Aesthetics Instagram Quotes

Autumn is a poem - while you fall for everything, you remember that there is something worth dying for.

Love blends our souls in the most aesthetic enjoyment

Aren’t these wealthy aesthetes on Instagram merely another iteration of a class elite deciding what is good and what is not good, shaping our reality the way they always have just better disguised by technology which has the optics of transparency and democracy? Are they not the beneficiaries of the old, covert systems, descendants of the children of settlers and the children of Empire, left-leaning spawn from right-leaning families, who can pick and choose objects plucked outside of their cultural context in some sort of static menagerie in order to show how innately open-minded they are even as their wealth has been drawn from global structures that decimate the cultures those objects are from? If only we could all be buffered from exploitatively neoliberal regimes by family money and luxuriously austere domestic settings.

The set had been styled to look like a quaint New York City apartment, some cool girl’s bedroom. I actually thought it looked familiar. Or maybe it was just that everything had started to look the same, an algorithmically optimized aesthetic that lacked any border or definition so you could move through spaces as frictionlessly as you could scroll through Instagram,

I believed that Instagram, the filtered aesthetic it popularized—Instagram face, we called it—was true. It was how people had always wanted to look, would always want to look: high cheekbones, cut jaw lines, frozen brows, fish lips and perfect symmetry. I thought that was an everlasting ideal. When after some years, it shifted—girls, women, people, going filterless, makeupless, foregoing injectables, drugs, social media

Among them was a 2019 presentation by user experience researchers finding that, while causality was hard to establish, Instagram’s aesthetic of casual perfection could trigger negative thinking among some users. The researchers’ best understanding was summarized this way: “We make body image issues worse for one in three teen girls.

What I'm fetishizing is not poverty (contrary to some people's beliefs, I am smarter than that) or even utter freedom––a life without obligations seems lonely and borderline worthless––but rather the obliteration of any sense of expectation: the expectation that my femininity, my body or my work should conform to any set of rules, any aesthetic other than my own. I've often been told you have to play the game to get what you want, give a little of yourself up to get the results you desire. But what if that's all bullshit? What is every time I put a strip of false lashes on and cross my legs on a talk show stage, I am not getting any closer to creating the change I want to see in the world? What is every pair of Spanx, every morning-TV-ready joke, every Instagram shout-out to the person who made my dress only carries me farther away from my goal? And the goal is big: radical self-acceptance for women everywhere, political change so total it shakes the ground, justice and joy for those who have been used and tossed aside. And the goal is small: utter and unbridled selfhood.

Home economics has been a back door for women to enter science; part of a surprisingly large government-backed movement; a guilt trip for women left cold by the household arts; a trapdoor or a springboard for women of color; a sometimes ironic, sometimes nostalgic preoccupation of third-wave feminists; a conservative calling card; an aesthetic obsession for the Instagram set; a feminist battlefield; and the locus for countless anxieties about women’s lives.

Biopolitics is characterized by, 'You should do it!' through excessive exertion of discipline and punishment; psychopolitics is characterized by, 'You could do it!' through the compulsion of psychiatric therapies and excessive positivity; and technopolitics is characterized by, 'You would do it!' through the impulsion of marketing, branding, and selling one’s own digital identity via OnlyFans, Twitch, Instagram, and Twitter because of the allure of infinite digital potential and techno-power to create new virtual realities and live out the life of your dreams albeit synthetic and inauthentic as a means to subjugate the minds and bodies of people to behave certain desirable ways that benefit the techno-states’ algorithmic parameters and intuitively exert coercion and control through techno-discursive and non-discursive formations of knowledge-acquisition and pre-selection of algorithmic feeds that are preordained not to benefit the collective interest of humanity but through the survivability of the company as they demand it so.

aren't these wealthy aesthetes on instagram merely another iteration of a class elite deciding what is good and what is not good, shaping our reality the way they always have just better disguised by technology which has the optics of transparency and democracy? are they not the beneficiaries of the old, covert systems, descendants of the children of settlers and the children of empire, left-leaning spawn from right-leaning families, who can pick and choose objects plucked outside of their cultural context in some sort of static menagerie in order to show how innately open-minded they are even as their wealth has been drawn from global structures that decimate the cultures those objects are from?

my lover stays lanes apart but it feels like continents once he stops replying on whatsapp: he has checked my story on instagram but one of these days, social media will be the death of me. my lover shows up on my door unannounced, two different flavours of doughnuts in his hand, he knows i have been crying. they'd taste better if they weren't so soggy, but i have enough filters on my phone to make them look pretty, my friends would be jealous, favourite desserts from half-closed, overpriced airport shops, a hundred cities away. my lover holds my hand A hasn't called me back he says, their boyfriends do not get them their and kisses my neck, i wish there was a song by the 1975 playing in the background, but instagram music isn't supported in my region. i haven't seen him in eight days, it's funny when i write it down because i was sure it was a millennium, we yearn for skin, touch, smell, but let me quickly take a photograph, make him look like he's not looking, our love can go stale, but my social media needs to keep its aesthetic game strong. two boomerangs, seven filters, and one kissing selfie later, we explode. without words, without music. i feel like it's my first kiss again. this is how it must have felt to be in love a thousand years ago.