The Death of Instagram is Setting Me Free
Back in 2018, I deleted all three of my social media accounts. Not just the apps, and not just deactivation — I downloaded all my data, then permanently deleted my Facebook, then Twitter, and finally Instagram. I had listened to people like Jaron Lanier and Cal Newport, and being a millennial, I could still remember what it was like to live in a world without this kind of addictive technology. We didn’t have internet until I was in my late teens, and even with MySpace and MSN, the intensity of use was nothing compared to what the internet has since become for young people. I knew without doubt that I was addicted to social media. And I hated it. I ended up going nine months before returning to Instagram, and to this day I look back on those nine months with nothing but peace of mind. It’s a total cliche, but I had never felt so present, so genuinely able to enjoy the moments of my day without thinking about captions or hashtags or likes.
That was four years ago, and in that short space of time, Instagram has changed beyond recognition. It has become one of those awful boyfriends who can’t be bothered to break up with you, so they just make themselves as unpleasant as possible until you’re forced to do the job for them. And I know I’m not the only one who feels these changes, because my own feed is filled with others remarking on how unenjoyable it has become. Gone are the days of simple photo sharing, sprinkled with a few tolerable ads. Now I’m bombarded by reels I don’t want to watch from people I don’t follow, or I’m force-fed rehashed TikTok content. Every day I am shown twenty different ads asking if I want to become a ‘digital nomad’ or ‘business coach’, all of which are just MLM huns in disguise trying to lure me into their pyramid scheme. And God only knows what’s happened to my engagement, but I’m lucky if a handful of people even see what I post.
This wouldn’t be as much of an issue if I only had Instagram for personal use, although the addictive nature of the app would still exist, something I am simply not invincible enough to overcome. I’ve had to delete it off my phone and block it on my computer in order to get anything done, only using my iPad if I need to check it. But when I created a new Instagram account after deleting it in 2018, I made the decision to use it solely as a work account. A professional tool with measured statistics and intentional content, perfect for connecting with my audience and helping me promote my books, writing and illustration work. In doing this, I found that I started to enjoy using it again. A lot of the toxic behaviour disappeared, and instead of scrolling and comparing, I found more satisfaction in treating it like a job.
At this time, it was still relatively easy to grow a following, which meant the effort I put in was rewarded. When reels started to gain traction, I resisted for a while. I had deliberately steered clear of TikTok because I hate short-form, vapid content, and I didn’t want to spend an hour creating a reel that would be instantly forgotten — an hour I could have spent creating real art and writing. But in the end, I decided to see it as a marketing exercise and embrace it. I even made a content spreadsheet so I could track, measure and plan what I was going to share. I read up on what the algorithm wanted from its users, and implemented what I could into the schedule. I did everything I thought Instagram wanted me to do, except change the substance of my content itself.
Did my strategy work? Absolutely not. I used it consistently for a few months and all that happened was I wasted more and more time chasing something I was never going to have. Because the truth is that Instagram doesn’t want my kind of content anymore — and it doesn’t want me any more. It doesn’t want thirty somethings with responsibilities and careers and real voices. It wants teens and their influencer idols, twenty something super-consumers, people who spend their money on flashy brands and will give their advertisers everything they want. That photo sharing app we once loved has gone — and it isn’t coming back.
At first I was incredibly frustrated that I couldn’t crack the system, but then slowly, slowly, over the next few months, I realised what a relief it really was. This app had consumed me for the best part of a decade, something I had always considered ‘essential’ to my freelance career (reality check: I looked through my list of clients from the last two years and not one of them came from Instagram). A few months ago, I couldn’t go ten minutes without picking it up — and all of a sudden, I just stopped caring.
When I talk to people about the possibility of living without social media, there are a handful of common reasons why they can’t press delete: Keeping in touch with family, using community groups, and the most common of all — they need it for work. There are certainly plenty of jobs and businesses that rely on a social media presence to function, but I’ve stopped believing the lie that everyone needs it, even in a professional setting. We have been conditioned to believe we need it, because it is the easiest, simplest way to feel like you’re reaching your audience. I understand why people are hesitant to step back — I am still unsure if I’ll make that choice a second time. But I wish we could all be more courageous and remember that social media is brand new. Do we really think our working lives couldn’t function without it, considering how many other tools are at our fingertips?
Today, I can barely bring myself to use Instagram. I am still a freelancer, still an author with books to promote, still someone with a mortgage and bills to pay and a family to feed. But now that I am no longer Instagram’s target user, I feel like I’ve been set free. Yes, I have to put extra effort into writing newsletters, networking and sharing my work in other ways, but I can tell you right now that Instagram is no longer the marketing tool it once was. I have very little engagement, few new followers, and hardly any of my loyal audience even sees my posts. I find it toxic, addictive and a waste of precious time — so what is the point in making space for it? I know from past experience that, for me, life without social media is infinitely richer and more enjoyable. I never experienced FOMO, my social life was better than ever, and I made more effort to keep in touch with my friends individually.
I’m making no firm decisions yet, but I am not the kind of person who holds space for negativity in my life. I feel like my time on Instagram might be well and truly coming to an end — and I’ve never been more grateful.
