Authenticity
- self-deception
- digital overload
- need to be seen
- perfectionism
Katya deleted Instagram on Tuesday, at 11:47 PM.
Before that, she wrote a post. Wrote it for a long time - first draft, second draft, third. She needed to find the right words. Honest, but not pathetic. Bold, but not arrogant. Vulnerable, but not weak.
It came out like this:
“I’m leaving. I don’t know for how long - maybe forever. These past months I feel like I’m suffocating. Every morning I wake up and the first thing I do is reach for my phone. Check the likes. Compare myself. Photograph my breakfast instead of eating it. I no longer remember who I really am. I only remember who I’m supposed to look like.
I want to try living. Just living. Without filters, without frames, without your eyes on me.
Thank you to everyone who was there. I love you. But I need to find myself.”
She reread the text fourteen times. Changed “suffocating” to “losing myself,” then changed it back. Added a heart emoji, removed it. Added it again.
Posted.
Went to bed. Didn’t sleep. At one in the morning she couldn’t resist and checked.
312 likes.
At two - 486.
Comments: “Katya, you’re incredible. This is so brave.” “You’re inspiring! I’ve been thinking about this for a long time myself.” “Take care of yourself. We’ll be waiting.” “Queen. A real queen.”
Katya read and cried. From relief. From gratitude. From something else she couldn’t name, but that felt like an orgasm.
By morning the post had 847 likes and 64 comments. It was her best result in a year.
She deleted the app.
The first day without Instagram was strange.
Katya woke up and reached for her phone. Her fingers automatically found where the icon had been. Emptiness. She tapped on the emptiness three times before she remembered.
She had oatmeal for breakfast. Ordinary, not photogenic - poured boiling water and ate it straight from the pot. Didn’t sit by the window where the light was good. Didn’t place a book and glasses nearby. Just ate and stared at the wall.
It was strange. As if the breakfast didn’t count.
She went outside. November, grayness, puddles. Saw a beautiful maple and out of habit reached for her phone. Stopped. Just looked at the maple. It was wet, peeling, and somehow honest because of it.
Katya stood and looked at the tree for a full minute. She felt awkward. People were passing by, and she didn’t know what to do with her hands.
In the evening she didn’t know what to do. Before, she’d scroll through her feed. Now the feed was unavailable. She opened YouTube, but it was boring. Opened a book, but couldn’t concentrate.
Went to bed at ten. The bed was quiet and empty. Thoughts darted around like flies in a jar.
She thought about how nobody knew how she’d spent this day.
On the third day it got easier.
Katya woke up and didn’t reach for her phone. Just lay there, looking at the ceiling. A crack ran from the corner to the chandelier, and Katya had never noticed it before. Wonder how long it had been there?
Had breakfast from the pot again. Rice porridge this time. No photo. No witnesses.
The porridge was so-so. Overcooked a bit. But Katya ate it and washed it down with coffee. The coffee wasn’t perfect either - over-roasted, from a cheap pack.
But all of it was real. Her real morning, not a production.
In the evening she sat by the window and watched it get dark. Didn’t photograph the sunset. Just watched.
And she felt good.
For the first time in a long time - just good, without likes, without confirmation. She existed and that was enough.
On the fourth day she started a Telegram channel.
It happened on its own. She was sitting in the bathroom, looking at her face without makeup, with a pimple on her chin, with bags under her eyes - and suddenly wanted to share.
Not to show off. To share.
Those are different things, right?
She wanted to tell people what it’s like - living without Instagram. How strange and scary at first, and then how quiet and good.
She called the channel “No Filters.”
She wrote the first post in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet:
“Day four without Instagram. I’m alive. Didn’t put on makeup this morning. Sitting at home in my underwear and a stretched-out t-shirt. There’s a mountain of dishes in the kitchen. I’m not going to photograph them. Just saying: they’re there. I’m not perfect. I’m not even ‘beautifully-imperfect.’ I’m just ordinary. And I’m okay with that.”
Subscribers: zero.
By evening there were seventeen. These were friends she’d sent the link to.
“Katya, this is so cool!” wrote Lena. “Finally someone honest,” wrote Masha.
Katya smiled. She felt good.
After a week there were 300 subscribers.
Someone reposted. Then someone else. Then a small mindfulness community wrote about her.
Katya posted every day.
