CHAPTERS on Secret scrolling
What happens when you stop posting on Instagram
Seven months ago, I uploaded a grid post onto Instagram, a few snaps from a ski trip. At the time, I didn’t think it would be my last, but I haven’t posted anything since. The hiatus, more spontaneous than calculated, has been interesting.
It started because the algorithm thought I was still pregnant after my baby loss and kept showing me ads for adorable baby clothes. A sackable offense. I deleted the app from my phone.
Toxic as it was, I missed my old Insta habits at first. I’d instinctively tap for the app, my urge to scroll overpowering the memory of our breakup. Resisting the temptation to re-download it, with a small glint of pride, it didn’t actually take long to detach. Though I’ll admit, when I saw other people on there, I would peer over their shoulders, wondering what I might be missing.
Catching a glimpse into someone else’s Instagram is weird, a familiar yet foreign landscape. Our socials are so targeted to our individual interests now that other people's feeds don’t hit the same. James’ videos are all these American dudes shouting loudly about cuts of meat, BBQ hacks, or that posh bloke from Top Jaw in a constant state of shock and awe. He’s not being served the pet memes, astrology theories, and updates from friends I’d been longing to see.
Needless to say, I was back in the scrolling saddle in no time. But I stopped posting. We went on a weekend trip to the south coast and discovered a little beach untouched by tourists. I kept it to myself. Our three-week honeymoon, a feast of Instagrammable content, remains in the privacy of my camera roll. Birthdays, festivals, hen-dos, gigs, and weddings have, this year, been stories shared not on Insta but in real life or regaled in writing on here. I’ve found these interactions much more enjoyable. It's human nature to want to share, and who doesn't love a good story from other people's lives?
It begs the question, though: Is social media really that social? As a Millennial, I’m part of the first generation that grew up with the internet. When we started out, there was an exciting promise that the likes of MSN and MySpace could connect us to each other beyond the school gate. Then came Facebook, with its ability to open up the world at the click of a button. Even Instagram felt innocent at first, an exercise in adding filters to low-quality photos of everyday objects. Today, it's estimated that we Millennials check our phones up to 150 times a day; 70% of us follow influencers, and one-third say these influencers affect their buying decisions. It’s a different beast now, less a place for social interaction and more for powerful businesses or individuals to profit. A place often exploited for fake news, conspiracy theories and potential political exploitation to seed.
Meanwhile, I had taken a further look behind the curtain after starting a new job at one of the biggest social media publishers in the country. I expected my screen time to soar, and I was ready with excuses: "It’s my job, I’m paid to be on there!" So I set myself a 15-minute-per-day time limit. However, I was fascinated to find that many of the people I was working with—these social media sleuths behind some of the biggest viral videos of our time—weren’t actually posting themselves. In fact, some didn’t have Instagram at all. We were the secret scrollers, lurkers rather than posters. It felt like a power shift.
On a personal note, I found that with less posting came less comparing, less anxiety about the judgments of others, and fewer worries about what comments or likes might be impending. A recent study found that couples who always post on social media are less happy than couples who don’t. I think this extends to individuals too. In short, I’d say I’ve felt happier being in my own little, private, world.
Maybe I’ll post again, or maybe this is the start of the end. Who knows or really cares? Life will keep life-ing, I’ll keep forgetting to take photos, and no doubt, I’ll continue scrolling memes for 15 minutes a day. But the quiet absence of posting on Instagram has allowed me to be more present with the world around me—free from the curation, filters, captions, and likes. And that, in itself, feels like the most meaningful connection of all.