For someone who craves validation and consumes online content like candy, I was an extremely late Instagram adopter. For years I was content with Twitter, watching with a faint air of Luddite superiority as my friends knelt on chairs to capture the tableaux of our meals for the gram before we dug in. Then, about five months ago, something changed.
Then, one dark day, a friend introduced me to the bane of my existence: the Following tab. Many have noted howthe feature could be, allowing you to see exactly what people are liking and who they’re following. On a less nefarious level, it caused a huge shift in my relationship with the platform: Suddenly I could see what my followers were spending their Instagram time on, and—it hit me—they could see me. Like a seven-month-old baby, I had achieved object permanence, and I hated it.
Then I took a step back and thought about what my knowledge of the Following tab had given me. Since I’d found out about its existence, I’d spent way less time deep-diving on crushes with a level of scrutiny that could rival the CIA for information collection. I’d reinvested in what I actually posted on my grid, spending evenings tackling ambitious recipes in hopes that an expertly lit seafood-risotto shot would garner me infinite little red hearts .
U should made a Vogue app Whit the infinity scroll down.
My names L can turn into an e if
100% ifb
😣😣😣
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