Why I'm Breaking Up With Instagram ( and Maybe You Should Too)

After 10+ years on social media, I’m exhausted by the fakery, and the cult of the algorithm. This isn’t a curated intro — it’s a rant, a release, and maybe the start of something better.

You know what? I won’t even try to curate what I want to say.

Social media — Instagram in particular — has become a nasty, boring, repetitive, and deeply inauthentic corner of the internet. So the last thing I’m going to do here is obsess over each sentence. No, no, no! I’m done.

Why am I here?

Because of Derek Blasberg, oddly enough. He was the final push. I’d been seeing Substack mentioned everywhere, and when he joined, I thought: Okay… if Derek’s jumping ship, something must be happening. And maybe, just maybe, there’s finally a way to leave Instagram without disappearing entirely.

To be clear, he’s not the only one. Substack seems to be drawing people who actually have something to say — people with ideas, creativity, nuance. Not just thirst traps and chaotic lip-syncing.

Meanwhile, over on Instagram… I’ve been uploading quality travel photos, sharing my music, my opinions — putting in real effort for years. But the platform rewards the dumbest, most performative behaviour imaginable. Do nothing, be loud, act vulgar or stupid — and boom, you’re famous. A publicist. A Netflix deal. A hundred brand collabs. And talent? Optional.

I know this might sound bitter. And maybe it is. But f*ck it — why pretend? I’m not here to curate.

I was born in 1995 — with a CPU under my arm and a floppy disk in my diaper. I’ve grown up with the internet. I was there for the dial-up screeches, the birth of YouTube, the early days of Google. And I’ve watched as the internet didn’t get better — just dumber.

I’ve always joked:

“If I were vulgar, explicit, or dumb, I’d have been famous a decade ago.”

Because that’s what gets rewarded. Show skin. Be outrageous. Offer nothing. Rinse, repeat. And if you can pull that off while being hot? Congratulations. You’ve made it.

It’s not that being sexy is bad — but when that’s all that’s left? When that’s the only “offer”? It’s exhausting.

We’ve all played the game.

We’ve all used the hashtags, posted at strategic times, filtered and colour-corrected until our feeds looked like marketing campaigns. Fashion bloggers broke their backs chasing new looks. Bakers redesigned their kitchens to look more aspirational and aesthetic. We tried so hard. I tried so hard.

And for what?

So 30 of my 3,000 followers might see it? So I could post a teaser of my music to be ignored by the algorithm? So I could write something deeply personal, only to be seen as a wannabe influencer?

Meanwhile, some dude says “CUNT” in a sassy voice and lands a million views and a reality show deal. I mean... come on.

Instagram isn’t “social” anymore. It’s cable TV 2.0. An endless parade of sameness, vulgarity, and noise — backed by algorithmic cruelty.

And I’m just… tired.

I’m tired of shouting into the void.

I’m tired of curating.

I’m tired of wondering what I’m even doing there.

I looked around and realised: there’s nowhere to go.

X? Chaotic and gross.

Facebook? Already boring.

Reddit? Fun, but a debate club with trolls.

Tumblr? Actually kinda promising again, but it’s not what it used to be.

Then Substack popped up.

And I thought: maybe.

Maybe that's is the place.

Maybe it’s not about going viral, but about connecting.

Maybe this time, we build something real. Something raw. Something… uncurated.

This might read like a rant (because it is). It might have typos (I don’t care). I might be called bitter (so be it). But aren’t you tired too?

Tired of pretending.

Tired of being ignored unless you play the game.

Tired of scrolling past the same recycled content.

I don’t know what this will become. But I’m here now.

I’ll still be on Instagram (for now), but I’m rooting for Substack.

Maybe this becomes something beautiful. Maybe I get cancelled. Maybe no one reads this.

But at least I said what was on my mind.

And that already feels better.