Featured image credit: lalo Hernandez on Unsplash
Back in the day, I remember being the first among my school friends to sign up to Bebo. I don’t recall it much but I’m sure it overtook my life as did anything on the internet. Fortunately I’ve managed to put the cringe-inducing username and photos to the back of my mind. Its popularity fizzled out among us after a few years and everyone jumped ship to join Facebook. I, however, did not follow suit.
Many a conversation referred back to something that was happening on Facebook. A falling out that occurred in the virtual world found its feet in the physical. I missed out on social events as the invitations were exclusively sent out on Facebook. I was experiencing FOMO years before I’d heard of the acronym so finally, in 2010, I heeded my friends suggestions and set up a profile.
Almost instantaneously I found myself joining in on the stalking of random people and getting wrapped up in the lives of others. I had people I never heard of requesting to be friends with me. I remember the ridiculous unspoken competition between everyone as to how many of these so-called ‘friends’ we all had. Mine barely scraped into the three figures but the popular people had thousands, cementing their popularity in both the virtual and physical worlds.
It was my first and, up until very recently, my last experience of mental health issues as a direct result of social media.
My Facebook account was deleted and so began my decade-long avoidance of social media. I returned to the role of social outcast as I had no means to receive invitations but I was no longer hung up on the minutiae of other peoples lives and lived in my pleasantly ignorant world. Once again, I got use to my leper-like status and the looks people gave me when they found out I’m not on any form of social media (a cross between confusion and trying to determine whether I am a lunatic or a genius).
That’s not to say that I have kept myself entirely in the dark. You needn’t have any social media accounts when posts and tweets are reported as if they are some kind of high-quality investigative journalism. And despite not having an account, I look on Twitter out of curiosity to see what people are saying about a particular subject.
My 10-year avoidance was broken this year when I thought I’d try using Instagram for writing purposes. The fact that my grandmother and technically-unsavvy mother both got Instagram years before I is mildly amusing to me. I’m an old lady from a bygone era trapped in a 21st century twenty-something.
However, after a few months of use, I’ve come to the conclusion that Instagram is not for me. It doesn’t take much for me to procrastinate, and I get sucked into the rabbit hole of having to look at everything. Mindlessly scrolling through it all, my thumb takes on a life of its own. I find the constant bombardment of images overstimulating, and there is no way for me to compartmentalise what I have seen.
For the most part, I follow accounts and hashtags relating to such things as poetry, landscape photography, bakery, ceramics, floristry, art; things that require some of semblance talent. And yet my main feed is littered with so-called reality stars and influencers – there’s a reason why I don’t follow them and yet there is no way to sift through the fake and mediocre content because that has been liked and shared the most.
There’s something rather disingenuous about expecting reciprocity from others…
And hashtags! I admit that I never appreciated the power they held until I signed up to Instagram as I thought they were words that cluttered up the caption section. I very quickly learnt from my ignorance but where I try to keep the hashtags relevant to what I post, many users add ones that are so far removed from what they are posting it should be deemed as false advertising.
I also find it quite deflating when people follow or like me and comment on my posts for the sole purpose of getting me to follow, like and comment back. There’s something rather disingenuous about expecting reciprocity from others; we are connected but there is no connection.
Humans are social beings and we need a connection with others. Our survival over millions of years has depended on us living and working together. The problem with social media is that it is used more for flaunting our lives and selling a lifestyle as opposed to connecting with people in a meaningful and genuine way.
And it has become nigh on impossible to hide from and ignore the hate-filled diatribe that spills from the mouths and fingertips of a small majority on these platforms. Each one has become so clogged with hate that it’s time Dyno-Rod went virtual to flush everything out.
Despite all this, and the fact I haven’t posted for a good few months, a part of me is still reluctant to press the delete button. The thought brings up slight feelings of dread within in me. But maybe that is in fact a clear indicator that I need to delete it sooner and revert back to my life prior to social media wheedling its way in.
And so, Instagram, farewell.
The Lilac 
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