life and social media

It’s amazing how much our brains have adapted to consume. First thing in the morning, with my breathing still slow and even and my eyes cracked halfway like a baby bird’s, I reach over and take a hit: of outfit inspiration and creative pursuits and an endless stream of girls who are skinnier than me, with the occasional gen-z exclusive joke to water things down. When I have to piss I walk the whole fifteen feet across my house to grab my phone so that I can read someone’s opinion on babydoll dresses and kinderwhore while I’m sitting on the toilet. When I’m lonely: comment sections on our generation’s lack-of-having-sex-crisis, or the skyrim skeleton.

It’s no wonder I’ve developed this camera, an invisible friend that follows me everywhere. I don’t even post on Instagram very much, but I’m always zooming out to see whether my morning routine, my outfit, my cigarette smoking would look cool if I did decide to capture it. Maybe with the right song.

Everyone is feeling it, to some degree: the lack of real connection, the disillusionment that comes with living in third person for too long. My healthier, more enlightened friends deleted social media months ago, but for me, curating the mood of my life is the only thing I’ve remained loyal to for over a year. And now-- surprise surprise!-- “authentic” social media is everywhere. Think the romanticization of Tumblr, messy living spaces in post, the return of the bush and “everything is a win when partying is the goal”(in large teal text). Instagram isn’t about trying to conform anymore-- it’s about trying to conform to your own unique self. Which is frustrating, because for those of us who were in love with Marlboros before they became fashion’s favorite thing, the bottling of authenticity feels plagiarized.

The bottom line is, so long as I am a participating member of modern society I can’t do anything in separation from the machine. There is no true antifashion. I can keep buying my ballet flats and thirsting over city bags, or I could choose to shop at Old Navy and listen to music exclusively on cassette tapes. I can let the rise of GLP-1’s make me skip breakfast, or I can say fuck it, I’m a feminist, look at the fat on my stomach. But none of these choices are made in absence of cultural discourse. Getting swept up in the river’s current or trying desperately to swim upstream are both reactions to the water you swim in, and the unfortunate thing about social media today is that every hot take has already been taken.

But we press on. All things considered, nicheness and realness aren’t the worst things that could be trending right now. I, for one, think the paradox of capturing reality in a post is beautiful-- an ambitious, if naive, pursuit. We are Sisyphus, except the rock is authenticity and the hill is Instagram. What is there to do but keep rolling?