Let’s set the record straight: I’m not a technology naysayer. In fact, I’ve always been an early adopter. My journey began with my first AOL account in 1993, followed by a love affair with Netscape in 1995, and I even had a profile on Nerve.com by 1999. I jumped from Friendster to Myspace before many of my friends had even grasped the concept of an “avatar.” My Facebook account launched in 2007 with my very first status reading, “Alexis James is terrified of Sarah Palin and plotting ways to thwart her.” (That initial post says a lot about who you were at the time!)
Everyone has their own quirks when it comes to social media. When I joined Twitter in 2009, I was a bit perplexed. (I had a book release and the PR team insisted on a full-blown social media campaign.) Despite my hesitations, I embraced it like a bird discovering seed. Crafting thoughts in 140 characters felt like creating mini poems—it wasn’t solely about sharing my lunch menu. For someone like me, who is obsessed with politics and news, it was a delightful dive into my own curated reporting. I tweeted frequently and passionately.
By late 2011, whispers of this new trend called “Instagram” caught my attention. I succumbed to peer pressure. My first post? A bit of a misstep. Instead of embracing the platform fully, I found myself fumbling with filters and asking, “What even is Kelvin?” I had no clue that I was expected to add endless hashtags like #catsofinstagram or #cutecat.
Since that first awkward attempt, I’ve only mustered 48 posts on Instagram, each one feeling like a chore compared to my nearly 10,000 tweets. I tweet freely, while my Instagram experience feels like I’m held captive by app-savvy Millennials—sometimes, it feels like Stockholm Syndrome.
Here’s the internal dialogue during my Instagram posts: “Look at this beautiful/quirky thing I’m experiencing! Wow, I’m loving this moment. But wait, shouldn’t I snap a photo, not for my sake, but so my followers know I’m alive?” Perhaps the issue is that, unlike many, I’m not chasing likes or hearts. Sure, I appreciate them, but they don’t drive my content. I know I’m doing it differently.
In this 2015 landscape, we’re all brands, whether we like it or not. My social media presence is a blend of quirky observations, books I’m diving into, pleas to David Anderson to be the muse to my aspiring artist, live tweets of events, and snippets of my professional life. Tweeting feels natural to me, like sharing my thoughts without pretense. Just last week, I shared a thought that didn’t quite land.
But what does Instagram want from me? Honestly, I don’t want to see your gourmet tuna roll or your perfectly staged vegan bánh mì. And must I scroll through thousands of sunset images that I’ve already witnessed with my own eyes? The worst offenders are the posts tagged with hashtags that seem to have been born in a yoga retreat: #blessed, #grateful, #purehappiness. Oh, please. Just admit that you and your favorite influencers are in the same game: marketing yourselves.
If you’re a photographer, I respect the artistry you bring to Instagram. Your work is lovely and deserves to be showcased. But for the rest of us, it can be a confusing space—especially for someone like me, feeling a bit antiquated in this fast-paced, visual era. And don’t even get me started on Pinterest and GIFs! Seriously, someone please stop the GIFs.
Despite everything, I invite you to follow me on Instagram—no hard feelings!
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In summary, while I may feel out of place in the Instagram world, the platform continues to evolve, and I’m learning to navigate it—one hesitant post at a time.