onceaking
Fapstronaut
Freya India recently wrote about it on Substack. There are times when I wish I was in a relationship, but I would rather be single than be an Instagram boyfriend. I think one big red flag is a woman who has an Instagram profile full of photos of herself as if she's some sort of model. It is a mistake to pursue such women. She may look hot when you see her profile, but imagine being the guy who has to take perfect photos of her almost every day.
Here's an extract from the article:
Boyfriends and husbands complain about this online, too. Some say taking pictures of their girlfriend feels like a full-time job. Others explain how entire trips were ruined by it. This Reddit post about “having difficulty playing boyfriend of Instagram” has over a thousand likes: “Her need for me to catalogue her life is slowly draining my soul.”
Of course, there’s nothing wrong with your partner taking occasional photos of you. I can see how it might make people feel more connected to each other’s lives. But I think there is something wrong, there is something worth talking about, with this compulsion to get pictures. There’s something wrong with a compulsion that can ruin the moment; with judging every experience in terms of likes, leaving it joyless, and with demanding your partner document you, over and over. Of course, we don’t all behave this way, but many—more and more of us—do. Not just girlfriends either—friends demand it of friends; family members demand it of each other; it’s happening all the time.
I don’t mean to mock here. I think Gen Z has every technological and commercial incentive in the world tempting them to do this. They are told that their faces, bodies, and personal brands are of paramount importance. They are taught to tie their self-worth to virtual validation. Of course it’s become normal, and it’s no wonder we defend it. But when we really think about what’s happening here, when we zoom out a little, I don’t think this is trivial.
I don’t think it’s trivial, for example, that we’ve been conditioned to use the person we love as a tool—a tool to gain approval from an audience that most of the time we don’t even like or care about. I don’t think it’s trivial that the compulsion to document the perfect memory can degrade the memory, turning it from that time we watched the sunset together on the beach to that time we argued after I demanded Instagram photos and you couldn’t get the angle right. I don’t think it’s trivial that some people sacrifice their real-world reputation to improve their online one. These things matter.
It matters, too, that social media isn’t just putting unnecessary pressure on us as individuals, but also on our relationships. Now, everything that used to constitute a healthy relationship– love, loyalty, pride in our partners–has been distorted by new online demands: you have to take photos of each other, put enough enthusiasm into it, regularly post them on your social media accounts, like their posts, tag them in photos, comment on their selfies. We’ve reached the point where we’re asking “Would You Break Up if Your Partner Won’t Post You on Instagram?”
Here's an extract from the article:
Boyfriends and husbands complain about this online, too. Some say taking pictures of their girlfriend feels like a full-time job. Others explain how entire trips were ruined by it. This Reddit post about “having difficulty playing boyfriend of Instagram” has over a thousand likes: “Her need for me to catalogue her life is slowly draining my soul.”
Of course, there’s nothing wrong with your partner taking occasional photos of you. I can see how it might make people feel more connected to each other’s lives. But I think there is something wrong, there is something worth talking about, with this compulsion to get pictures. There’s something wrong with a compulsion that can ruin the moment; with judging every experience in terms of likes, leaving it joyless, and with demanding your partner document you, over and over. Of course, we don’t all behave this way, but many—more and more of us—do. Not just girlfriends either—friends demand it of friends; family members demand it of each other; it’s happening all the time.
I don’t mean to mock here. I think Gen Z has every technological and commercial incentive in the world tempting them to do this. They are told that their faces, bodies, and personal brands are of paramount importance. They are taught to tie their self-worth to virtual validation. Of course it’s become normal, and it’s no wonder we defend it. But when we really think about what’s happening here, when we zoom out a little, I don’t think this is trivial.
I don’t think it’s trivial, for example, that we’ve been conditioned to use the person we love as a tool—a tool to gain approval from an audience that most of the time we don’t even like or care about. I don’t think it’s trivial that the compulsion to document the perfect memory can degrade the memory, turning it from that time we watched the sunset together on the beach to that time we argued after I demanded Instagram photos and you couldn’t get the angle right. I don’t think it’s trivial that some people sacrifice their real-world reputation to improve their online one. These things matter.
It matters, too, that social media isn’t just putting unnecessary pressure on us as individuals, but also on our relationships. Now, everything that used to constitute a healthy relationship– love, loyalty, pride in our partners–has been distorted by new online demands: you have to take photos of each other, put enough enthusiasm into it, regularly post them on your social media accounts, like their posts, tag them in photos, comment on their selfies. We’ve reached the point where we’re asking “Would You Break Up if Your Partner Won’t Post You on Instagram?”
