When I used to open my phone, I was trapped in a reality where other people’s lives bore significance to mine.
Social media, by its very nature, thrives on the visual and the aspirational. It offers us a way to present ourselves to the world, but it also distorts our sense of self-worth. Our curated feeds and favourite influencers perpetuate ideas and ideals of what we should like, should have, and should be. We start to measure our own lives against these images, forgetting that they’re just that—images, not truths.
I deleted Instagram nine months ago. What was once a platform for connection had become a mirror reflecting my own insecurities. I realized that in this crafted world, simply existing didn’t make me visible. The way I perceived myself was dictated by a robotic reward mechanism comprised of likes, clicks, follows, views, shares, reposts, and comments.
What I learned is your insecurities never leave you, even when you throw your phone at the wall after a doomscroll or delete the apps altogether.
Since the emergence of blogging in the early 2000s, personal lives have existed in the public domain. The author of Trick Mirror, Jia Tolentino, has spent her writing years reflecting on what has unfolded since. Through a similar inner reflection and media detox to mine, she realized the internet has many problems, some of which have even been documented clinically.
These problems, which directly affect the , are not accidental, but rather result from the monetization of the online arena. The companies at play have infiltrated our lives. Unknowingly they’ve become part of our everyday—from our first interaction in the morning to the first time we get exposed to a new hobby, to our first heartbreak, first home, and first job, the internet has provided a how-to for just about any situation, forcing us to continue to drink from its bottomless well.
Selfhood has become a commodity, with the “For You” page providing us with receipts for our consumption. Our data and preferences are traced and sold to rs, all while we continuously seek each other’s attention by performing a version of ourselves that we think will be most appealing.
When I took my insecurities from Instagram and moved them to TikTok, I began to compare myself to strangers instead of people I knew in real life. The “For You” page haunted me. If I lingered a second too long on a “weight-loss” workout routine, I would start to think about the last time I’d gone to the gym. Even if it had been yesterday, it suddenly didn’t feel like enough.
If I watched a “Day in the Life,” of the latest hot-shot influencer, I would be immersed in their lifestyle, wondering what I could have done differently to end up at an 8 a.m. reformer Pilates class with my Alo Yoga workout set and my orange Goyard Saint Louis bag with seemingly no workday ahead except for a few video calls with my agent.
Ideals of female beauty only achievable through painful remedies don’t correlate with the emergence of social media. From ancient practices of skin bleaching and hairline plucking to wasp waists and neck rings, women have always and continue to endure tremendous pain for the pleasure of beauty.
Through the perpetual rolodex of posts and videos we continue to be reminded of the latest beauty standard. In this arena the self-image never settles and must be continually improved. It’s never ending. It’s the newest makeup launch, the new trendy jean cut, the pilates body, the Russian manicure, the latest designer bag, and the lip flip. But this perpetual contest can only be won when one holds incredible privilege—monetary, situational, and racial. And even then, insecurity nestles beneath the artificial and the plastic. It’s masked rather than dealt with.
The reality is that the audience will forever expand, and the performance will never end. The female body will continue to be monetized and unfortunately, if you end up on that side of the internet and stay, it will haunt you every day. The internet is brilliant, but it is terrifying.
I understand the internet isn’t going to change, so I must. I must stop myself from allowing a set of algorithms to decide how I perceive myself. I must choose to look into a mirror and see a reflection of my likeness, not of my corrupt self-image. I must treat the algorithm like an evil computer and steer it in the right direction. And I must help the next generation do the same.
At 23 I haven’t yet figured out how to use social media to my advantage. Removing myself from the arena has certainly helped, so has acquiring hobbies outside of media consumption. Finding things to value about ourselves besides how we look is the best way we can take care of ourselves in this social media age.
Being hot is fun and has its benefits but it’s not the be all and end all. Hotness without any personality is a mannequin—pretty but dull.
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