Bless This Mess

The Instagram algorithm loves perfection. But in our pursuit of likes, are we trading in the possibility of having a more spontaneous, wild and vivid life? By Lance Richardson

The japanese art of kintsugi makes a feature of flaws in mended pottery; the author advocates for a kind of kintsugi of everyday life. Photography by Simon Lee/Unsplash.

On Instagram, if I click on the search icon, as I frequently do out of habit, I am served up a smorgasbord of delicious temptations. The algorithm has figured out what kind of picture will attract my finger, and the screen populates with thumbnails designed to seduce me into engagement. Right now, for example — I am holding my phone as I write this — there is a picture of a man so chiselled he may as well be carved out of Carrara marble, his body a work of art worthy of Michelangelo. Next to him is a pile of cinnamon roll pancakes, as precisely formed as the golden spiral. In another box is a living room, designed by Filipe Camargo with an enormous green velvet couch, that would not look out of place in Architectural Digest. There is a photo of Zendaya looking predictably flawless, a fluffy goldendoodle, more abdominal muscles (so many) and a pair of artisanal boots in oxblood Chromexcel leather.

Collectively, this little grid in my hand — an intimate look into the kind of things that preoccupy me — screams “perfection”. This is what Instagram bends towards: the most beautiful body, the ideal house, the ultimate dinner party. The algorithm is trained (by us, by base human desires) to prioritise the elite version of something, which we then gaze at with aspirational longing. For me, to open the app and submit to the quirks of the algorithm is to find myself adrift in snapshots of a world without flaws. And this is extremely intoxicating. