in someone's post or story, who was tagged, who screenshotted what. She said she's watched Emma grow more confident and better at navigating friendships as a result.

But even after weeks without their phones, campers don't necessarily stop thinking about how they appear online. Hicks said that tension played out with a group of 13-year-old girls this summer.

Six years ago, that same group of campers clustered around a slide, each sitting directly behind one another, with their arms thrown in the air, and a smile spread across their faces.

This summer, the girls recreated the photo. The same silly facial expressions and carefree dispositions once again squeezed into a small playground slide.

Emma at camp

Courtesy of Jackie Bobson

They were happy with the photo — until the camp posted the photos side by side on social media and showed the kids. The group of teens made Hicks delete the photo from every account.

"They wanted it taken down because they found it was embarrassing," Hicks said. "You know, we thought it was the cutest thing ever, but they're very conscious of how they're perceived by others immediately."

Coming home

When Emma got home, the first thing she asked for was her phone.

She immediately jumped back into FaceTime — calling her friends who didn't attend summer camp, she scoured the internet for TikTok trends she'd missed while away, and texted the bunkmates she had just parted from.

Emma picked up, right back where she left off seven weeks ago. Still, she was happy to have a break and looks forward to next year's tech-free camp.

"It's not like camp if you have your phone," she said. "Everyone would just be on their phones the whole time."

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