Alright, let me start out by saying this: I deleted my Instagram.
Yes –– I do know that I could have just logged out of my account or deleted the app. However, neither of those options would have been enough to satisfy the "detachment" itch I was feeling. I promptly deleted my account for good, so "Shelbella321" is now up for grabs, and the account that was attached to that username now solely exists somewhere between time and space.
The heavily edited and filtered photos that alluded towards the "picture perfect" (pun intended) life that I was living is gone: for good.
When Instagram was released for iOS systems in 2010, I doubt creators Kevin Systrom and Mike Krieger imagined how their app would impact the world, while arguably creating its own. Since 2010, the Instagram Universe has changed social media in a much different way than Facebook, Myspace, or any other media of that kind.
Instagram, because of its emphasis on images and photography as the main platform, creates a world that is entirely based on aesthetics and the euphoric approval of others by the amount of likes a photo may get.
Don't get me wrong. I was on the app for five years myself. I loved the attention, as much as I loved the process of taking photos, editing them, and later planning when to post them so that my profile had a "theme" for onlookers. "Shelbella321" was someone who could take good photos, paired with a healthy balance of landscapes, smiling friends, and in these photos she was always, always, always happy.
My profile, or pseudonym, was an utter lie.
My Instagram account didn't show the life I actually lived. It didn't document all of the times that I drove to work while balancing drinking my coffee and patting makeup on my face in my rearview mirror, only showing my post-work selfie (that I had of course, touched-up my makeup for first.)
God forbid I show the internet the number of times I cried myself to sleep because I didn't feel good enough, so let me post a happy "throwback" picture of myself with an inspirational caption instead. My account didn't show the hurt, the suffering, the reality –– or what it means to truly be human.
My account, like many others, showed the beauty of being a human and the beauty of the world we live in, but not the beauty that comes from suffering.
Instagram doesn't show how beautiful the first smile someone has after a good cry is. It doesn't show the beauty of a cloudy day or a quiet nighttime drive. We can delete the photos so the world knows that these people no longer serve a role in our lives, but their memory will still exist in our lives. We choose who and what to feature on our accounts as a highlight reel for who we are, what we like to do, and who we like to do these cool things with.
Instagram shows the best moments of our weeks, months, or even years, but it neglects to show the world who we are on a regular day-to-day basis: our daily radiance. These moments of solitude that we experience on a day-to-day basis just cannot be captured on social media, no matter how hard we try.
Some may argue this statement by saying that our advanced photography and cinematography can capture better images and videos than most of our eyes are capable of. What I argue is this: a photograph cannot recreate a moment rather than trigger a memory of that specific moment. It cannot describe to others how exactly you were feeling the moment that you pushed the plus button on the side of your iPhone 7 camera.
We can try our best to come up with a caption for a photo to allude to this moment, but we simply cannot create the beauty of moments that show us the true essence of our lives that are entirely human.
But is that what we would really want? To have an online profile that shows exactly who we are as individuals, serving as a preview of ourselves and our lives so that people can decide if they like who we are prior to meeting us?
We feel the constant need to show the world how amazing our lives are without stopping to think about the intention behind what we are posting online, or what that intention says about us. Does the world really need to see how many lattes we drink, or is that something people can learn about us?
She likes extra foam, no whip; something that we categorize under useless-but-not-quite-useless information because it shows true intimacy amongst our human relationships. Does using social media take away the mystery of getting to know someone, or does it enhance it by realizing that maybe we all aren't who we pretend to be?
We attach these trendy phrases like "I'm feeling myself" with our bikini pictures, to "Treat Yo Self" with photos of our artsy food. We post shirtless photos of ourselves blatantly after we go through a break up. Showing off our washboard abs don't always equate our happiness. The facade we try to create just isn't who we are.
What I am getting at is that you should shamelessly post that cringe-worthy photo on your Facebook timeline, send your snap streaks a beautifully ugly, "I woke up like this," Snapchat (and really have woken up like that). Use social media as an added way of communication with your family and friends –– not a bloodline for your validation addiction.
