As a digital immigrant rather than a digital native—(shut up, Sarah. You're revealing your age)—I'm throwing myself into this instagram situation.
As Chrissie Hynde sang, "Don't Get Me Wrong."
I'm enjoying myself. (And why does that song make me feel like I should be in a movie montage trying on dozens of hats and outfits?)
It just seems all seems so. . .extroverted. You post lots and lots and lots of photos and updates on your doings and viewings or, if you're daring, add things like meaningful words or funny memes. I think you can even post video. That's how green I am.
Really, though, I've had some time to get used to this. My continuing technological bewilderment could on some level be compared to the act of that rare and much maligned geographic immigrant who doesn't take the time to learn the language.
Friends, I'm scared. All this rapid communication strikes me as hasty. What if I say the wrong thing? Why am I saying so much? Who am I talking to? And I holding a conversation or just shouting in a megaphone.
And also how the f*@& can I make myself so intriguing that I nab a million followers. Because I hear when you become an instagram celebrity someone hands you a bunch of money.
Who will hold my hand on this journey? Who will help me learn the importance, and the process, of making myself look like a woodland animal or like i'm wearing a crown of roses on snapchat? Who will tell me if vine still exists?
Who will hand me one of those weighted blankets that's good for people with autism or who, like myself, have general hysteric tendencies when I get overstimulated by all the digital bells and whistles?
And which of you bitches has seen my new iPhone case? It's straight bling all day.
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