23. Why I stopped using Instagram, pt. 2

On Insta-politics, and the ironic devaluing of art on a visual platform.

Thanks for joining my (hopefully enlightening?) Instagram discussion once more! Part 1 covered the topics of time, attention, and loss of nuance. In this half I cover the politicization of Instagram (and social media more broadly), and the diminishing returns for up-and-coming artists. I end with some next steps, which I hope will result in a more positive relationship with the world of online content creation.

Armchair activism

To back up a bit: I began using Instagram in 2011, as a cute way of saving pictures of food and my college campus. On a podcast episode, I spoke with my friend XinYi about the wholesomeness of memorializing small, everyday moments in that way. I would still enjoy Instagram if the app had that sole function in my life – but since then, this online space has become a hotbed of armchair political discourse. Spurred on by oversimplified posts, trendy hashtags, and pressurized movements, Instagram has joined Facebook and Twitter in fanning the flames of certain issues by encouraging performative gestures and groupthink.

This is especially the case since Covid. The trend that sticks deepest in my mind is the black square that signalled solidarity with Black Lives Matter protests. I remember there was a palpable tension in the air as news outlets widely reported the unfortunate death of George Floyd. Since lockdowns were still widespread in May and June 2020, the associated racial strife naturally found an outlet online, and on Instagram. Activists cited the Desmond Tutu quote, “If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.” This sentiment had the effect of spurring sometimes-hasty action among those who considered themselves informed, and guilting those who were as yet uninformed and perhaps unwilling to act without understanding first. I hypothesize it was the fear of being branded as “complicit” – and therefore “morally wrong” – that encouraged some to post the square without fully grasping the ramifications.

I am naturally skeptical of mass movements; with my instinct to listen and fully understand before acting, I resented feeling guilty both for posting something, and for not posting something. I shared my thoughts on this aspect of the social phenomenon with a select few friends in private messages, while remaining wary of posting cute food, innocuous art, or anything at all.

After all that, though, the black squares seemed to result in more harm than good. Rampant #BlackLivesMatter hashtag use on the black square posts crowded out information on protest supports, mutual aid organizations, and charities – the very information that activists were using that hashtag to spread. As a result, many online news outlets discouraged people from using #BlackLivesMatter or even posting the square in the first place, and were quick to sermonize about the right ways to show solidarity. (Not to mention the eponymous BLM organization is under fire for failing to disclose financial details from 2020 donations, and controversy like that would naturally create distrust in well-intentioned donators going forward…)

I believe there may have been many bystanders watching the protests unfold, unsure of how to act responsibly and respectfully. But as they scrolled posts with conflicting information, devoid of nuance and context, there would be few clear answers to their genuine question.

To this day, I still see the occasional account with a black square incongruously sitting among happy photos and food snaps – or a context-free “BLM” slapped into someone’s profile. The nonsensical pressure to post something, anything in support felt similar to a Facebook profile picture filter or frame, temporarily commemorating a climate march or raising awareness of gender-based violence. Because we can’t confirm intent through these isolated online gestures, they feel like empty virtue signals if not followed by concrete, sustained action. (Which brings to mind the converse: what about someone who does lots of volunteer work in real life, but never posts a picture on social media? Do we really owe it to others to commemorate every philanthropic action with an online corollary?)

That summer of protests was cited as a tipping point for politics on Instagram – a point where the mood changed from fun to serious, and corporations and activist groups realized they could capitalize on the millions of eyes scanning Instagram. To clarify, I’m 110% for free speech; without open dialogue, democracy ceases to exist (never mind that big tech censorship and cancel culture are gradually ensuring that free speech is seldom found online). However, when I felt surrounded by voices from all sides, I couldn’t help but remember that Instagram was not sold to me as a political platform 11 years ago.

I took issue with that because I didn’t necessarily want to have real-world political turmoil mixed into an app I had viewed as a fun escape. The flip-flopping between serious and light-hearted content put me on edge, because I could suddenly stumble upon something political from someone I had never known to be political in a public space. Call me old-fashioned, but I believe there’s a reason religion and politics aren’t widely discussed among friends: you don’t need to know how someone feels about the issue of the day to appreciate their company. The politicization of Instagram has diminished, or downright erased, that option of non-partisanship among good friends and acquaintances alike.

To take a concrete example, it’s common to see an acquaintance post a news article or “hot take” tweet screenshot in their Stories. I may agree or disagree with the opinion, but even if the source post contained as much information as the 10-slide carousel allows, that wouldn’t be enough to substitute a full conversation about the issue. If they didn’t add clarifying text to their Story, I could easily misunderstand that person’s intent: were they following the trend just because; were they perhaps posting ironically; or did they believe the source verbatim? Or none of the above? I wouldn’t know unless I asked them outright, but neither comments nor private messages seem like an appropriate place to host a constructive political conversation.

Indeed, the anonymous, faceless Internet is the antithesis of productive dialogue. Much has already been written about people hiding behind their usernames, feeling entitled to sling insults that they wouldn’t dare say to someone’s face. It’s easy for even the best-intentioned people to be provoked by a message, and post something they’d later regret. In this as well, Instagram’s comment sections are no better than those on Twitter or Facebook.

