I’ve been having social media fatigue, recently. I know you have, too. I’ve seen it. In you. In me. In many people. There’s a shift, like slow creeping shift you barely noticed, but it’s here. It’s same as when Facebook was really important and we cared so much what people would say on there and the comment you’d get that was annoying or upsetting. Then all of the sudden, out of the blue, Facebook just stopped mattering. When did that happen? Do you even remember? I sometimes remember it exists, like the dirty socks I forgot, in the corner of the room. My mother is on there, and she responds to my messages 17 days later. Not even she cares.

The shift is creeping again. If you are an aware, present, sensible, woke human being, you’ve had enough. You’re tired with the triviality. What are we doing here? Why does the Instagram feel like a job nowadays? It was so much fun before; leisure, unimportant fun. But now? We’re expected to be models, inspirational gurus, philosophers. Produce content all the time. For who? For what purpose? What are we contributing to this world with our content?

I watched two brilliant shows this weekend that tackle the triviality Instagram became; first in the fun, sarcastic way, and the second, in a bit of tragic way. First is German show on Netflix called – How to Sell Drugs Online (Fast), and it tells a true story of a teenager from Germany who sold 5,9 Million Euros worth of drugs from his mother’s home. He’s a programmer, highly intelligent, tired of triviality, social media bullshit, and when he calls out a fellow class member who spends his days posting shirtless selfies on Instagram with:

“What would we do without him? Daniel Riffert. With his protein shakes and his stupid Capoeira, and his constant shirtless photos and 1,764 Instagram followers, half of which are bought! Yeah, what are you looking at? Namaste to all the Riffert fans at the click farm in India!”

… (while an excellent writing as well as very funny) it showcases the exact fatigue I mentioned at the beginning of this post. Why are we doing this? This desperate race of trying to matter? Simply, not everyone can matter. You can not matter if you don’t have a quality material, something not seen on every corner, something not common, something significant. My friend just posted this while I was writing this article:

“How does mediocre know its mediocre?”

Mediocre is usually loud. Quality is silent. So many people that actually have something to give to this world are backing up, pulling back more and more, while triviality gets louder. Mediocre are those folks whose mothers keep telling them all their childhoods they are great at things, while they sucked at things. They grow up, they can’t make it in the real world where, au contraire from your mother, people tell you you suck at things even when you don’t suck at things; but lucky for you, someone called Mark Zuckerberg couldn’t get laid in college, so now you clog our feeds with irrelevant shit.

If social media is used by celebrities to give their fans an inside scoop in their lives, I’m all for it. If it’s used by creatives showcasing their projects to public or buyers, I’m all for it. If it’s used by people with serious quality content they want to share for helping people, I’m all for it. Or you’re just using it to have fun with your friends, I’m all for it.

Last few months I saw, as I’m sure you did too, the dumbest, most trivial content been put out, like people are running out of fuel, but are desperate to matter, desperate to influence. Why? Why are you doing this? Writing platitudes like – “Try hard, follow your dreams, live your life, work hard”, I mean are you kidding me with this? Taping videos how to wash your make up brushes (“first, you let the water run”, please shot me), how to cut melon, how to overline your lips, how to fold your drawers, how to do crunches, how to cut bread, walk, breathe, sit, shit, how to do everything we know how to do, JUST – please stop. Buying half a million followers, buying likes and comments to appear like an influencer, while you shelling the most idiotic products known to man that mean nothing to no one, except your ego.

You know who is the actual influencer? Greta Thunberg. A child who is trying to advocate climate change at age 15, instead of trying on make-up looks on Youtube. No one else is an real influencer.

I spend most of my days googling and researching my contemporaries. People who do the same work I do. Every day I try to be aware and realistic with what I can do and why something I do would matter to anyone. Does anyone do it better than me? Does everyone do it better than me? What do I offer? And in fast paced world we live in, it’s not easy to perform at the top quality. But you have to stay realistic about where you stand. I often wonder, why don’t people do this? How can you write actor in your bio if you never had a role in your life or walked through short movie once? How can you be 5’4 and claim you’re a model while you never had an actual modeling job, outside of shady photographers snapping you for Instagram? How can you tape videos of working out and giving people advices what exercises to do when you puff up to 3 push-ups in a row? What are we actually learning from your video? 

This insanity where everyone thinks they have something of a value to give to people online, blows my mind. Honestly, if I see another video on Instagram that starts with – “Hiiiiii Guys!”, before shelling some irrelevant product, or shocked face for 3 minutes standing still, stunned at the angle and level of beam your highlighter just projected? You are aware of the world, and all that goes on, right? And your contribution to it is the level of beam of your highlighter? You just arrived! I know nothing.

The second show you absolutely must see is always brilliant Black Mirror and the episode called – Smithereens, a TV version of Twitter. This episode will absolutely twist you apart. And it will, maybe, open the new horizon for you, and make you realize we should use social media, and not let it use us. We should re-adjust the misguided measure of talent or substance by the numbers next to our names and number of likes that doesn’t equal worth.

And how does mediocre know its mediocre? We tell it, three million times, until it knows. Even if its our own.