While I was grateful for new followers, I’d still compare myself to others and sulk in the fact that I didn’t get as many likes or comments as they did. However, the stressful side of Instagram didn’t improve with the bigger numbers. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t become a bit of an addiction. I never set out to be a thirst-trap page. Posting photos with more skin got more likes and my dopamine very much loved it. Through my “naked writer” shtick, I also discovered the power of the almighty thirst-trap. Between that and some love from the algorithm, more and more people followed my page. I also collaborated with photographers who had big audiences. I worked hard at it by interacting with other people’s content in hopes that they’d follow me back.
Over time, my audience began to grow, which was not by the good magic of posting great content. Regrettably, between the two, I ended up spending more time on Instagram than I did my writing. Then I would be addicted to following other content, and writing and responding to messages.
I spent hours of days thinking of ideas, trying to take the photos, editing the photos, figuring out captions, and stressing about what time to post them. But I buckled down and began the process to selfiedom anyway.
#FACEBOOK INKSLINGER HOW TO#
I couldn’t even figure out how to cleverly work words into my photos to show off that I am a writer. The problem is that I’m a writer, not a visual creator. Prior to this, I only ever took photos to capture a moment, like when Luke and I want to pose next to a statue while on vacation. For someone who has now posted over 700 photos of himself, it may be surprising to know that I am not good at taking pictures.
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