The Beautiful Strangers’ Lie: A Poem from the POV of a former Instagram Addict
I miss the days when we knew so little about other people’s lives.
The days when we chose not to swipe and scroll to yet another gender reveal surprise
With all the fake, sculpted thighs and perfect side eyes
Narcissus’ protégés in unnatural, filtered disguise
How could we not see through these beautiful strangers’ lies?
It’s not our fault
Well-placed ads and promotions blur reality
Trading traditional advertising for fun, quirky personality
And while there is this premise of personal connection
I have to ask
Since when did we have to turn to our phones for genuine affection?
Deep down inside, we know better than that
But society insists that’s how you should want to interact
Indeed, it’s a hit of dopamine that is useless to resist
Even if you could actually care less about another influencer’s kids
But the relentless routine is there, for creators and consumers alike
A hamster wheel of notifications and likes
We claim self control and discipline is well in sight
Until one day you’re up randomly scrolling past midnight
Selfies are for the masses, not for the self
Family portraits make it to the screen way before the bedroom shelf
Trips to faraway nations are not just for meditation and mental health
No, with each like and follow,
Each pic is reduced to a casual indicator of your wealth
And while we may rally and cry about social media’s demise
We have only ourselves to blame for all that wasted time
Of course, time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time
If it serves a purpose for you, who am I to deny?
But if you worry about anything I said
And the thought of never-ending scrolling fills you with dread
I leave you with this thought to hold in your head:
Our feeds will never truly get us fed
And, really what will it all matter once you are dead?
