by Cecilia Butler

As the sun set over Kansas City on one of the last warm Friday nights of the year, I drove through Leawood accompanied with two of my friends. We were blasting Mix 93.3, screaming along to the overplayed pop songs, trying to keep a steady 30 mph speed limit because everybody knows those Kansas cops are just lurking around the corner. Then, I looked up at the sky.

I slammed on my brakes. “Oh my God, that’s so Instagram worthy.”

I took a sharp left turn into a church parking lot and quickly jumped out of the car, fearing the dramatic sky would vanish within seconds and I wouldn’t be able to capture the image on my iPhone.

This picture was my first ever Instagram. This picture got 15 likes, most of which were from people I had begged to like it. And, this picture was my first step into the hateful world of Instagram. A cold place where people judge your every photo, and to stay alive, you must reach those eleven likes, so that the it no longer lists the likers names, but instead reads “11 likes” and so on.

Maybe I’m being dramatic. Okay fine, I’m being very dramatic. But that first Instagram picture, along with two other photos, are the only three out of twenty-five photos I have posted that have not received at least one hate comment.

Trust me, I’ve tried to make the pictures as “Instagram-worthy” as possible, but somehow fail miserably every time. I army-crawled in the thick grass outside the Nelson Adkins Museum, only to get a sarcastic “SO ARTSY” comment. I have laid on the sidewalk in my homecoming dress, only to get a “God damnit Cecilia.” I have traveled to the top of a skyscraper to capture the Kansas City skyline, and in return got a “This sucks!”

Then it got worse. It was a picture of Meyer circle fountain. An American flag was blowing in the background, with a yellow school bus. The sun had somehow made half the picture in black and white and half in color. It was really beautiful. So obviously, I Instagramed it. In two hours, I found four hate comments and around eight likes. I deleted the picture.

Later that night, I went to refresh my feed. I kept strolling to find my deleted picture of Meyer circle fountain had gotten 24 likes. ‘How is this possible?’, you may ask. Well you see, the inventors of the iPhone created a simple motion of holding down both the home and power button at the same time: resulting in a screen shot. As you can guess, some lovely person took a screenshot of my failed Instagram and re-Instagramed it.

Maybe Instagram hates me because I don’t have a cat. Or maybe its because I don’t regularly go to Starbucks and have a photoshoot with my espresso. Whatever the reason, I’ve come to the conclusion that the world of Instagram is full of fierce, painful discrimination, but I am determined to keep my human dignity and keep on posting.

But anyway, follow me at “@immabut_la” 😉