My Online Persona Versus Me
The Enmeshment of Social Media and Self
It was around two years ago when my addiction to Instagram hit its peak, along with my depression and anxiety levels. I realized that when I was participating in my life offline, I was thinking of how to capture and fit it into the diameters of a square photo. It was like everything I was experiencing needed to be documented to be real. I needed to be documented to be real. Every photo needed a filter, to the point that my actual reflection began to upset me. I preferred my face how it looked on my feed rather than how it looked in my uncaptured moments. Even when pointedly sharing a makeup free and acne covered face online, it was authentically inauthentic, with layers of editing involved. The editing became a ritual of its own, where I contoured images to make them look exactly as I wanted them to be seen. I felt validated knowing that everyone around me was doing the same, meticulously crafting their lives to be consumed by several hundred of their closest friends. We were all sharing a carefully curated version of ourselves, where nothing was real and everything was branded.
All my friends had left town over a holiday weekend, posting videos and photos of their adventures on Instagram. I was home for that weekend and deleted the app from my phone, telling myself I wouldn’t check Instagram, knowing it would distract me from being present for my own experiences. I asked myself how I wanted to spend my time, unphotographed and unfiltered, and did so. I went to the gym, read, cooked, listened to podcasts, drank copious amounts of coffee, and stayed up making art. To my standards, I had an amazing weekend, but then I checked Instagram on Monday. I saw every story and post I had missed over the weekend, and I felt like a ghost.
I had no photos, no proof that I even existed over the past 48 hours. The evidence was in the feed: everyone had a better weekend than I did. I could have been at a crystal fair in Tucson, in a mushroom shaped AirBnb cabin in the Santa Cruz mountains, or tripping balls at the Esalen hot springs in Big Sur. Instead, I was home. Suddenly, my amazing weekend was subpar and I felt like I had fallen into a void where no one could validate my existence. I began to question the benefits of social media.
Like most, I struggle with communication. I found myself in the position of not wanting to engage in a friendship any longer and not feeling comfortable, or capable, of expressing that. I tried to distance myself and let a natural gap develop, which manifested as not replying to text messages. I lacked confidence in making decisions for myself and had a debilitating need to be liked. It felt like I hadn’t learned the word no a s a child and used the word sure in place of it. So, when this person invited me to their small college graduation, I just said yes. I knew I was debating wanting to be in their life in as intimate of a way, or at all, and questioned if I had the capacity to show up for them. There was ample opportunity to explain that ahead of time. Still, I felt unable to communicate my own limitations and what I was/wasn’t available for, because that didn’t sound pleasing. Their graduation was hours away and I received the details leading up to the event, then the messages inquiring where I was. The whole day passed and I felt incapable of sending them a message, apologetic or otherwise. But, as if the devil possessed my fingers, I went on Instagram and posted. I saw my shift in priorities and lapse in judgement, and didn’t particularly love who I was in that moment. I put the upkeep of my online persona above a real person’s feelings and ending a relationship with any tact. I was choosing to communicate through a two dimensional version of myself on a virtual platform rather than communicating my feelings in real life. I chose to be present online instead of being present in my own relationships. The friendship ended immediately after, understandably, and I’m still surprised by how easy it was choosing to passively post rather than use my words. I experienced just how negative the impacts of social media could be, and they heavily outweighed the pros. I cut all my ties to social media from that point, deleting every account and app from my phone. My journey off the grid began.
My thumbs were on auto-pilot for months after I deleted Instagram, hovering over the screen where the app once occupied space. I was sent automated emails daily, showing me content from the people I had followed and encouragements to reopen my account. I was irritable, sensitive, and felt excluded at times, like I was left out of a massive inside joke shared by strangers and friends alike. I struggled with not sharing every precious or even uneventful happening in my life. If my life wasn’t being reflected back to me, it was as if it wasn’t even happening. Was I queer, an artist, or even a person if I wasn’t displaying it for all to see? Every aspect of my life felt like a performance and I lost the ability to live for my own pleasure. I practiced engaging in reality by leaving my phone at home, taking photos on film, and making art for my own consumption. Eventually, I rediscovered what it was I actually enjoyed and freed myself from the pressures of social media. I moved my focus to being present in the moment rather than how to market it. My anxiety levels went down, feeling like an active participant in life. Being off social media for an extended period of time taught me how to value real connections and act for my own pleasure.
