How being less available saved my relationship with social media

Like many who grew up in the 2000s — whose whole personalities and aspirations were informed by movies like 13 Going on 30, The Devil Wears Prada, and How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days — I wanted more than anything to break into fashion. I wanted to be like Jenna Rink and Andie Anderson working at a cool fashion magazine. I wanted to be Andy Sachs, thrust into rooms of designer clothes and important people. But in reality, those dreams felt so far away. I didn’t know anyone in fashion. My mom worked in labs and my dad was a stay-at-home parent and basketball coach — I didn’t have the first clue on how to break into the industry. 

It wasn’t until my college years that I began to see it as a possibility — all thanks to the internet. On the World Wide Web, I was able to search for fashion internships at the convenience of my fingertips. I remember the excitement of getting an internship in New York where I’d be working at an agency that represented all the designer brands I saw in magazines. While interning, I cut out press mentions from magazines that mentioned clients like Gucci fragrances and Vera Wang and steamed clothing worth thousands of dollars for stylists and publications. I distinctly remember delivering a blazer in the pouring rain to Condé Nast for a cover shoot featuring Nicole Richie, thinking I made it. I organized sample closets, convinced I was one of the luckiest girls in the world. My dreams were really becoming a reality — and I had the internet to thank for that.

I felt so fortunate having access to information I could only dream of having — so much so that when I stumbled into a career in social media, I wanted to pay it forward. As my following grew, I felt indebted to those who followed me — I wanted to give them the kind of information that was hard for me to find growing up. I was happy to give them the peek into my life that the bloggers and celebrities I looked up to gave to me. It was also exciting being able to create my own narrative for myself, one that didn’t fall into the stereotypes of Asian women I normally saw in the media — awkward, quiet, nerdy and passive on one hand, or cold, violent and hypersexual on the other. I was able to be who I wanted to be and multi-faceted – stylish, fun, outgoing, smart, relatable – and show younger Asian girls that they could be whatever they wanted, too. To communicate this, I shared snippets of my life – what I was wearing, what I was doing, where I was working, what I was eating, who I was hanging out with, what I was reading, what causes I felt passionate about. And I genuinely had a lot of fun doing it. Ever since I could remember, I loved sharing on social media – from the early days of journaling on Xanga to filling out surveys and curating my Top 8 on Myspace to reposting inspo on Tumblr to being that girl who posted post-party albums on Facebook of 300 (tagged) drunken photos to documenting my every thought on Twitter. Instagram gave me that same kind of thrill, but the difference was, people cared and wanted to know what I was doing. I loved posting outfit pics. I loved revealing which projects I was working on. I loved sharing what restaurants I was dining at. I loved being an open book for anyone who cared to message me in my DMs. 

“I loved being an open book for anyone who cared to message me in my DMs... But after years of doing this, I realized that the more I gave, the more people wanted… the more I shared, the more I thought I needed to share…”

But after years of doing this, I realized that the more I gave, the more people wanted and the more they felt entitled to. I realized that the more I shared, the more I thought I needed to share. I wasn’t just posting my outfits anymore, I was also sharing the links to every single item. I wasn’t only sharing snippets into my life, but also prompting those who followed me to ask me more – more about myself than I was already exposing. Like if I wanted children or how my husband proposed or when I knew I was in love. The thing is, I didn’t mind receiving questions like these – I’ve always been transparent and I had no problem answering them. But when I look back, I realize that what I was sharing were things about myself that only those closest to me knew, but now that tens of thousands of people – strangers – now knew, too. There came a point where I wasn’t only sharing the books or articles I was reading, but also my unfiltered, extensive opinion on each one. While I don’t necessarily regret doing that, I realize how that opened myself up to exhausting, unproductive conversations – not only with strangers behind anonymous accounts but also friends who thought differently, who couldn’t see the context of my thoughts and feelings because of the way I had presented them online. 

