I am embarrassed to admit that I am low-key addicted to Instagram…and it is a love-hate relationship. Every time I grab my phone it’s like I have this muscle memory to click on that stupid little tie-dye camera to make sure no one did anything while I wasn’t looking.
In Utah, being a 22 year old white girl, I am a TARGET for lifestyle mommy blogging, Instagram husband-ing, three-times-a-day post-ing women following me on my Instagram. I. Hate. It. I just cannot stand those Instagrams. I can’t look at them without thinking “who took that picture?”… “why is your hair ALWAYS in those crazy braids?”… “Is your husband an actually happy person?”…”Does your husband actually exist?”… “HOW do you have 13k followers?”…I am friggin’ judge Judy when it comes to those Instagram profiles.
But here’s the real embarrassing part, I ALWAYS STALK THEIR PICTURES. I claim to hate their posts (which I do, I mean I really, REALLY do), and yet I have to look at at least 30 of their posts to clarify my assumption that they spend all of their time doing conceded blogging and posting. Then when I’m right (about 98.99% of the time I am), I’m content and I precede to not follow them back and go on with my day.
…I can’t be the only one… Right??