It’s taken me a while to put m finger on exactly why I’m not a huge fan of Instagram. Sure I like the pictures the app produces. Sure it’s a neat gimmick. And sure, its “vintage” motif definitely fits the hipstery trend of doing everything just like we did in the 80s – everything – and while that trend seems to be growing more ham-fisted by the minute, I’m still ok with it. Trends are trends and at first they are subtle and by the end they just become caricatures of themselves. That’s all fine with me really.
What I’ve realized I don’t like about Instagram is how it fast-forwards memories clear into nostalgia the instant they are taken. I don’t want pictures of my son to look like they were taken 25 years ago, because the way time seems to be flying right now, it feels like they were anyway.
As far as I can remember, this picture is indeed 25 years old:
…even if the calendar says it’s really only been a year and a half. I could blur the edges, wash out the color and instagram it to my nostalgic heart’s content, but that only speeds up this already rapid process.
Yesterday I was struggling to get him to take milk from a bottle – that last critical measure that would help bring him home from the hospital – and today when he’s tired he runs to the fridge and tries to make one on his own. Yesterday he was utterly dependent on us parents for every last thing, and today he is master of INDEPENDENCE, throwing a tantrum if I so much as suggest doing something differently than he’s planned.
I don’t want this picture to look old the moment I take it:
It already does.by