My Strange Addiction (to Instagram)
In the midst of memorizing irregular Spanish verbs, I opened a new tab on my laptop and typed instagram.com. Yes, I was opening the website, not the app, and yes, it was in the middle of my Quizlet study session. But my fingers moved without my control. Some otherworldly force directed them away from my studies and towards my greatest vice...Instagram.
A month ago, I decided I needed a social media “cleanse” and deleted the Instagram app off my phone. Apple’s newest way to shame its users—screen time—spurred my decision to delete this godforsaken time suck disguised as a fun way to share photos. I clocked a daily six hours or more on Instagram. And although I’ve always been aware of Instagram’s adverse effect on my mental health, this startling statistic solidified the idea that it was time to take a break. The next day, I perused the Explore page on the website. So much for deleting the app, huh?
Day after day, I caught myself mindlessly going to the Instagram website on my phone and computer. And day after day, I told myself that this was becoming a ~real~ problem. I couldn’t even take a break for a day? Am I truly the stereotype of my generation? A teenager who constantly needs to fill the void with social media? These questions terrified me. I still went on the f*cking website.
Like most people, I have a complicated relationship with Instagram. I appreciate staying connected with people who I would otherwise forget, especially in our current pandemic timeline. But Instagram also brings out the worst in me. I’m a self-proclaimed Internet sleuth, which is great for finding information for my friends or research projects, but not so great when applied to Instagram.
I obsessively stalk models and influencers and scold myself for not looking, dressing, or being like them. Whenever I post, whether it be on my story or my account, I’m constantly checking to see who’s liked or viewed it. And when that specific person I was hoping would like or view it never does, I pull out my magnifying glass and hunt for evidence that they had been on Instagram and still ignored my presence. Was it because they didn’t see it? Or did they see it and ignore it? Because...they hate me? OR is it because they’re playing hard to get and purposefully not liking my photo? Am I crazy? Will I ever find love? But I digress.
After a month since deleting the app, I’ve made it three days without accessing Instagram on any device. And already a social weight has lifted from my shoulders. Just not going on the app or website has created a magical “out of sight, out of mind” effect. The guilt of succumbing to the app’s allure is gone. The weird compulsion to view everyone’s story, regardless of my interest level, has vanished. All it takes, seemingly, to escape the anxiety of Instagram is to just not go on it. Easier said than done, of course. But if you find yourself in a similar spot, remember that all it takes is a little break to ease yourself of the negative consequences of Instagram or any other social media platform.
By Marla Hiller
La Croix obsessed, coffee addicted, podcast fanatic.