Uhhh ok hi. So in "i miss my blackberry — scroll holes pt. 1" — which was full of musings on social media and hyper connectivity and the need for validation from strangers on the internet — I was, to say, “ON ONE.” I’ve recently calmed down and made my way back onto Instagram but can confidently say, it’s in a very new way. This follow up chronicles the introspective journey I’ve been on, one which has ultimately lead me to log back in. (Wow! This is so dramatic! Do you think Reese Witherspoon will play me in the movie based off said introspective journey?) Let’s begin.
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A quick aside on Instagram developers and the app update that made us all worse:
As I reference in my first post about all this, the golden age of Instagram was genuinely a good ass time. The stakes were low, the content was funny and real. When that shifted though, posting to your grid was less fun. Maybe influencers ruined it for us, maybe it was the algorithm, but whatever it was, posting a photo to your grid felt too stressful. So we stopped doing it.
But Instagram’s goal is to keep you on the app as much as possible, so if we were all frozen, not wanting to post something out of fear that the algorithm or our followers will hate what we post, well then, that meant our relationship with the app was.. fractured. Sooo in came Instagram Stories to change all that. Overnight, the stakes were low again! You could post something without it fucking up your grid or not getting enough likes. (Side note: hahahaha we are all so sad.)
A few weeks ago, when I realized that the invention of Instagram Stories was all just a ruse to keep us on the app, I got pissed. I felt duped, manipulated. You can’t control me anymore, Instagram, and to punish you, I’ve decided I’m going to put every dumb thought I’ve ever had on my feed where it will live forever. OK not-so-quick aside over. Back to my journey.
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Around the time time that I wrote pt. 1, I was flirting with the idea of shunning Instagram for good. I started a private Instagram where I followed only 40 people and really let it fly (“it” being me, the real me!!). There were no filters — literally, figuratively, blah blah blah. I spent as little time as possible on my other Instagram, growing resentful of all the brands and strangers and acquaintances I followed and only checking messages before logging out as quick as I could. I felt morally superior for not being “addicted” to Instagram. I watched my screen time go down and my serotonin and self confidence go up. It was very nice! I should probably keep doing it! But no, I miss the big internet.
My private Instagram was/is called @feralkittycatmeow — a name that was inspired by my decidedly feral Covid summer traipsing up and down California, swimming ’til dark, not wearing shoes, and peeing outside more than I peed inside. And since I lose a phone at least once a quarter and refuse to understand the Cloud, @feralkittycatmeow was not only a fun, cute, semi-cursed visual diary, it was a great way to look back at lost photos. But now, when I compare @feralkittycatmeow and @cheyenneboots, I’m not sure who the latter is. So curated! So normal! So afraid to step on someone’s toes less they decide to *gasp* unfollow her! Admitting that feels so very cringe but whatever. I am flawed!
The way I was using my private instagram was exactly how I used to use my other one. It’s good, it’s funny, and it made me get comfortable being myself on Instagram again. (I can’t believe that’s something I just said out loud on the Internet!)
All of this to say: I’m gonna go feral on main. I feel like I have a better grasp on the boundaries of what I’m willing to consume on the internet and a hankering to be who I am more freely. I’m done having two different identities and feeling like who I am isn’t algorithm-safe, because you know what? Fuck. the. algorithm. This is me! I’m about to give a masterclass in how to lose followers. Should be fun!
So yeah, it’s about to get very weird and very me on @cheyenneboots. Thank you @feralkittycatmeow for reminding me to be me.