Over the past five years, I gradually deleted all social media accounts I owned. Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, TikTok, Threads. Not because don’t want to showcase my work, but because I believe that current versions of social media platforms don’t deserve my time and art.
But I wish they did. I really do.
As an older millennial, I have a lot of nostalgia about the version of internet that existed in 2000s and early 2010s. That time when being online still felt new and free, and social media was fun and social. I miss that version a lot.
I understand that as time goes by things change, but I personally disagree with direction a lot of tech companies chose to advance their products. What we have now is a predatory model that abuses and manipulates users into profits while simultaneously making user experience noticeably worse.
I could go on a long rant here but Ed Zitron already said everything that needs to be said on this topic in his Never Forgive Them post. When I read it for the first time, I felt incredibly seen. When I read it for the second time, I deleted the last social media account I still had at that time: Instagram.
When I deleted Instagram, I didn’t just delete an account. I deleted a whole history of my experience with Instagram: the 15 years of photos, illustrations, videos, reels, live broadcasts, stories, and interactions.
I deleted the oldest and most detailed version of my portfolio. I lost 6000 followers organically gained over years of carefully planned design content. I no longer have bridges with some of my fellow creatives I built on this platform. I lost access to some of my son’s school resources. I no longer can see news and updates from local businesses and organizations that publish exclusively on Instagram.
I deleted a lot. But for me, it was worth it. Was it scary? Absolutely, it was.
I like the way Cory Doctorow talks about the cost of leaving social media in his Enshittification book. The main reason why a lot of people continue using social media today is not because Meta and other companies are doing a great job. They continue using it because the cost of leaving is too high.
I personally think it’s very true. In the past couple of years, there’ve been a lot of discussions about social media and algorithms fatigue. Every other content creator these days makes posts and videos on taking breaks from their platform of choice and benefits that come with. But it’s usually a temporary experiment that doesn’t result in a permanent account deletion.
Why? Because the cost of leaving is high.
I hesitated about deleting my Instagram for years because it was deeply engraved in my day-to-day life. Because I joined at the beginning of its existence, and I didn’t want to remind myself that the platform then and the platform now have nothing in common.
I hesitated because ten years ago Instagram helped me successfully transition to illustration from UI design. Because a lot of my clients discovered me on Instagram. Because there was a small stretch of time when platform’s output matched the intention behind user’s input. Because there was a time when I actually saw the content I followed.
I also hesitated because Meta regularly spends huge amounts of money on user retention, engagement optimization, and behavioral psychology. Because their marketing team brainwashed us about the importance of followers, likes, and views, and then imposed this metrics as a singular definition of “success”.
I hesitated because I didn’t want to become an outcast. To be that one person/illustrator/friend/parent who is suspicious and weird for not having an account. Who can’t open shared links and advocates for old-school mediums like posters, CDs, and notebooks. Who comes off as asocial and difficult. Whose choice makes others feel uneasy for choosing differently.
My cost of leaving was high, but I left anyway. Because the person I am today is no longer the person that hesitated.
When I deleted Facebook five years ago, I largely followed my intuition. I was overwhelmed and exhausted from having to keep up with too many platforms, but I didn’t yet have the capacity to dig deeper and understand what that feeling really meant.
I didn’t yet acknowledge the changes that’ve been brewing after I moved to San Francisco two years before. I didn’t yet see that when I deleted my Facebook account, I was already becoming increasingly disenchanted with tech companies and Silicon Valley gameplay.
But I do see it now. I understand that the SF version of tech is not for me. After living, working, and socializing here for seven years, I see a big difference between the reality of how tech companies operate and the way they market themselves to the world.
My personal system of beliefs doesn’t overlap with systems of beliefs that drive decisions at Meta, Google, X, OpenAI, Microsoft, Apple, Anthropic, and others. I don’t like watching companies indulge in sports of getting advantage of legal loopholes to escape responsibility. As a mother, I despise them for strategically exploiting and harming children.
I hate seeing how tech companies contribute to the homelessness crisis and distort the financial reality for everyone outside the tech bubble.
I don’t want to deliberately provide creative training data for AI models. I don’t want to be in spaces that push Generative AI down my throat without asking.
I don’t want to continue accommodating and agreeing to predatory algorithms. I don’t trust Adam Mosseri-s of tech world.
I understand that it seems like I’m shooting myself in the foot by leaving spaces that drive networking and bring opportunity. But from my personal experience, the best networking and opportunities I got in the past couple of years came through my work existing in physical spaces and through in person relationships I built over time.
And honestly, at this point of my life, I prefer it this way.
I understand that to certain people I come off as an Amish person sailing away into oblivion where souls perish and brains rot, but I didn’t get here just because. My decision to leave social media platforms was shaped by my personal experiences, my system of beliefs, and my agency to make different choices.
If someone invents a Time Machine and takes us back to the version of social media that existed before, I might reconsider. But also, not sure as I’m growing increasingly functional without having to check, scroll, and post every day.
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