Once upon a time, I would rant on this blog about the horrors of the smartphone. How it decreases meaningful connection. How the blue light messes up our sleep. How the constantly looking down at it gives you neck lines (Strivectin!).
For years I held out, clutching my purple flip phone, refuses to succumb to the iPhone's wiles.
Then, a few years ago, I became one of the enthralled masses.
I still have a lame amount of apps, along with the two requisite social media ones. I'm not sure why I downloaded Instagram, and I regret it. Now I know why my sister has deleted it—more than once.
On Facebook, there are a multitude of groups that have been rather informative. Originally, Facebook was the place to post pictures of one's perfect life, but those who want to be "influencers" have migrated to Instagram. So Facebook is relatively safe now, if one wants to ask about a good recipe for oatmeal applesauce muffins or sourdough technique or what's the best long wearing mascara.
But Instagram? Oh boy. It could make nearly anyone (I think the narcissists should be okay) spiral into self-hating flagellation. How can she work full time yet manage to put together such a stunning tablescape? How could she have had a baby last month and be so skinny? Or, how could she be so skinny yet bake that sugar-laden, butter-saturated cake with heavy cream frosting? (Yes, I admit I have body image issues).
It's a place where women can be rebbetzins yet pose with unsmiling Vogue faces as they drape on couches in stunning attire. It's a place where people humblebrag, who claim to be overworked and up all night with kids but still find the time to take fabulous shots in fabulous clothing in their fabulous homes with their fabulous kids and their fabulous husbands.
I know, logically, that people are on it trying to promote their brands and businesses, and that few people will buy their products if it has been pitched unglamorously. And not all accounts are alike; many show real people, with real lives, the highs, lows, and everything in between.
But then I wonder about these people on the other side, who display a life of perfection, but we all know that lives aren't perfect. They yell at their kids. They have arguments with their husbands. Outfits don't fit after a three-day yuntif.
My friend was feeling inadequate after scrolling through everyone's amazingness, and I reassured her with some cattiness, claiming that yes, while their table might be magnificently set with chargers and dishes and cloth napkins and artfully arranged flowers and candles, who knows what the price of it was? Did she spend a few sleepless nights? Did one of her children nudge a candlestick out of place, causing her to freak? Did she focus all her attentions to get the ideal shot to the point that the yuntif meals consisted of cereal and milk, as no one had time to cook?
OK, yes, granted, there is probably the Mary Poppins of Mommies out there who managed to get everything done complete with a full Face and whoever she may be, I salute you. But I wonder if there is a way to be more "real" on Instagram while promoting brands and businesses.
Like, "this outfit is so comfortable and versatile, plus machine washable! Perfect for when your little one barfs all over you." Or "I did put a lot of effort and time into decorating the sukkah—that chandelier didn't get there on its own, you know!—but it gives my family such joy that they're willing to cook and I'm willing to let my house stay a flying mess." Or "If you seriously think I look this attractive while drinking a smoothie, you are not taking advantage of the myriad of filters that are available."
Or, I could do the simpler option, and delete Instagram.
Adios.
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