I was living it up at the kiddy table in my grandma’s kitchen, eating ham cubes and drinking lemonade out of a miniature cup. A tissue paper crown sat clumsily atop my large head as I heatedly discussed the latest middle school drama with my younger cousins.
All of a sudden, my cousin’s fresh-out-of-the-tree Apple iPhone hummed on the table. Swiftly, she seized it as if she were playing Slap Jack, brought it 2 millimeters away from her face, and killed the conversation. As if answering an unspoken call to enter the digital age, her two little sisters removed their phones from their pockets.
For the next 20 minutes, my cousins double-tapped, posted, and texted their way through Christmas dinner. Meanwhile, I played with the weird fortune teller fish that came in my Christmas popper. I just crossed over into… The Cyber Life Zone. Cue “Twilight Zone” music: do-dee-do-do do-dee-do-do.
People often ask me why I don’t use social media. Sometimes I ask myself the same question. Then it hits me. I’m not mature enough.
Of all people, I should not have social media. I have been known to topple into the ghastly depths of FOMO, or Fear of Missing Out. Symptoms include mega-stalking (via several tedious Google searches), obsessive selfie-taking, and wallowing in self pity.
If I had social media, my nerdiness and dweebage would be heightened to toxic levels. Right now, I only give those around me secondhand embarrassment. Social media would enable me give the world secondhand embarrassment.
It’s not like I would post anything of interest, anyway. Au contraire. Don’t let my East-O, hipster locale fool you.
I wouldn’t take super artsy-fartsy photos with 12 different filters. I also just used the phrase “artsy-fartsy.” #nuffsaid.
I wouldn’t take Bohemian-esque pictures of my feet in various locations.
I can see it now. A soft-grunge me is late for school because I took too many feet selfies walking up from Soph Lot. I just had to capture the trek from every angle: the arch, the ball, the ankle, the big toe. I wouldn’t suddenly fall in love with coffee and post about it like the hipsters do. I feel like the occasional Starbucks
Java Chip is way too mainstream for Instagram.
I wouldn’t have the energy or the means necessary to constantly post FO- MO-worthy party pictures. If anything, I would turn on a multicolored lamp, turn out the lights, and take some blurry sel- es from the comfort of my own room. That way I could make it seem like I’m a party regular without ever leaving the house. #2coolstayinschool
I wouldn’t want the burden of maintaining both a regular Instagram and her evil twin, a Sinsta. For those of you like me who don’t know what this is, a Sinsta is a secret Instagram where people post scandalous things about their incredibly exciting lives.
That being said, my Sinsta would be pretty boring. I made up a song about my Sinsta to the tune of “Sister, Sister.” Sing it with me, early-2000s kids!
Talk about a lack of charisma. Shaking up your Insta feed With my lifelong mediocrity. Sinsta, sinsta!
I wouldn’t even have any inspiring words of advice for a caption. Fun fact, I’m terrible at giving advice. More often than not, I say something mildly offensive or dumb. I once told a visually impaired teen that “I am so blind” without my glasses. #nice
This is why I shouldn’t be allowed on the Internet.
Because I have absolutely no access to social media, I turned to my good pal Google for research. Utilizing my stalker research skills, I found some common trends in popular Instagram accounts
Now you know. I am saving the world from secondhand embarrassment.