I’ve felt really weird about the Internet lately. For several different reasons. But mostly just that I am exhausted from performing the role of a version of myself that doesn’t exist anymore.
“In my head, I play a supercut of us…”
From virtually the beginning of the social internet, we have been conditioned to display our highlight reels proudly: graduations, job announcements, beach vacations, birthday celebrations. But what do you do when a year comes along with no highlights? (or at least no highlights that fit into a perfectly packaged Instagram post)
Not only is the supercut missing, but tragedy has been cast in its place. The traditional, self-celebratory landscape of social media begins to look clownish with the backdrop of a pandemic, police brutality, racism, climate disasters, and everything else that dominates our news cycles and discourse.
Many have taken to using their social platforms for activism, sharing resources and donation links for Black Lives Matter and other causes in their Instagram stories. While this is in some ways a refreshing shift, not everyone has made the adjustment, and it’s made browsing Instagram a very strange experience: one friend is posting about how you can support protestors, another is sharing a video of themselves drinking mojitos with their friends on a beach, looking like a cast photo from Mamma Mia. It’s jarring, to say the least.
I’m certainly not immune to the awkwardness of being online these days. I’ve noticed myself putting much more thought into everything I share lately. Sometimes I post political content, but then I wonder if I’m only doing it as virtue-signaling. Or I come across a resource post on Instagram that means well, but is missing vital information in favor of flashy graphics. So I mostly stick to retweeting articles on Twitter from journalists I respect and that are far more knowledgeable on these topics than me. I like to retweet articles that I learned something from, hoping that someone might also gain something from it. But then I start analyzing my intentions again, and I’m back to spiraling.
I also want to clarify that I’m not against people posting light-hearted content as well — I think you can multitask online, just as you can in real life. And it’s important to share a bit of joy whilst also acknowledging the very real adversity and violence that so many people around the world are fighting against. But that’s a careful balance to cultivate online, and even discussing it so clinically makes me feel a little gross. It should be natural, but when has social media ever really been natural?
HBD Kim K
This tension is nowhere more apparent than the celebrity bubble. How do celebrities present themselves in a cultural moment in which they are growing increasingly irrelevant? If you’re Kim Kardashian, you create your own fantasy land where you can cover your ears and pretend none of it is happening.
On October 27, Kim shared a Twitter thread that quickly caught a lot of attention. The star posted photos from her extravagant 40th birthday celebration, which took place on a private island. She notoriously wrote:
“After 2 weeks of multiple health screens and asking everyone to quarantine, I surprised my closest inner circle with a trip to a private island where we could pretend things were normal just for a brief moment in time.”
Of course, this was too good not to get brutally memed.
It’s almost fascinating how tone-deaf this post is, and how no one on Kim’s team advised her that maaaaybe this wasn’t the best idea when so many people are broke, unemployed, sick, or even dying.
But if I’m being completely honest, I do understand Kim’s perspective. If I were obscenely wealthy enough to have a private island to escape to, I too would hop on a plane and pretend things were better. I probably wouldn’t post about it to millions of people, but to each their own.
But, as circumstances have it, I am not obscenely wealthy and instead live with my parents while I job search from my childhood bedroom. However, I do have my own little private island: the charming online hideaway of Tumblr Dot Com.
Tumblr in 2020: Ghost town or paradise?
Before the pandemic, I used three social media platforms regularly: Instagram — for selfies and travel photos, Twitter — for sarcasm and politics, and Facebook — pretty much only to RSVP for events and post the occasional photo to let distant relatives know that I am indeed still alive. But lately I’ve been spending much more time on TikTok (for the relatable Gen Z humor) and, of course, Tumblr, where things are incredibly, deliciously, quiet.
To be more precise, this isn’t exactly the first time I’ve redownloaded my Tumblr app since the glory days of 2014. I tend to check back in whenever I’m feeling low and want to retreat back into the escapist fandom burrows of my middle and high school years. There’s a very specific weird on Tumblr that just can’t be replicated anywhere else. In fact, much of the viral content on Twitter is actually mined from original posts published on Tumblr.
Ah, so young, so pure
But that’s not exactly why I’m back. It’s more because Tumblr is the last place online that feels a tiny bit anonymous to me. Sure, I have friends on there that I know in real life, but I don’t feel like a circus performer when I present myself on my Tumblr blog because there is no one to impress. No potential employers, no romantic interests, no casual acquaintances I met at a party that one time. Just a few pals that also have embarrassing hyperfixations and a bunch of mutuals of whom I don’t even know their first name.
This freedom results in an online experience unlike any other. One that simply lets me exist — indulging in the obsessions, opinions, and quirks that are central to my identity without processing my image through a socially acceptable filter. While my Twitter and Instagram profiles describe me as a writer and musician and link to my portfolio, my Tumblr bio simply includes my pronouns, age, and who I stan (Taylor Swift and The Beatles, in case anyone was wondering).
And I certainly post a lot of T. Swift and Beatles content, but I also just kind of…vibe. Much of what I reblog on Tumblr is actually just photos with no captions at all. Beautifully decorated bedrooms and kitchens, lush green forest landscapes, dark and light academia styled outfits. Essentially, I am creating my ideal world, a manifestation of the images that flash through my head in my daydreams.
And the most beautiful thing about it? Virtually no comments. Or likes. No need for validation, no hate, no trolls. The only notifications I get are from one IRL friend who sends memes she knows I will appreciate, and when there is activity in my Taylor Swift group chat. But there is never any pressure to participate.
Of course, the one thing lacking in this experience is a sense of community. Sometimes I long my high school Tumblr days, where I was never short on Sherlock and Marvel content and people to geek out with. But these days, with so many stimuli coming at me from all corners of the Internet, a little peace, quiet, and a steady flow of aesthetic pics is the holy grail.
Comfort in nostalgia
While I still need the occasional doomscroll on Twitter, and enjoy the bright, bursting energy that is constantly circulating on TikTok, I think something can be said for the jaded, peaceful, unproblematic community that resides on Tumblr. These are mostly people who have been around since the platform’s early days, who simply can’t be bothered to leave. They’ll gripe about how bad the app is, or how dead it is, or how their content underperforms on Tumblr only to gain thousands of likes (without credit) on Twitter or Facebook.
But they won’t leave, because as bad as Tumblr gets, it’s home. And there is comfort in a home, especially one so grounded in nostalgia.
Thank you for reading! Have a lovely rest of your week :)
<3 Jen