Honestly, Instagram, I’ve tried. So many times! I’ve created terabytes of images just for you, and spent hours clicking-clicking-clicking all while trying earnestly to be a version of me that’s interesting and fun and followable. You’ve given me a platform! Opportunities! Algorithms! People to follow! And all I’ve given you is hope. No wonder we can’t make a go of it.
I’ve read about how to make you happy, how to create niche art and to SHARE ME, and to never ever take breaks from you because people won’t trust me to make buyable art if I don’t post and visit all day and all night, every day and every night. I’ve read and I’ve tried. You know I’ve been hanging around you ever since you opened. You know how many of your accounts I’ve had (and closed), wretched victims of my Insta-unworthiness.
You know. But because I haven’t been what you need me to be, you don’t care. And that’s OK, Instagram, because I’m finished with you now. We’re over. I’ll never live up to your expectations and you’ll never live up to mine.
A few minutes ago I “disabled” one of my accounts. In seven days I’ll “disable” the other. Why not just delete them? Because I always have hope. Always!
Maybe – someday – we’ll find a way to get along. Until then, please don’t feel bad, Instagram. You won’t miss me. You have plenty of other lovers.