I remember a specific instance while I was on a trip with my husband. We took our time getting up and had a nice slow morning at a bakery, ordering warm drinks and delicious pastries. I mindlessly opened up Instagram and saw a message in my inbox. I clicked on it. It was from a woman demanding that I speak up on a certain current event – that she’s seen how I’ve shared about other topics and that I should do the same for this one. I explained to her that I wasn’t too familiar with it - that I was on vacation and would need to look into it first. But she doubled down and urged me to post now. So I sat there, at this outdoor table with my husband in a new city, searching for credible articles and information that I felt confident and comfortable sharing. And I posted. Immediately after, the same woman bombarded me with messages about how those were the wrong ones, that I was doing it wrong. The morning was then spent messaging with a stranger, trying to justify what I was sharing on my own account. Eventually, I hid her from my stories, thinking that it was in both of our best interests if she didn’t have to see something that upset her so much. She then messaged me from another account – trying to catch me in a gotcha! moment, letting me know that she knows I hid her from my story. I tried to explain to her my reasoning behind it, which led to more time disagreeing with a stranger until I finally blocked her on both accounts. 

Unfortunately, this wasn’t an isolated situation – I can recall countless times I spent hours on end debating with strangers on various topics or how I chose to use my social media. And I genuinely thought I had to do this because if people were taking the time to view the things I was sharing, then I should also take the time and have the courtesy to respond to those who engaged with me. The reality was that that pace and impulse wasn’t sustainable. Social media began to exhaust me and I began to resent it, feeling like I needed to be on all the time, responding all the time, divulging my thoughts all the time, sharing what I was doing and wearing all the time.

I'm a believer that if you have the privilege of having a following, you should use it for good. But I also think if you're going to try to do real good, long-term, then you have to find your own way of doing that – even if it's not the way others would agree with.

For better or worse, I’ve found myself working and playing in social media for the past 10 years, whether it’s consulting with clients on strategy or posting to my personal channels. My livelihood, at the moment, quite literally depends on being a woman on the internet. And I knew that if that were to continue, I had to make some changes. I needed to set boundaries, just as anyone might with their own jobs.

In an interview we did with Rachel Nguyen, she said something that really resonated with me. She said: Take away the idea that we have to share anything because now, we're just all trying to share for sharing sake... I can consume but maybe I don't want to contribute, and that's okay… I didn't owe anyone anything digitally.

There was another quote that stuck out to me in a recent book I read called On Connection by Kae Tempest. They wrote: It’s down to self-respect. How can I respect myself enough to give myself the energy I usually reserve for the people I perform for?

While these two quotes are very different, both led me to the realization that I can and should be selective with what I share and what I engage with - not only so I can continue participating in social media in a healthier way, but also so I can simply find more time and space for myself.

I had to ask myself questions and be honest with how I wanted to show up in the space and what I was willing and not willing to do. I had to find different ways that helped limit the time and energy I spent on social media. Here's a non-exhaustive list of what I came up with:

• I decided to post less frequently – no longer abiding by social media “rules” to post daily or in real time (this is also just being safe!!) – and simply posted when I wanted to or felt like it. 

• I was more selective in what I was sharing when I did decide to post, making mental lists of the things I wanted to post about – books, clothes, travels – and the things I didn’t – celebrity gossip, video tutorials, details about family and friends, for example. In the same vein, I became more discerning about where I posted certain content and found other outlets – like Substack – to share more intimate thoughts.

• I removed the pressure to respond to every comment and message, even the kind ones but especially the ones that I knew from previous experience would likely result in unproductive exchanges. 

• I limited who would be able to interact with me via DMs, allowing only those I follow to have the ability to reply to my stories, knowing that the amount of emails, texts, comments and messages that come through each a day are hard to manage as is.

• I became friendly with the block button, not only blocking the few who may leave disrespectful comments or messages, but also the types of accounts that I simply do not want to see (the accounts of a certain famous celebrity family or ones dedicated to plastic surgery, for example).

• I even created a “finsta” to limit my mindless scrolling. On this private account, I only follow accounts whose content I really wanted to see on a frequent basis — those who inspire me creatively, my closest friends, etc. and only allow myself to scroll on that account, which has greatly reduced the amount of content I was taking in.

While a part of me misses the carefree days of unfettered social media use – filling out those 32 question Myspace and Tumblr surveys, posting 189 photos of me and my friends dressed up for a ridiculous theme at some frat party, tweeting any sassy thought that came into mind – I know that the social media of today is different. That it’s changed in the past 10 years. And that I’ve changed in the past 10 years. If I want to continue participating in it for another 10 years, I need to be open and honest with myself about what I want that to look like.

Suggested Reading:

• 21 questions to ask about your life on the internet

• How to be human

• How personal is too personal? Don't ask the internet

• Investing in yourself – not a platform

• What they don’t tell you about being an influencer