Wednesday, January 16, 2019 // The Statement 
7B
Wednesday, March 27, 2019 // The Statement 
7B

The freedom of a fake account

M

y most liked picture on Ins-
tagram is from the day I got 
into college. The photo fea-
tures me walking down Hill Street past 
Ross on game day, decked out in Michi-
gan apparel. My head is turned to face the 
camera, offering a subtle closed-mouth 
smile. The caption read a simple, yet clev-
er, “going blue.” The post was fitting for 
the moment — I had dreamed of getting 
into the University of Michigan since I 
was a little girl. This picture perfectly, 
yet at the same time, nonchalantly, tried 
to capture the emotion of my acceptance. 
 
It looked natural. It looked effortless.
It was neither of those things.
I spent the beginning half of my high 
school years dreaming of what I would 
post if I got in. After I spending [COPY: 
“I spent” or just “After spending”] too 
much time thinking about it, I meticu-
lously crafted the cool, calm and collect-
ed caption that would go along with the 
meticulously chosen picture. It was stra-
tegically crafted for an audience — my 
Instagram followers— a random collec-
tion of friends, family and acquaintances 
who have access to my “life in pictures.”
But it wasn’t real.
Instead, my fake Instagram account 

(Finstagram for short) painted the real 
story. Finstagrams are people’s second 
private accounts. They often sport a lim-
ited number of followers, with the pur-
pose of this being to cap posts’ audience 
to the people the user knows and trusts. 
Since the content of these accounts is 
made to display embarrassing moments, 
it was the perfect platform for me to rant 
about the antics of my experience after I 
got into the University. 
It was tradition to wear college apparel 
the day after a senior commits to a school, 
and I wanted to show I was proud of what 
I had achieved. I wore a U-M hat, a U-M 
shirt and U-M socks to school. What I 
didn’t realize — yet in retrospect, prob-
ably should’ve — was that my hometown 
was infested with U-M alumni, always 
eager and ready to shout “Go Blue!” at 
any passerby sporting apparel. Random 
people screaming at me was not an action 
I was mentally prepared for.
In light of this, that day I posted a 
picture on my Finsta. My eyes were hid-
den by my left hand pulling my hat as far 
down on my face. My teeth were pressed 
together, with my lips pulled back to 
illustrate just how uncomfortable I was. 
The intense mood of the situation was 

secured with a black and white 
filter. The post was a cry for help 
out of my inherent awkwardness. 
The caption read:
“so i know saying go blue at 
random people wearing michi-
gan stuff is most definitely a 
thing but it’s happened so many 
times today and i genuinely don’t 
know what to do back. i freeze 
up every time. i forget that i have 
hands and they flail and my voice 
sounds like a broken cat it’s really 
cute”
The picture took one second to 
take. The caption took three to 
write.
Instead of spending hours 
tirelessly trying to construct the 
perfect post, I showed my 50 fol-
lowers who I actually was. In 
general, I don’t consider myself 
to be cool, but in those few days 
I was especially not calm. When 
I was being berated with spirit by 
strangers, I couldn’t even begin 
to consider myself collected. I 
was an awkward, excited mess, 
overwhelmed with good news 
and anxious for what the future 
would bring. My Finsta post 
showed that version of me.
It was genuine. It was real.
Finstagram is a fairly new con-
cept that came to my area when 
I was a freshman in high school. Insta-
gram itself created a platform in which 
people carefully create an identity to 
display to their followers, allowing for 
users to pick and choose what they want 
their peers to see through their posts. It 
was fueled by both pressure and a need to 
stand out. It promotes the chance to try 
to be as physically and aesthetically per-
fect as possible, as followers can’t really 
see how much time is spent on a post.
Instagram identities are not real iden-
tities, and many girls were done with fak-
ing it. So in direct backlash to Instagram’s 
pressure to fabricate, the fake Instagram 
(Finsta for short) [COPY: partway down 
the first page she writes “fake Instagram 
(Finstagram for short) so the repeated 
structure here seems a bit repetitive. 
Maybe just “the Finsta was born” cuz the 
reader already knows what a Finsta is at 
this point] was born.
Primary Instagram accounts allow 
insight into the user’s life for the pur-
pose of intriguing people who don’t 
know them better, while Finsta serves 
[COPY: Finstas serve? I’ve only 
heard people talk about Finstas in terms 
of Finsta accounts, not “Finstagram” as a 
whole] as a form of updating people who 

do. Finsta handles can range from being 
named after an inside joke with friends 
to a funny play-on-words of the user’s 
name. They’re quirky. They’re weird. 
They’re playful. Mine is named after my 
favorite rapper, while some of my friends’ 
usernames consist of weird declarations 
like @iwantsome_mashedpotatoes.
The content on these accounts is con-
stant. While I have been posting less and 
less recently due to a lack of free time, 
my Finsta was a platform for me to vent 
almost every day during my junior and 
senior year of high school. With stress 
induced by school, parents and some-
times even my friends, my account served 
as an outlet where I can let go. While Ins-
tagram showed me enjoying my “perfect” 
junior summer at the beach, looking as 
carefree as possible, my Finsta displayed 
the evident struggle behind the scenes. 
Instead of taking advantage of the weath-
er, I was cooped up in my town’s dull and 
cold library. All that was on my mind was 
finishing assignment after assignment. 
My Finsta followers understood this 
truth, with me writing:
“school hasn’t even started and it 
already fully consumes me. just when i 
thought i could celebrate for finishing 
parts of summer work i remembered 
that lang and italian still are fully dwell-
ing over my head. i swear lang is going to 
swallow me whole”
It was a popular sentiment that my 
surrounding rising seniors were relating 
to as well. That post received comments 
that reassured me I wasn’t alone in the 
process, and in a way, that was enough. 
That’s what the Finsta community is all 
about.
It pains me that we live in an era where 
our social media presence has such a 
large impact on how others perceive us. 
We’re reminded to always look good in 
our posts, but not like we’re trying too 
hard. Make sure the picture is natural, 
and that there’s a good setting to fit the 
mood. Never forget the perfect caption 
to show everyone just how witty we are, 
but not too witty — it makes us look weird 
if the caption seems too thought out. Do 
this, do that. Be this, be that. It’s too lim-
iting.
Instead of limiting myself, I found 
a platform that lacks restrictions and 
unsaid yet strictly followed rules. Maybe 
one day, I’ll let myself [COPY: be/feel?] 
completely free and delete my primary 
account in general, but for now, my Fin-
stagram makes me feel liberated. It sets 
me free from the useless pressure I feel to 
fit the wanted stereotype archetype.
My Finsta inspires my real identity.

BY ANDIE HOROWITZ, STATEMENT COLUMNIST

ILLUSTRATION BY CHRISTINE JEGARL

