In November last year, I quit Instagram. I had been dancing the deactivate/reactivate dance for some time, but I decided to back up all my data and delete my account for good. Since then, I’ve received a fair amount of surprised gasps and “I wish I could”-s upon sharing this with people. Though I cannot claim to have had a dramatic post-Instagram alteration of my life’s course, not having social media has given me a new perspective on authenticity and how I project myself on the internet.
I belong to perhaps the first generation that grew up with, and alongside, social media. My foray into adulthood saw the growth of Instagram, YouTube and TikTok as advertisement platforms. Influencing had become an actual career choice by the time I got my first job. I was not immune to the charms and promises on offer. I watched “that girl” vlogs, bullet journal-ed, took cold showers, tried (unsuccessfully) to adopt the 5 AM routine, walked 10K steps, wrote gratitudes and manifestations, and touched grass. Until one day, I looked around and found everyone my age doing the exact same things. In the name of unique, individual identity, social media had sold us a basic, consumerist trope.
It is true that, as a result of being byproducts of our socio-cultural contexts, we tend to not be very different from our social cohorts. However, the modern influence-driven machinery has homogenised us to an alarming degree. It has created well-defined boxes for us to pick and place ourselves in. We're deluded into having a sense of choice and freedom, while constantly being "nudged" in a certain direction. Our opinions, beliefs, language and choices flutter within a very narrow distribution, leading to a culture of conformity and similitude that stands to harm us both as individuals and a collective.
It’s everywhere, this trend-driven homogenisation. Last year, you had to strength train and have visible muscle definition to be considered an attractive woman. This year, skinny’s back in vogue. The white and beige Pinterest aesthetic has Ikea-ised even Indian home decor. The Netflix colour grading in films, the Stanley cups, matcha morning routines, LLM-generated user interfaces, and on and on. Even our liberal ideas and the expression thereof follows a pattern.
And I am sick of it. Yep, that’s it. That’s my hot take. I am sick of being told what to do, what to look like, what to think, how to think, what to say, what not to say, what to read, what to enjoy. I am sick of the world being made boring. Not being on Instagram brought me back in contact with an imaginative and curious world. I discovered cool personal blogs, read books booktok/bookstagram hadn’t heard of, liked myself and my body better than I had in years past, met and interacted with my friends because I wanted to and not because we saw each other’s stories. My choices felt like my own. Looking back at it, refusing to be bombarded with ready-made choices and regaining a semblance of control over my opinions and actions has felt like a resistance. Against centralised big tech and the capitalist machinery that sets to benefit from my misery and the feeling of not being enough. Someone asked me if I get FOMO due to not being on social media. Turns out, I don’t. Social media was never keeping me informed. At the risk of sounding a little bit dramatic, it was keeping me in check. I occasionally do feel the pressure to curate my online presence a little bit and worry about the negative consequences of non-conformity. But at the end of the day, this corner of the internet is who I am. And I refuse to be told otherwise.