Unfriending the Algorithm

When virtual bludgeoning forces a born-again extrovert back into reality.

A few weeks ago, I revived my fitness Instagram account (@punkrockandpreworkout). I still like sharing my workout results, my progress, and talking to people about fitness and nutrition, so why not?

During my first week back online, I released a succession of coaching videos that were mostly just me chatting with the viewer about random fitness-related topics. One day’s subject was on why I do not run (or walk) outdoors with headphones and how my attempt to make small talk with someone else out on the trail that day had been thwarted by his use of Airpods.

Shortly after that post went up, my good friend Melisa (over at Protecting My Peace) sent me a reel pulled from TikToker Molly Selin and posted by the Today Show. In it, Selin discusses a chance conversation – and now lasting friendship – she started with a woman on public transit after begrudgingly removing her headphones.

What started off as an annoyance turned into a pretty great thing.

It made me think about how I’ve noticed communication change in my lifetime. I grew up shy and introverted, even going so far as to receive a grade of “unsatisfactory” under the Group Participation and Displays Positive Attitude categories in my elementary school report cards.

I had friends and got along with almost everyone, but I was never the one to start a conversation, let alone a new friendship.

I was in my first year of college when MySpace hit – third year when I joined Facebook (remember when you had to have a .edu email address to join?).

Social media was a godsend for people like me. I maybe didn’t like speaking in front of others and frequently struggled to start conversations, but I was a great writer and always had something to say! Facebook just simply had to ask, “What’s On Your Mind?” and I was happy to unleash.

I connected with my college friends, with old friends from elementary school I hadn’t seen in over a decade – even people from other countries with whom I didn’t share any meaningful connection outside of a mutual love of ska music or some random obscure punk band (okay, not random, it was for sure Butt Trumpet).

The internet connected people from all cultures the world over in a network that fostered collaboration and creation. It was one of the most beautiful things about it.

But that was all 20 years ago.

In the last two decades, I have become a born-again extrovert who longs for genuine connections. I’m finding it increasingly difficult to achieve, however, and I think much of it has to do with how the isolation caused by social media use has stunted our ability to find each other.

I am very active here and on Instagram, do much of my shopping online, etc., but I would never consider myself “terminally online.” Katie and I both make it a habit to disconnect at regular intervals and both enjoy very analog hobbies. Even so, I sometimes find that I self-sequester socially, and it comes from a social-media-influenced place.

On Instagram, if I’m not in the mood to start a conversation, I just don’t.

If someone DMs me or comments on my post, there’s often a brief moment of dread where I’m having to convince myself it’s not that hard to just reply. Even then, I often still don’t.

When I want to disappear for a while, I just lurk; when I want to be seen, selfie.

It sounds silly, but I have to remember to practice approaching people and being approachable out in the wild. If I’m not paying attention, someone trying to make small talk with me in line at the grocery store will set off the same alarm bells I hear when a spam bot asks me to hook up.

And as much of a drag as that is, I’ve noticed that it’s causing a shift inside me. A shift back to reality, as it were.

I’ve said for years now that the best and worst thing about the internet is that it gives everyone a platform where they may pronounce any and all thoughts, feelings, or emotions they may be toiling on in the moment.

I would argue, however, that most people shouldn’t have such a platform. Too many people struggle to either properly conjugate verbs or express an original, rational thought on their own (or write anything without the use of AI).

And the anonymity of usernames often emboldens them to express hurtful, hateful rhetoric they otherwise wouldn’t have if the interaction had happened in a public space.

Which brings me to Threads…

I loved Twitter back in the OG days of the platform. I used my 140 characters to throw down some serious wit (or so I thought) and frequently expressed my adoration or frustration on quite literally everything that came to mind.

I dropped off the platform a year or two before the neo-Nazi bought the company, so I can claim I quit Twitter before it was cool.

That said, the interest was reignited when Meta introduced Threads (and kinda forced Instagram users to join). I tried to get the magic back, but it wasn’t meant to be, so I dropped off for a while. I even tried Bluesky when it launched, and felt much the same way.

I guess I’m just not into that anymore.

Recently, however, I decided to give Threads one more shot, and I spent a couple of days screaming into the void.

And then I made the mistake of expressing my disgust that pop group Twenty One Pilots had a headline slot at Riot Fest.

While I did receive a large amount of support and “likes” (or whatever the “like” equivalent is on Threads), that was just the beginning.

I received death threats, accusations of being mentally handicapped, insults for saying a band isn’t automatically good because they’re popular, and doubts about my ability to reason when I stated art is subjective by nature. I was called an off-brand ZZ-Top (valid), was accused of fronting a Lumineers cover band (invalid), and was told many, many times that I was incoherent and should just “shut [my] big ass mouth.”

Now, I didn’t take any of it seriously, because it’s a very unserious thing.

What I did do was realize that people are willing to waste an unfathomable amount of time throwing shit at other internet users for the slightest offense.

After three days of near-constant virtual bludgeoning, I tapped out. I’d accomplished nothing at all outside of wasting valuable time.

I’d been wanting to make my personal Instagram account private again anyway, in preparation for sharing photos of our baby boy.

I flipped the switch to “Private Account” and breathed a sigh of relief as I sat my phone down and began a new, earnest pursuit of meaningful connection in the real world.

A place where the only cesspools I jump in are ones of my own creation.

-jtf