How We Stalk Ourselves

I'm going to make a confession here.

Every time I post something to my Instagram account, I jump on to Snapchat and send my friends an extreme close up of my face, double chin and all, with the caption "pic on the 'gram, get on it, pls like and comment," or something of that ilk. It's a bit of an in-joke now, and I do it to be funny. But I find myself pulling down on my feed to see if those friends did actually heed my announcement and liked my photo.

And it doesn't end there. For hours after my post, I refresh over and over to see who has liked, how many likes its getting, and wondering why I'm not getting 1000 likes after posting at 5 PM like all the social media marketing blogs told me to. I've become addicted to seeing the little red square with the heart telling me 10 more people double tapped.

I can't be the only one. With 500 million-odd active users a day, Instagram is a hub of self-stalking behavior. I love the platform, and it's amazing how many people have launched businesses and careers using their following as their backbone. But there is something a bit green eyed in all of us that wants a piece of the pie.

Most of us have had an experience being a stalker or stalkee of someone online, from simply going back to their very posts to being the first to like and view everything (I'm hoping that's the extend of most people's experience). Hell, I remember the days of not having to worry about whether I liked a post that was 60 weeks old or having to think before commenting on something because I know someone from high school whose creepy messages I've been ignoring will be keeping their eyes on my online movements (an exaggeration, maybe).

But the more I've started to care about "engagement" and "peak times", the more I find myself mulling over the comments, the numbers, or whether someone used a "haha" reaction over a heart one. And I get down on myself because, despite however many times I drain my phone battery obsessively checking my account, I'm not getting that recognition from my peers that I've come to seek online.

It's a bit sad, isn't it?

Why have we come to measure success, beauty, intelligence, sense of humour, all of the above, by whether anyone cared just an iota to like something? Prior to the age of the social, I can't recall caring so much whether someone liked the way I looked or thought I was funny. I just dressed the way I wanted (like a wannabe emo) and thought I was funny anyway. I didn't think I would ever be watching my own stories to nitpick my behaviour or constantly check who had been curious enough to view it (or, you know, was just watching 20 stories in a row and mine was there too).

I love that we get to connect with people all over the globe through tiny screens. I love that everyone has a voice of some kind that can make noise when we need to.

But I don't love being addicted to my own image, stalking my own movements to make sure I don't step out of line, or post something that would make me lose friends or followers. I'm trying to overcome my addiction to validation by turning off my notifications and getting my phone as far away from me as possible after I indulge in an Instagram post (the fridge is a great hiding place).

So how about it — do you think you stalk yourself too? What do you do to not freak out over 10 less likes than your last post?

In the meantime, pic on the 'gram guys, like and comment pls, link in my bio xo.