Instagram Cold Turkey

Join me as I attempt the impossible: living Instagram free

Day 1

Today was the day for the delete. With weeks in front of me working on commissions that I’m not allowed to show anyone now was the time kill off Instagram. No more process videos, no agonising over caption writing, no spending hours trawling my camera roll trying to form a coherent narrative in my stories to liven up the commute of a follower I’ll never meet.

If you make a living from a creating it can be very difficult to justify the removal of the Instagram app from your phone. It’s business right? The keystone of a digital promotional strategy. You’ll tell yourself all sorts of reasons why you can’t get rid: “I couldn’t possibly delete it now, I’ve got that new collab to show off soon” or “what if someone tags my work in their stories and I miss the chance to repost it?” That’s not the strategist’s mind talking its the addict’s. I’ve already put off this particular hiatus I’ve been craving for weeks with this kind of thinking. In that time all I’ve done with that app is sink hours of my life into it with nothing to show but an accelerated sense of insecurity and a heightened status anxiety.

Time to die little app. It will be execution by index finger. A brief hold on the warm glass and all the apps on the screen start to shake with fear, vulnerable now with their little ‘x’s on display. A digital death could be coming for any of them. But this is a surgical strike, not an app massacre. Most of them are a benign presence on my phone anyway, used only when they’re needed: to book a train, check if I need to wear a raincoat today or to show a ticket for an exhibition. There’s no need to go killing those guys, they don’t do anything outside of their remit, they’ve never made me feel like shit. I pause and then tap ‘x’ of the instagram app, not just “delete app from home screen” but “delete app from phone”. Gone.

In the minutes after the delete there’s a brief rush of freedom, a sense of personal power and for a moment I feel in control, on top of my self care. I look up from my phone and at the world around me with a new edge. Reality, breathe it in.

Buoyed by this victory I begin to get down to some actual work. Two hours pass and a good session is in the bank. Now for a nice sit down with a juicy scrolling reward. The thumb hovers over the blank space where that little camera icon once was - no reward - a sadness comes over me, like a child thats been denied its favourite toy.

Don’t worry, the addict’s mind has a way around this imposition. I open Chrome, tap the plus icon to create a new tab, tap ‘i’ and Google autofills out ‘www.instragram.com’ - it knows me so well. Ah there it is! The little red numbers of new likes, comments and followers for me to feel a sense of digital existence again.

But on the browser theres none of the slick interface, It’s clunky. When I voyeuristically tap on a new follower’s profile and it takes a couple of tries and I accidentally like one of their posts - the horror. Replying to a comment is like formatting a Word document, Reels don’t play properly and your messages are all over the shop. It’s not as fun, but thats the point. This is your Methadone. Welcome to Instagram cold turkey.

Day 10

Ten days in and the shakes have finally started to wear off. But seriously, that’s how long it takes for the unconscious trigger reflex of getting your phone out of your pocket and opening up the app takes stop. Each time that little moment of sadness that arrives when you see blank space gets smaller and smaller until its gone.

But actually, rather than sadness, its more a sense of absence that is felt. Nothing rather than the world of endless things is what you’re met with and what you need to deal with. The banality of the physical world around you isn’t easy to face so you turn back to the phone screen in search of something else to fill the void.

During these periods of withdrawal I usually end up replacing my Instagram habit with a Twitter habit. This isn’t good for me either, but crucially it has no connection with my work. I’m not in the ring on Twitter, just a lurker who never contributes or engages. So there’s nothing to compare myself and my content against, which means no status anxiety or envy. Without those twin engines of insecurity it can’t get under my skin in the same way as Instagram can. Of course it inflicts its own kind of mental damage, anger and resentment are what drive that platform, but without my involvement those emotions have nowhere to drop anchor and stick around.

Even with the trigger reflex gone I still need a hit of Methadrone every couple of days to stay level. Frustratingly a lot of people think an Instagram message is the best way to get hold of me, so if I ignore them entirely for weeks I will miss important things. Inquiries about commissions and customer service queries mingle amongst the spam from questionable accounts claiming they can deliver “incredible social growth” and other fake profiles straight up offering sex. Don’t find yourself amongst this lot, if you’ve got something serious to ask please just send me an email (hello@archieproudfoot.com).

