The Waves of The Sea Help Me Get Back to Me
Posting single images on Instagram as an act of rebellion and making unexpected friends
Okay, I was wrong, summer isn’t gone yet, and I’m so happy to be wrong. Even though it was pouring down rain last week things took a turn for the best and I was greeted with sun and warmth again. This time of year in Barcelona is mercurial, and the best way I can describe it is feeling like somewhere between Los Angeles and San Francisco, though not as sunny as LA, nor as cold as SF. Accordingly, I took the train down to Sitges on Sunday (the Palm Springs of the Mediterranean) and was able to enjoy a meal of mussels, croquetas and an immense paella con calamarcitos at La Zorra, and the spent the afternoon napping and reading on the beach.
I posted some of the photos I took on my new Instagram (wild it hasn’t even been a month!) and nothing gets over ten likes, which is fine, it’s not the reason I post. I stopped using Instagram about 7 or 8 years ago, disappointed by all the algorithm changes, having a total lack of desire to play the “content” game, and abandoning an account with something like 40k followers. The reason I rejoined and started again was to more frequently see what my friends are up to, reestablishing a lifeline of sorts into the lives of people I care about, as well as keeping up with artists and creatives who’s work I love. I’ve been happy that I can post frequently, using my knack for noticing and my skills at editing to really highlight how I see the world.
It made me think of ’s most recent piece for The New Yorker titled The Desperation of the Instagram Photo Dump, where he writes about the trends and data behind photo dumps, and the unwritten rules that make so popular. He writes:
Humiliating though it may be, I’ve lately been posting individual photos to my Instagram account, as if it were 2013 again: images of a breakfast or a dinner, snapshots of my shoes when I’m out on a run. I’ve started time-stamping them in the captions, because the app has become vexingly anti-chronological: though I post the photos in real time, those who follow me might not see them until days or weeks later. These minimalist dispatches are such outliers amid the dumps that my friends seem appreciative; contrary to the statistical evidence, my lone pics have been attracting more likes than usual. Maybe it will become a new trend—single-posting. You, too, can get off the carrousel.
It was nice reading this because this has been my approach, save for my first post, where I dumped (sorry). I’m post-Internet popular, post looking for brand deals, post needing fulfillment from strangers. I really just want my friends to see the cool photos I take, or the cool outfit I was wearing, or how cute Scooter my dog is. It’s tragic that Instagram devolved into an ad platform. There was a random comment from Hacker News that sums it up perfectly, stating that ““Content” is an advertising term for whatever fills the space between all the ads.” Oof.
My plan is to keep posting my little photos and hoping my friends see them and I get to see what’s going on in my friends lives. For example, my friend’s beautiful photos of their trip to Mongolia or another friend who posted a Covid test and I mistakenly thought they were announcing a pregnancy. It’s nice seeing all the inane and wonderful moments of my friends lives, especially when I can’t be near them. I write this in part to inspire people to post more, perhaps we can drown out the ads with our beautiful lives?
I was stuffing my face with banchan and fried prawns smothered in kimchi mayo when a man sat at the table next to me politely asked, “Hi, sorry, are you guys talking about Drag Race?” We were, Kyle and our friend Lauren, talking about Drag Race, describing how the last season of All Stars was formulaic and overly-produced yet still enjoyable thanks to a smartly chosen line-up of queens. “We were literally just talking about Drag Race too,” he continued. This was Alec, who was tall and blonde with smooth skin and well-defined features and a big smile, and sitting across from him was Mitch, who had dark brown hair and long eyelashes and a slender frame. We were all sitting in the back of Mikan, my favorite restaurant in Barcelona, which is an intimate room with a low ceiling and a warm atmosphere, tables tucked closely together.
Our conversation flowed naturally, drifting from Drag Race to where they were from, the international equivalent of Los Angeles’ “What do you do for work?” They had recently moved from Seattle to Copenhagen thanks to a fortuitous work situation, a familiar story to my own, and they were excited to explore Barcelona for the weekend. They seemed kind and genuine and it was nice to find a couple of people with mutual interests. A plate of Iberian pork loin katsu was dropped on our table and our attention turned back to the meal and the sparkling wine. After that we ordered dessert, the matcha cheesecake paired with black sesame ice cream are incredible, and I started thinking about where we could go next.
Barcelona has some amazing bars. Two of the The World's 50 Best Bars are here, Sips being the best in the world, and Paradiso coming in at number four. We have old classics like Dry Martini, queer bars like Candy Darling, or even playful bars like Two Schmucks, who serve a cocktail that tastes like pineapple pizza (which is delicious). As I was mulling over our next stop I thought about my goal to do things differently in my forty second year of life, go outside my comfort zone.
I leaned toward Alec and Mitch’s table and asked, “Do you guys want to grab a drink with us? We’re headed to a bar a few blocks from here, it’s a chill spot.” Their eyes lit up excited by the prospect and quickly agreed, having nothing else planned. I decided we should go to Oblicuo, a hi-fi bar in Gracia that’s inspired by Tokyo listening bars, a place Kyle and I have enjoyed going back to frequently. The crowd is younger, there are different DJs every night, and the mood is laid back. I know asking kind strangers to have a drink isn’t the craziest thing to do but I honestly can’t remember the last time I did something like that. It felt adventurous, and in the spirit of trying to meet more people, be less insular in our little world, it was a nice change of pace.
We chatted about the peculiarities of Danish and Catalan culture, shared tips on traveling, and laughed about which drag queens we loved and hated. We drank, perhaps one too many, Sex in Mazuntes, the tequila, mezcal, grapefruit-lime cordial, and grapefruit soda cocktails that went down too easy. It felt a lot like talking to a younger version of Kyle and myself, a couple who was excited to experience all the world has to offer. If I had to guess I would say the two of them were in their mid-twenties, and though they’d lived many places in the States, moving to Europe was a big step, a step they were far ahead of us on. At the end of the night, we helped them grab a taxi, exchanged hugs and WhatsApps, and said goodbye, with Kyle and I agreeing that we need to keep being more ambition and bold in our friend making, and that nights like this prove that there’s nothing to lose.