I had started to dread the sound of the Weeknd’s “Can’t Feel My Face”, which I had set as my alarm because the title captured exactly what I felt when I was jolted out of sleep at 6 am. To pull myself from that lethargic haze, the first thing I usually did, after switching off the alarm, was open my Instagram feed while still tucked in bed. .. Pictures of perfectly manicured nails clutching Starbucks cups, a model in the lush, green paddy fields of Assam, a puppy frolicking on a picturesque beach with white sand and turquoise water… these were the images that started my day, sometimes transporting me to another dreamlike state.

Though I rarely posted pictures of myself,  I loved to scroll through other people’s pictures of exotic places, aesthetically arranged food platters, models with luscious locks, and adorable animals. I was drawn to these pictures, because my life felt so dull, by comparison. While other girls my age were on a cruise ship sipping mocktails, I was at home finishing a history essay. One day, I caught myself thinking that I had barely posted any insta-worthy pictures (meaning that they were high-definition, artfully composed, and showed how luxurious/cool/exciting/fun my life was without even trying).  I decided to try to take one.

I pulled out a professional camera, wore a pair of knee high socks, and put my legs up against a plain white wall with just the perfect amount of sunlight falling on it. The expected outcome? An HD picture of a pair of long, toned, tanned legs sporting funky socks against a bare background - the juxtaposition of the bright socks against the white wall…Totally cool.

The actual outcome? Me, struggling to get my legs up on that wall without pulling any muscles, managing to wriggle myself into an extremely awkward position, trying to get the camera to focus on my legs, discovering that the camera couldn’t focus on my legs because it was too close, and finally taking a picture out of exasperation. Let’s just say, it wasn’t the least bit artsy.

Looking back, I can safely say that I will never attempt to do anything like that again. In fact, I cringe at the thought of the memory now. What had gotten into me? It dawned on me that I was doing exactly what I thought I never would: I was “doing it for the ‘gram.”

“Doing it for the ‘gram” is, in simple words, staging photos to live up to the aesthetic and social standards that we have created for ourselves in this age of social media. It is the art of portrayal. A perfect example – last year, a few girls at my school posted a series of Instagram pictures during our Spring Break. The first picture was of the wings of an airplane with the caption “Bali with my girls!!” The obvious assumption was that they were spending their break in Bali...right? Here’s the strange part- about a week later, I happened to bump into one of the girls’ mothers. To make polite conversation, I asked her about her daughter’s trip to Bali. She replied, “What Bali trip?”
Turns out the girls had never gone to Bali for spring break. Instead, they had posted a series of pictures to make it seem like they had gone there. While I was relieved that I wasn’t the only one who had tried to appear to be a swanky teen, I also wondered, “Why are we pressured to act this way?”

Today, social media is a platform to convey meaning and symbolism. Individuals curate their social media pages much like a writer or artist deliberately creates and edits a piece to present to the public. Seeing celebrities post pictures which get over one million “likes” influences their followers to replicate such pictures, to get their own share of “likes”. “Likes” have become a kind of digital currency; a quantifiable way to measure social standing. Competing with one another is a part of human nature (whether it’s for better or for worse is another debate!) Therefore, we constantly feel the need to measure our “success” on social media by competing for “likes”. It’s a vicious cycle- post pictures; get “likes”; feel pressured to post more photos; get more “likes”. Social media impacts us in many ways, but we impact it in even more. By selecting what images we post and “like”, we, in turn, influence what others see and choose to post.

But these feeds curated to garner the maximum number of “likes” are artificial.  And, at least in my case, I realized that following them or - worse yet - trying to recreate them, only offered fleeting moments of happiness.  Now, I instead choose to spend my time learning a new song on the piano, or baking cookies. I’ve decided that the number of “likes” do not equate to something’s intrinsic value: If I post a picture of my cat, and if it doesn’t get 100 likes, who cares? My cat is still adorable.

On Instagram, the art of portrayal is no longer an art, rather it’s a duty. A duty that I’ve decided to give up.