That’s it. It’s over. You’ve burned me one too many times.
I’m tired of you parading a bunch of girls on display, perfect in positions and always in exotic locations as I work at my 9 to 5 and see all my double chins when I accidentally flip my phone’s camera around. I’m tired of the sepia tones and the legs-on-a-beach pic, of the “my dog is cuter than your dog” wars. Oh, look, Cheryl made another gorgeous meal out of macramé? Enough!
We’re done, Instagram. I know I’ve said this one too many times before, but this time, it’s for real.
What’s so good about you anymore, anyway? Your appeal is so 2015. Before you know it, you’ll be at Facebook’s level of trying-to-be-relevant. Remember Myspace? No? That’s right, no one does anymore! Scrolling through you now I don’t even see anything worth liking.
Hold on a minute. Jack looked at my story? What’s that about? Are he and his girlfriend still a thing? Well she just posted a photo two day ago and he didn’t like it and he’s like every one of her photos since they started going. And, oh, look, she unfollowed him!
Well, well, well, so Jack’s back on the market, huh? So that means I can totally keep liking his stuff, maybe send a flirty DM, see where the summer takes us. And, aw, look, HGTV posted a picture of a cute baby lamb!
Alright, I take it back. But you better straighten yourself out because, next time, we’re really done.