Photo of unwashed dishes: “This is what my sink looks like. I won’t lie that it’s ‘creative mess.’ It’s just laziness.”
Photo of herself without makeup: “This is my face at 7 AM. Yes, bags. Yes, pimples. I’m human.”
Photo of the fridge: “Ketchup, three eggs, a shriveled cucumber. There’s my whole ‘healthy diet.’”
People liked it.
“Finally a real person!” “You’re so authentic, Katya” “I look at you and exhale” “Why can’t everyone on Insta be like this?”
Katya read comments before bed. She felt warm.
After a month there were 1,200 subscribers.
Katya noticed that now she wakes up and the first thing she does is check Telegram.
She noticed that unwashed dishes need to be photographed in a certain light. Not just any light. If you shoot in a dark corner - just dirty and unpleasant. If by the window, with side lighting - dirty, but artistic. Dirty with character. Authentically-dirty.
She started moving the dishes away from the edge of the sink so the texture of the countertop would be in the frame. The wooden countertop added warmth.
She started buying certain food. Not photogenic - the opposite, anti-photogenic. A pack of instant noodles against a cutting board - that’s a statement. That’s boldness. That’s counterculture.
Wilted flowers looked better than fresh ones.
Scattered things needed to be scattered correctly - so it looked random, but still readable.
Katya learned to do “no-makeup makeup.” The skin tone needed to be evened out, but invisibly. Concealer - just a bit, only under the eyes, and blend until invisible. Mascara - one coat, brown, not black. Black is too noticeable.
It was a whole science - looking like you’re not trying.
One day Katya cried.
It happened in the evening, after a call with her mother. Mom said something hurtful - as always, in passing, not meaning harm, but painful. About her age. About “when will you get a real job already.” About “but Sveta’s daughter…”
Katya sat in the kitchen and cried.
And at some point she took out her phone.
The tears were beautiful. Eyes glistening, nose reddened, but not ugly - touching.
She photographed herself.
Posted with the caption: “Sometimes it hits. I don’t pretend everything’s fine. This is what it looks like.”
The post got 400 likes - a channel record.
“Katya, hugging you” “Thank you for showing the real” “You’re strong” “Crying with you”
Katya reread the comments for three hours.
The next morning she woke up with a swollen face. The mirror showed her a woman with puffy eyes, red blotches on her cheeks, dried saliva in the corner of her mouth.
This was genuinely ugly. Not artistic, not touching, not authentic. Just - ugly.
Katya didn’t photograph this.
After three months she got an advertiser.
Organic cosmetics. A small brand, “for insiders.”
A girl from the brand messaged her:
“Katya, hi! We’ve been following your channel for a while. You’re amazing. So real, so alive. That’s rare. We make cosmetics for those who don’t hide behind filters. Minimal ingredients, no chemicals, no lies. We think we share the same values. Can we discuss a collaboration?”
Katya agreed.
They sent her a set: cream, toner, serum. All in craft jars with handwritten labels.
The terms were simple: one post with a mention. Honest. “We’re not asking you to lie. Just tell us how you like it. With all the pros and cons.”
Katya tried the cream. The cream was fine. Not magical, not terrible - fine.
She wrote a post:
“I was sent some cosmetics. I didn’t want to advertise anything on this channel - you know I’m here for honesty. But these people are also about honesty. The cream is fine. I won’t say it changed my life - I don’t believe in such claims. But it smells nice, absorbs quickly, doesn’t dry out the face. If you’re looking for something simple and straightforward - might work.”
The post got 600 likes.
The brand was thrilled. They wrote that sales went up 40% in one day.
Katya received 20,000.
She sat in the kitchen and looked at the screen. Twenty thousand for one post. For “honesty.”
She felt uneasy, but couldn’t understand why.
After a year there were 100,000 subscribers.
Katya no longer worked in an office. She was a “blogger.” She used to laugh at that word when she started.
Now she earned more from advertising than at her old job.
All of it - selling honesty.
Brands messaged her every week. Everyone wanted “a real girl.” Katya became selective. Didn’t take everyone. Only those who “share the same values.”
She still posted unwashed dishes. Still photographed herself without makeup. Still wrote about exhaustion, loneliness, anxiety.
Subscribers still wrote: “You’re so authentic.”
And Katya still believed it was true.