Operating my life offline was like having my fingerprints burned off, which was exactly what I wanted at the time of my deactivation. I didn’t base my worth off of how many likes I was receiving or how many views my stories had. The people I didn’t want to know anymore, I merely stopped contacting. I didn’t have to block anyone or make any other efforts to mask their existence. People had to reach out to me if they wanted to know how I was and vice versa. Every aspect of my life became unintentionally private. During this social media hiatus, I started to apply for jobs and internships within my chosen field. I realized that every place I applied for asked for the same information: they all wanted links to my social media. They wanted me to show them that I was a real person that was actively producing art and sharing my content on various platforms. Not only did they want to know I existed, they wanted to know other people knew I existed too. They wanted someone with a presence, whose work and milestones were documented for everyone to see, a congruent timeline of accomplishments. I deactivated my online persona only to find out I couldn’t go forward without it. I needed the boost and support of my online self, as if one couldn’t exist without the other. It was an interdependence I couldn’t escape.
I couldn’t go forward as successfully in my career without the support of social media, but was hesitant to return to it. I had finally gotten comfortable with the concept of validating myself instead of looking to strangers online for it. The skin I lived in, lacking consistent content to compare it to, became easier to be in. I discovered how my queerness could be loud and prideful in my daily life, and not something I had to prove to others. I was able to find real worth in the art that I produced when I learned to first produce it for myself.
I found comfort and serenity in the small hole I was living in. That is to say, the hole often lacked the feeling of community and inspiration, and at times became lonely. There were aspects of social media that I sorely missed while I was on hiatus. There were few avenues I could take to participate in the joy of sharing my work, as well as to easily access the work of others. The inspiration and joy I derived from the art of others had to be sought out instead of easily accessed via app. The pleasures of social media were exclusive to those who were participating in it. The benefits and disadvantages of partaking in social media is dependent upon the individual, but the necessity of it has become undeniable. If you want to showcase your work, with a strong foundation and trackable timeline, you need to be an active member on some type of platform. A search for your name needs to be connected to various online portfolios and accounts, with a certain number of followers to have any sort of relevancy. You need to birth and nourish an online version of yourself to be visible in modern day.
I re-downloaded Instagram and struggled to find a profile photo that read, I’m here for business. My username came next, businesslesbian. I was reintroduced to the algorithm and any changes made since I deactivated my account, but it was like picking up right where I had left off. Disconnecting from social media is intentionally hard and time consuming, with several different pages to go through before you find a deactivation button and regular automated emails telling you how you’re missing out if you’re not online. However, reconnecting to social media is quick and straightforward, with simple instructions and a mere few basic steps, then you’re fully functional. I was up and running once again, but unsettled. Instagram is designed to overwhelm and overstimulate its users, which makes it harder for us all to break away from. Instagram provides us with a way to idly fill our time, whether it’s commuting on the bus or on a 10 minute break. Our feeds gift us with a variety of content to hyperfixate on, while we’re on the app and even after, rather than the daily struggles in our own lives. With so much energy put into making every moment look sparkling and flawless online, little of that effort goes towards bettering our real lives. Unfortunately, the constant work we’re doing on our online selves doesn’t show the same benefits off the screen.
I studied various accounts for the next few days. I considered the content, the regularity of postings, the balance between personal versus work related posts, branding, aesthetic, flow. It seemed that everyone had crafted their perfect, personalized formula. It was like Instagram made everyone into their own marketing and branding team, teaching us to represent ourselves like no one else could. My mind was once again flooded with Instagram based thoughts and concerns. I decided that if I was going to be a part of Instagram again, I needed to place boundaries around the app. Boundaries such as not keeping the Instagram app on my homescreen, monitoring how much time I spend on it, and restricting usage after 6pm. I practice seeking inspiration and once I find it, closing out the app so I can stay inspired. I’ve implemented these guidelines to use Instagram effectively, to focus on deriving all the positives that social media can offer and limit the consequences of becoming too intertwined. Social media can offer an abundance of benefits, if used like a tool. If Instagram could be dosed out and used in small increments, our relationships to it and ourselves could be different.
I still struggle with the balance between my online persona versus myself, and how to create a space where the two aren’t so drastically different, but instead can peacefully coexist. It took an almost two year hiatus to step far enough away from social media to comprehend the effects of it. I was so intertwined with social media that my online experience didn’t end with logging off or closing out an app. Who I was on Instagram followed me through my days and invaded my thoughts, even played a part in the changing dynamics of my relationships. There was no separation between myself and the app, and I didn’t know where my online persona began and I ended. I was in the brain of trauma.qween, my past Instagram persona, both on and offline. Even now, I catch myself looking at the world from the eyes of businesslesbian. It’s hard to draw a line when determining what moments should be just for ourselves and what moments to share with everyone else. Vulnerability and sharing our personal inner workings is a powerful act, but Instagram isn’t entitled to every experience we have. My relationship to social media has turned into something manageable, but I’m not sure if it will ever be healthy. With social media being such an ingrained part of modern culture, is it possible to ever really log out?
Submitted by Madison Silva.