The issue is that some young woman, who I’ll call Happy, had taken a graphic from someone else’s Instagram page. The artist, who I’ll call Art, is a friend of my daughter.
Art politely asked Happy to take the piece off her page. Happy refused. As some of Art’s friends got involved in the conversation, Happy became more adamant. She suggested that Art and all of his friends should get together and cut themselves.
My daughter wanted my advice, which I suppose I should appreciate. I recommended, regarding both the artwork and the response by Happy, was to contact Instagram.
This is not the first time I’ve learned about the Sturm und Drang involving teenagers on social media. Back in the old days, if there were bullies, you and your geographically close friends knew who they were and how to avoid or confront them.
Now, there’s a network of friends and “friends” who get intricately involved in these dramas. I am utterly fascinated, baffled and more than a bit concerned how these issues can escalate.
I know this is probably unAmerican, but I have never warmed to Instagram. It seems difficult to ascertain what pictures actually belong to whom, with photos and graphics swapped about.
Huh. I went to my Instagram account, which I hadn’t used in so long that I had forgotten the password, which is not that rare. I was puzzled to note that while I had 14 followers, I have apparently never posted anything.
It’s weird because I swore that I had submitted photos of some of my ancestors. I probably will use Instagram at some point in my purported free time. But I will have expectations that the pictures will be shared.
Oh, here’s the kicker. Because I went to visit Happy’s Instagram page, she sent me an invitation to friend her on Facebook! I declined.
Yes. I have often said I’m glad I didn’t grow up in this era, but in the late 1970s/early 1980s instead, because there were fewer ways to be awful to people then. And fewer ways to publicly humiliate someone – I know had Instagram and its ilk been around then, some of the mean girls who made my life painful would have found ways to have posted unflattering things about me. (Though knowing my parents, I probably wouldn’t have been allowed to have had social media accounts, had they existed, people would still have TOLD me about the stuff).
The problem I have with Instagram is similar to the problems I have with much social media: it makes us ordinary folk dissatisfied with our lives because it shows the absolute best sides of everyone else. I tend to be honest about both the good things and the struggles I face, and I am also a poor photographer…so I know Instagram isn’t for me.