Yann was brushing the snow off our car when a passerby stopped to wish him good luck with backing the car out of its spot. When Yann responded, “I’m not worried,” the man caught Yann’s Quebecois accent, and changed his mind, “You’ll be fine! You’ll be just fine!”
I was not there for the interaction, so this is based on a true story. I’m blogging for two now! I’ve suggested that Yann start a blog, but he insisted that people should not make their presence felt on the internet if they have nothing unique to add. However, I have successfully convinced a friend–who I first got to know through the early 2000s blogging platform, LiveJournal–to resurrect her blog.
Zoée has made her thoughts and feelings public again: visit her on babyfang.ca. I think she meets Yann’s criteria for having a blog, as she’s had a memoir-worthy life thus far. Zoée was one of the three roommates I’ve had who I first met through their blog, which gives you an idea of how social blogging platforms used to be! Now, it doesn’t provide the instant gratification most social media users are chasing.
Based on the average view count of my least popular posts, I have about forty regular readers, most of whom do it in secret (Why? You think I’m going to laugh at you for reading my blog?). My Instagram is far more popular, and I do considerably more interacting there. When someone likes a post of mine on Instagram, it means they paid 0.5 seconds of attention to me. In-between my witty caption-laden posts and Zoée’s pictures of her rooftop lake, Instagram suggests stuff for you to buy.
Instagram is convinced that I need a new mattress. It doesn’t matter that our Ikea mattress is not even a year old: I must replace it with an Endy.
Advertising is a necessity for these platforms to exist, but I was getting sick of endless mattress ads. So, I blocked Endy.
Instagram: “Ok, no more Endy mattresses for you. But, how about a Douglas?”
I blocked this other peddler of sleep time pads, Douglas, too.
Instagram: “We won’t show you ads for Endy or Douglas again, but here’s an ad for a retailer that sells both Endy and Douglas.”
Fuck. I smashed that block button.
Then… Oh, you think I’m exaggerating, don’t you?
On December 30th:
Fortunately, I don’t have a family who crowds my bed first thing in the morning to pressure me into opening a card they got for me.
Those fuckers at Endy and Douglas found a loophole! What the devil, Vern Magazine, people are barely interested in my blog, why would they want to read an article on mattresses?
Wow, the market for mattresses is robust. Everybody sleeps, I guess?
I do appreciate a good mattress: I am sitting on my HAUGSVÄR mattress as I write this. Again, Instagram, I already have a mattress.
Juno got blocked too. Whatever. I didn’t like the movie either.
It looks like I had forgotten to block Brunswick Beds! Kudos to Instagram for managing to hold back on the mattress adverts for one day.
Here’s a tip from someone with a critical eye: dressing the entire family in white gives your ads an artificial feel. All-white bedding is too hotel-y for my taste.
January 3rd. Again.:
I don’t know if I’m abnormal or what, but I do not have a favourite box: I love all my boxes equally. It appears that Instagram felt remorse for not having shown me a mattress ad on January 2nd and doubled up for January 3rd.
January 4th-now: nothing.
I did it! I managed to block all mattress-related ads on Instagram! All these mattresses probably come from the same factory anyway!
It did seem like there was an uptick in sponsored posts during Boxing Week. My feed has returned to mostly photos of people I know in Vancouver and Victoria losing their shit over the snow. Each of them has captured a fraction of my attention. For the posts that made my eyes linger for 0.5 seconds longer, I have awarded a heart emoji.
2009 was when I first deactivated my Facebook account. I had broken up with someone who, I had found out via Facebook, was cheating on me. I figured this out when I read a post somebody had left on his wall that said something like, “It was great seeing you and meeting your new lady last night,” when I had spent the previous night at home alone. Seconds later, the comment vanished, making it obvious what was going on.
Even though those who we knew mutually probably didn’t realize there was drama brewing, I felt shameful for having allowed a social media site to toy with my emotions.
When I reactivated Facebook in 2016, I found that people were no longer making personal posts, and were instead bombarding each other’s feeds with memes. Only the most softhearted had the gall to share an earnest comic about mental health struggles, suggesting that they were hurting inside. Or something.
Mostly, it was variations of Nusret Gökçe sprinkling.
I was salty: the content my friends had curated on Facebook wasn’t good enough for me to forgive the barrage of ads, so I re-deactivated my Facebook account.
In 2009, it was uncommon to meet someone who was not on Facebook. Now, I’m no longer a radical for not being among the 2.45 billion who have a Facebook account.
Instagram, with its obsessive drive to get me to buy a mattress online, is owned by Facebook. It reminds me of this fact every time I open Instagram, which is far too many times in one day. You can see evidence of this in the above screenshots: 8:59pm, 8:42am, 10:58am, 8:41am, and 8:43am.
I will be deactivating my Instagram soon, meaning that this blog will be your only source for Laura-related content. This may not be permanent, but it’s the first step towards using the internet in more meaningful ways, such as reading this article on an overdressed Kate Middleton making milkshakes.
I know this article is going to get far more hits than any of my posts ever have, which, if I’m honest, hurts. I’m no more special than those red polo shirt and cap-wearing plebs standing behind the Duchess of Cambridge.
Can anybody recommend blogs for me to follow? Nothing mattress-related, please.