The Science Behind Finstas: A Very, Very Professional Documentary by Allie Jorge

Alexandra Jorge, Editor

It has recently come to my attention that young teenagers became so overwhelmed by their entire life that the last resort is no longer social media – it’s gone a step further such that they now branch out to fake social media accounts, where it isn’t so much flowery and idealistic as it is dark, desolate, and . . . well, amazing.

You’ve followed a multitude of them already (probably, unless you’ve purposely deprived your instagram feed of the utmost authentic meme content) and most of them are ironically private; not to protect them from strangers, even . . . like, to protect them from the people they secretly despise in real life.

Having said this, I decided to make one, but don’t bother following it because it’s long-deleted. However, I do have enough dignity to say that if I hate you, it is most definitely not a secret. Ha. I was gonna be all “This is a social experiment to demonstrate the concept behind finstas” or some stuff I pulled out of the sixteenth dimension of my under-matured frontal lobe. In reality, however, I just like being an obnoxious trend-follower, so here goes.

  • Day One: My feed is as empty as I feel. This reminds me of the day I made a Facebook in the sixth grade, only slightly more fulfilling. Still, all popular instagram accounts had to start from zero (my mantra for those of whom have yet to procure a senior quote to email to the yearbook committee; feel free to steal it – you won’t, but it was kinda funny, wasn’t it?).
  • Day Two: I have nothing to say about my life. I wish I did, I’m a cool person. I just sleep way too often to have much to say about my day.
  • Day Three: It feels . . . not okay to vent about college. That ought to seem generic. Then again, all I have posted are multiple angles of my face, way past the comfort zone distance – this has been on a downhill slope from the very beginning.
  • Day Four: I have yet to come up with a funny and not-inappropriate version of my name. Any attempts thus far have resulted in failure and profanity.
  • Day Five: I never felt so unshackled when my thumb tapped the “Delete Account” button. It took me roughly ten minutes to even find it because I’m a mess.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the rise and fall of Rome. All my humor, squished beneath the stress of a virtual photo album app, with a tasteless gradient design as its logo. I need to lower my expectations down a notch – or, like, twenty. Maybe this is why Fuller House was a bust.

Have a good one, folks.



* photo via Google Images under the Creative Commons license