I’ve been away from social media for about a month. I’ve written 80,000 words—the length of a commercial novel—and I’ve read ten books. This is not a crowing of virtuosity, but these are the things that matter most to me, and suddenly I have them—I luxuriate in them. Being off social media has agreed with me. I’d like to say I don’t miss it, but you know what I do miss? Seeing people’s art, musician’s updates, and flash from tattooists-content the algorithm hides from me. I also miss seeing pictures of people’s faces, and sharing pictures of my own.
The black hole of social media was bringing me down. I became acutely aware of narcissism as the default setting rewarded by the algorithm. None are immune to addictive attention seeking, the solipsistic gaze gamified on Instagram and other platforms. Though I hate the infantilising word ‘selfie’, self-portraits have always interested me.
