The headline is decently grabby, and the story seems likely to be authoritative, engaging, and brief. All of which is to say that it is worth a click. So you click it.
You manage to close these various boxes, and now you can scroll. For a few seconds, anyway, until another ad creeps down from the banner ad above the headline. This one is pushing an online subscription to a different newspaper’s crossword puzzle. It briefly stops downward progress, then disappears. From there, it’s easy cruising for three ordinary paragraphs and one declamatory, single-sentence Sportswriter Special, before it’s time for another ad—a home treadmill—and then another paragraph, and then a large photo.
All of this was, at some point, a choice. And then, at some later date, it wasn’t anymore.
For the most part Instagram people preached positivity and contentment, and reminded themselves and their followers that the aesthetic harmony attainable in images was fleeting, not sustainable as a way of life. Instagram people did not seem mean or clever. They were earnest and sincere. They drank green smoothies and went on hikes, sought personal bests, good health, peace of mind, and oneness with the universe. They believed every day was a beautiful day to be alive. Leaving Twitter for Instagram was like
Source: My Instagram | Issue 36 | n+1