To Post Or Not To Post
Gen-Z’s Complicated Relationship with Social Media
by Mariel Wiley
When I was eleven years old, nobody knew I existed. Well, of course my mother did. And my father and brother and cousins and all of them. Friends at school. People I passed by on the sidewalk knew, though they’d forget me soon enough. Even for those who knew me, any physical proof of my existence evaporated the second I left their line of sight and remained only in their thoughts . Object permanence: the only thing tethering the existence of me to this world.
But then I turned twelve. And I downloaded Instagram. At the time, I had no idea that it would become a thing that would pull me relentlessly in opposite directions; a thing that would make me question the reality of who I truly was.
In the beginning, it was a wonderland. I had already been glued to my first little digital point-and-shoot, but now this app offered a place where I could both take the pictures and share them to a community of people with the same passions as me. It was the first — and the only — place where I could access the work of thousands of other photographers. I would not be where I am today without it. I saw countless beautiful images captured by these talented people that I looked up to, and I received praise for the work that I timidly shared myself.
The years ticked on. What had once been a quiet little space on the internet to share grainy photos taken with an iPhone 3 was exploding and morphing at cancerous speeds. It is just as much of a parasite as it is a generous host; it takes just as much joy and peace away from us as it gives us community and opportunity. While a lucky few are able to nurture large followings that support their small businesses, creative work, or personal income via advertising, the rest of us have unknowingly walked into a trap.
A trap, or an addiction, or a necessary evil. I’ve come to realize that while participation on that little app once felt voluntary — enjoyable or easygoing, even — it now feels inescapable.
And for a photographer, that burden of self-guilt is even heavier. It’s in our nature to share the work we create. When I take a photograph, of course I want people to see it. It’s sharing with others the thing that brings me the greatest joy in life. So naturally, Instagram at first felt like the only natural platform for this sharing. But the aesthetic and social engagement pressures that any image shared on the app receive are so great that the innate beauty of the moment captured in the photo collapses under the superficial standards that Instagram sets. Instagram takes the joy out of imagemaking. It’s created a society of repeated images, in which people are driven to take photos at the bidding of a tyrannical algorithm that knows nothing of talent and years of dedication to a craft and the pain and joy and work that goes into photography. An algorithm that listens only to the tap-tap of fingers; the subtle linger of eyes trained on that blue screen.
I love photography so much that it hurts. I love the decade I have spent studying, practicing, feeling this art form flow through me. And my relationship with Instagram had become so toxic that it forced me to back away from my deepest and truest passion. The square grid brutalized the ambiguous content of photographs that weren’t “feed friendly.” The lack of likes — as trivial as that measure is — felt like a lack of care for my work.
And yet, I cannot quit Instagram. And it feels unfair that I cannot. It has become an integral part of networking for artists; a portfolio of sorts. Again: a necessary evil. Its roots are so deep.
And yet, I hold out hope that I might be free of it one day. That maybe Instagram is a bubble of superficial fakeness and erratic algorithms so unsustainable; so stress inducing for society that it must collapse someday. I don’t know what might replace it. I hope that we are still able to connect with others far and wide. That aspect is quite beautiful, I think. But I hope that the pressure to overshare sickeningly curated images recedes. I hope that printing my photographs on paper to be held in hands and hung on walls might be enough to support a photo career again like it once was. I don’t want my life to be trapped in ones and zeroes anymore. I want to feel it, smell it, hear it. Live it.
My escape plan is slow, tedious. It is imperfect. I am resigned to the fact that I might always have to have a professional account, at the very least. But I am in the process of letting go of that need to always post, always wait for likes and comments. I am in the process of relearning how to do things and go places and meet people without throwing those moments into the void that is an Instagram feed. And I think we all should.