This morning started just as usual. I opened my eyes to my phone’s crazy buzzing sound. I know, don’t blame me it’s not the healthiest way to wake up. (But let’s be real, how many of us actually grab a book before grabbing our phones?) My thumb automatically opened Instagram, and before brushing my teeth, I had already scrolled through almost thirty stories and various reels I believe. I remember one was a photo of a coffee with such a caption like “new week, new me.” Cute. But I instantly caught myself thinking: Would anyone care if I posted my coffee, too?
That tiny thought “would anyone care?” sets the tone for so much of my digital day. While using Snapchat, I’m more relaxed, chill and being silly (being me). Quick, messy snaps to my close friends, half-smiles, or inside jokes that would make no sense to others. On TikTok, I’m mostly a observer. I can fall into hours of scrolling, watching transitions, funny memes, or videos that shape the way I speak, joke, and even dress. And then there’s Instagram the stage. That’s where the performance begins. The “best” shot from a night out, carefully lit, filtered, cropped, maybe re-taken ten times to look “effortless.” But the differences between these apps aren’t just about features but they actually shape how I see myself.
Marshall McLuhan once said, “the medium is the message.“And honestly, I feel that every time I shift between apps. Snapchat tells me it’s okay to be chaotic and raw. TikTok trains me with endless new stuff, pushing me into trends before I even know I want them. Instagram whispers, be perfect, be desirable, be brandable. The platforms aren’t neutral tools, they shape me. They don’t just deliver my message, they decide what counts as one in the first place.
Take TikTok’s algorithm. Sometimes, I swear it knows me better than I know myself. I remember last semester of my first year I was stressed about exams, and suddenly my “For You Page” was filled with study hacks and productivity tips. Comforting? Yes. A little creepy? Also yes. But at least it’s not random. Algorithms learn from my taps, pauses, and replays, creating a version of me, (a digital shadow) that might be even more “real” in data terms than the one I see in the mirror. And it’s not only the platforms shaping me, my own reasons for posting are just as complex.
Christie Wilcox, in her writing “To Blog or Not to Blog“, talks about altruism and narcissism as the two main motivations for writing online and I see that split in my own posts as well. Part of me shares because I genuinely want to connect with people, digital age and maybe even help someone feel less alone in their midnight scrolling. That’s the altruistic side. The other part? Totally narcissistic. I want to be seen, remembered, liked. (Let’s admit it, there’s a little dopamine hit while watching the interaction grow.) And isn’t that the reason so many of us keep posting, even when we say we’re tired of social media?
This is where digital identity feels slippery. On Snapchat, my identity is fluid with half-jokes, half-truths. On TikTok, I’m more of a watcher than a performer, soaking up whatever trend is passing through atm. On Instagram, I’m almost a brand, even when I tell myself I’m being “real.” But which of these is me? Are they all me? Or am I just borrowing versions of myself the platforms allow?
By evening, my phone starts to mark screen time. Morning Instagram scroll, afternoon Snapchat streaks, late-night TikTok watching. Each platform isn’t just entertainment; it’s like a mirror showing me different parts of who I am? or who I want to be? And maybe that’s why, at the end of the day, I sometimes feel both connected and strangely empty. I’ve shared, I’ve consumed, I’ve “performed.” But have I been?
Wilcox would probably say this blog post is a mix of altruism and narcissism too. I’m sharing my own digital confusion because maybe it resonates with you (altruism). But I also want to leave my mark, to say “this is my day in the digital” (narcissism). And maybe that’s okay. Maybe blogging, like social media, is always a hybrid of the two.
So here’s the question I’m left with tonight, when I put my phone down: if all these platforms disappeared tomorrow, who would I be? Would I still be able to recognize myself without my stories, reels, or snaps? Or have these apps become more than mirrors and become the architects of my identity?
Sources:
https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/leidenuniv/reader.action?docID=4429628&c=UERG&ppg=18
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