A mall where your heart used to be

I recently returned to Instagram after some time away.

I generally dislike social media, but after months of pandemic life, I really missed those casual connections with friends and the glimpse into their lives afforded by the platform.

Everything was going fine — “fine” meaning that I was able to view others’ posts without going too far down the rabbit hole — when I downloaded a routine update.

The heart at the bottom that you tap to get your notifications has become a shopping bag. A smiling shopping bag. Now, to see who has liked your pictures, commented on them, or followed you, you must tap “home” and then find a different heart on the home screen.

Anyone who mindlessly taps on the spot where the heart used to be — someone like me, who has been using Instagram for almost ten years — will now go to a curated shopping page, perfectly designed to distract you from your intent and entice you to buy.

Could there be a better metaphor for the way that these giant tech companies see their users and the uneasy relationship we have with them?

For years, I felt like I couldn’t show my authentic self on social media. Even the most sacred of human experiences, from grief over the loss of a loved one to the birth of a child to one’s marriage, would be displayed alongside ads — on some level, becoming ads themselves.

And the corporations weren’t the only ones who learned how to exploit this. The most real and raw of human emotions could be manufactured and manipulated for personal gain. You would be reading someone’s painful account of a cancer diagnosis or divorce only to realize halfway through that it was a sales pitch, even if the person was only selling themselves. How could I be real or down to earth myself? I would just be playing the role of someone trying to do this. The only way to actually be true to myself — to truly be free of artifice — was to disappear from the platforms.

I thought that I didn’t want to be exposed. I thought that I wasn’t brave enough to share. Sometimes, I even thought that I had nothing to say. But now that I’ve been publishing thousands of words each week for almost two years, I understand that isn’t true. I just don’t want to give all my stuff to a corporation. I don’t want to contribute on their terms.

I’ve realized that I can share my ideas outside of the giant social media platforms. It’s ironic that speaking up in a quiet space I’ve carved out for myself is exactly what I needed to no longer feel like I’m shouting into the void. Thanks to you — you, the friend reading this right now — I feel like I’m being heard and understood.

I’m old enough to remember the olden days before the big tech companies dominated the discourse. Over the past couple of years, in parallel to my own blogging journey, I’ve found myself going back to the way things used to be back in the oughts, when I subscribed to friends’ blogs via email and RSS and spent a lunch hour reading their ideas. I’ve been enjoying the work of Françoise and Simon and Sophia and Ariana and Dori, Monique and Spencer and Zach and Amanda, and there is more great stuff I’m discovering every week from musicians and artists when I make the effort to find them directly instead of going through the channels I’ve been trained to pay attention to on Facebook and the like. It’s an adventure.

I may stick around on Instagram for awhile. It has been nice to see old friends. But my heart’s not really in it. Refreshingly, I don’t need it. I could take it or leave it. I know that there’s something else out there for me, and for you, too. Let’s spread the word. We don’t have to sell our lives to a mall to find the human interaction and connection we crave.

Where are you sharing your work lately? Please feel free to drop a link in the comments.