While I’m checking my messages I inevitably indulge in a bit of scrolling and quickly remember why I’m off the junk. The algorithm has churned the milk of thousands of posts since I last looked and the cream that has risen to the top is usually the most triggering: an artist of a similar stature to me has landed some big brand partnership, or a close friend is on a dreamy holiday in the sun while I’m stuck here in the grey London winter. Envy begins to bubble up.

In the clarity of my sobriety I can see these emotions arriving and their malevolent impact much more clearly. And because of that awareness they don’t seep into my sense of self as easily. I’m quick to dismiss the envy and instead manoeuvre myself into feeling happiness for my champions of the algorithm.

By comparison when you’re in the depths of an addiction, opening up that app every ten minutes, this awareness is almost impossible. If you can’t acknowledge the envy it becomes another piece of evidence in a fantasy investigation into your imagined personal and professional failures. The more you scroll the more evidence you gather until the case is water tight: you’re a fraud, you’re going nowhere and no one likes you.

Day 21

So I fell off the wagon, the app is back on my phone. Like most addicts I knew this would ultimately happen. I’m not really ready to live without it entirely, and I did have that nice collab to show off eventually, remember? It is business after all.

But if your business is personal expression this is where it starts to become complicated. The child that was denied his favourite toy still needs to play. And that is what I begin to really miss after a few weeks away. With no public facing outlet I start to feel blocked.

Toy’s shouldn’t make a child feel like shit though and that’s the crux of the problem with Instagram. Just being a conduit to show off you and the world around you wouldn’t be enough to make it endure and spread the way it has. For reasons well beyond my understanding of psychology the emotional masochism it promotes is essential to its success and its addictiveness.

I’ve come to see the relationship between me and that app a little like a musician and record label in the 70’s or 80’s. It’s plucked me from nowhere, given me an exciting career and a platform to churn out hits for a global audience, but its also abusive and creatively controlling. When the latest album doesn’t hit the sales target it pushes me to get my ass out in my next video. I want to leave to explore new sounds but I can’t, it forced me to sign me to some horrific seven album contract when I was young and desperate for a shot at fame. It needs me and I need it.

What’s disturbing about this analogy is not the image of me getting me ass out, its that the digital revolution was supposed to have killed off these abusive power dynamics between artists and gatekeepers. When these platforms first arrived they were heralded as liberating democratisers, they felt exciting to be a part of. But over time they’ve turned into something very different: conservative, homogenising and repetitive.

The big difference between then and now though is that I’m not actually trapped by an abusive profit hungry music executive. If I never posted another reel, carousel or story Instagram wouldn’t take me to court and sue me. Their power over my creative output and my sense of self worth is as strong as I imagine it to be. And its stronger still when I have no other outlets for bringing my work to an audience. So that’s why I’m here, writing this Substack, exploring new sounds instead of sinking more of my best songs into a label that doesn’t care about me.

Tips for your own Instagram Cold Turkey:

1. Don’t announce it just do it. Just in case you pull a Selena Gomez and are back on it within 24 hours. Remember, you can’t trust the addict’s mind. Quietly quit. You’ll be missed less than you think, sorry.

2. Clear the decks before you leave. Answer any messages or comments and get whatever it is you really feel has to be posted now done before the delete.

3. Give yourself ten days off to start with. If you get to ten OK do two weeks, if you two weeks then try three, if you manage a month you might start to consider leaving forever (you won’t, but well done you for even thinking it). The more time you’re off the more time there is for those algorithmic toxins to leave the body.

4. Methadone (the browser check) is your friend not failure. It helps release the fear of missing out gasket that will push you to re-download sooner than you should. Its good to occasionally remind yourself that you’re really not missing out on much.

5. Line up a replacement app to soothe the need to scroll something. Don’t expect yourself to go straight from hours of reels a day to just happily staring out of the window like a contented old dog. Your brain will need something to fill the gap. Maybe get obsessed with bargain hunting on Vinted or Ebay. Just don’t go thinking Tik-Tok is the answer.

6. As ever compassion for yourself is key. That app is built to hook you in and keep you there for as many hours of the day as it can suck from you. Any amount you can claim back is a victory, so celebrate it.