One could play devil’s advocate and ask me, why don’t I simply unfollow the accounts that post political content I don’t want to see? Fair question, but if I were to do so, I’d be adding to the problem by skewing the algorithm to coddle me further. I spent high school and college surrounded by classmates with clashing politics, so I’m used to listening to dissenting voices. Yet, when I unexpectedly encounter whatever hot take of the day on my feed, and it rubs me the wrong way, I still feel the very human temptation to resist, resent, and become intolerant. I believe this is a reaction I need to train to avoid, and that requires some ongoing exposure to opposing views. So while it may be upsetting to discover via someone’s Stories that they wouldn’t agree with me, I also don’t want to be separated into a polarized bubble that may have nothing in common with my friend or neighbour. I hope there is a middle ground between those two scenarios, but with the current state of affairs I’m not sure such a compromise could exist on Instagram.

For all these reasons, I believe the design of the Instagram platform stymies useful political conversations. In fact, the skew towards simple and nuance-free dialogue, and the rewarding of name-calling with outrage, both incentivize the proliferation of increasingly extreme voices. I do agree that raising some awareness is better than nothing, and many positive movements have arisen from grassroots social media efforts. At the same time, in those cases where simple awareness doesn’t translate into sustained, practical improvement – and along the way, allows bad actors to muddle or even erase the truth – it becomes harder to measure the net positive effect. Just like any other platform, so it is on social media too: calm, reason, and tolerance must prevail for political dialogue to be productive.

“Developing a more detached attitude to the constant background noise of social media, rather than treating each problematic tweet or piece of content as a potential threat to democracy or specific groups, may also help to develop a healthier information ecosystem.”

– Jacob Mchangama, Danish lawyer, free-speech advocate, and author of Free Speech: A History from Socrates to Social Media (as quoted on the Banished podcast)

Diminishing returns as an artist

So far I’ve been unpacking my Instagram woes from the perspective of consuming content, but I also became disillusioned with posting. As a photographer, painter, and more recently textile artist, I used to relish sharing my work and thoughts via Instagram. When I joined Etsy and local craft fairs, I discovered a vast network of small, creative businesses. At first this was empowering, but became exhausting when I noticed how much work my craft fair friends were putting into their social media for little payoff.

To artists, social media is billed as the place to be, the best way to grow a fanbase and make sales. However, effective marketing requires a rather different set of skills from artmaking. Some people do both very well – but because art is not my full-time job, I am drawing on a limited pool of energy to begin with. Puzzling out Instagram best practices therefore depletes the energy that I could be using to make more exciting things.

We can blame the ever-changing algorithm for ever-changing expectations. I didn’t appreciate that in order to have a chance at reaching a larger audience, I might have to follow giant checklists like the one in this post. I’d have to post the same piece or product multiple times, learn to make Stories, and then learn Reels that Instagram suddenly started pushing to compete with TikTok. (I never bothered with the latter because I know editing videos is even more time-consuming than editing stills.)

Seemingly everyone is trying to make sense of the algorithm.

Even if I did all that, I knew there was no guarantee my posts would be seen by the intended audience, or even reach an alternate audience. (Might I be “shadowbanned,” and how widespread is that phenomenon?) Because I didn’t want to compromise nuance in the ideas I shared, I rebelled by writing longer and longer descriptions – which I didn’t know if anyone read, aside from a small group of friends who kindly engaged with that material in the comments. Further, I had no idea if tagging a post would have any effect: yes to tags? no to tags? or only use certain tags? … All these considerations are exhausting.

Moreover, the constant churn of content gives me the false impression that I should be making new things all the time, rather than allowing ideas to marinate and emerge when they are ready. Any artist knows that one can’t force inspiration. Some things require more time, and that is okay, even if that doesn’t match the pace of Insta-content.

Taking all of this together – the time and attention drain, the loss of nuance and context, the relentless cycle of fads and hot takes, the sense of futility as an artist – I see no choice but to step away from the platform. With some distance, perhaps I can work to find a healthier perspective on this technology I have come to view as addictive and toxic.

Solutions and next steps

I say all this not to moralize, or shame anyone who continues to use Instagram – I truly admire you if you can circumvent these issues and feel the app is a net positive in your life! I wish I could. Now that I’ve opined at length, I feel obliged to come up with a more sustainable way forward.

Ironically, I run Instagram accounts for work and a volunteer organization, so I can’t be fully disconnected during my hiatus. However! Every time I would have pulled out my phone to check my personal Instagram, I will try one of the following alternatives:

• Having a one-on-one conversation with an old friend (in person where possible).

• Sitting still. Not on my phone or any device, simply looking out the window and breathing. Heck, I could even go for a walk! How often I forget the wonders of nature.

• Slowly consuming things that add truth and beauty to my life. I can read a book that’s been sitting on my shelf for months. I can listen to some new music by my favourite artist. I can look at a painting for more than 30 seconds (that seems crazy long, right?).

• Writing this newsletter. Expanding from single-piece art appreciation posts, I want to experiment with posting and contextualizing art (mine and others’) in ways that feel more authentic and exciting.

Maybe I’m naïve, but I still believe social media isn’t the be-all end-all of online connections. We have slower, more mindful alternatives like email (at its best, as it is with one ongoing email penpal I have) and video chat conversations. And even if you don’t quit cold turkey, I hope this post can act as some reassurance that not all hope is lost. We can all take small steps to reinstate positive, meaningful communication.

That’s it! Now I’d love to hear from you in the comments. Did you resonate with any of the points I made? Do you agree or disagree? Maybe we can have a thoughtful conversation, not bound by the Instagram phone screen or Twitter character count :)

Or feel free to send this to a friend, and start your own conversation:

Either way, thank you so much for reading. I probably won’t write this length of post again, but if you want to keep up with my art and thoughts, I would love to see you join the subscribers’ list!