I joined Instagram in November of 2015. I was about two months into sixth grade, which I now believe is far too early for anyone to get on to social media. I followed tons of celebrities, fashion brands, and my handful of middle school friends. I posted some dorky things and liked even dorkier posts.
The summer of 2018 brought about niche memes and spam accounts. I found myself in a community of people in my age group who were creating real names for themselves on the app. Many of them I still follow and quietly cheer on as we enter adulthood.
When I started high school, my approach to the app changed. Instagram became a place to carefully curate the way the world viewed you. The seniors of my high school warned us to all make our profiles private to prevent “the opps” from seeing what you posted. Every post seemed to carry the potential of ruining your social status, and I quickly found myself a little afraid of the app.
My second Instagram account, or what many would call a “finsta,” was created in April of 2019. I named it something too vulgar to ever repeat and immediately blocked my high school. I posted anything on that account, from “ugly” photos of myself to funny TikToks. I’d often forget I even owned the account and abandon it for months at a time.
At some point in my senior year, I realized the anxiety around my main account would probably never go away; my finsta felt safe, exciting, raw. If I was sad, I’d post it and then delete it roughly a week later without fear. I have way too many strangers on my Snapchat private story, so my secret account felt like my last effort to share how I felt about my day to day life in some form of privacy.
As time went on, I found myself solely spending time on my finsta. The last time I posted on my original Instagram account was over two years ago; my most recent finsta post celebrated my best friend’s birthday on November 13. The account’s small audience of 36 followers have been there through it all, and I know they’d never judge me or my posts. We laugh, we cry, and we celebrate together!
It is so cathartic to post on my finsta! Even my story posts, which tend to be a little off-kilter, get a few likes and laughs. There is no judgment or shame on that account. I can post anything, and at least one person will understand where I’m coming from. The account isn’t even private because I know that no one is actually seeking it out; even if someone does find it, they probably won’t find the content riveting enough to stay and follow.
Instagram has a way of making us feel like we always need to set our best self forwards, but who are we trying to impress? I’ve never felt more insecure than when I realized that someone following me on Instagram didn’t mean they actually liked me as a human being; I am so lucky that my 36 finsta followers actually do!
with all the love in the world,
malaika 😀
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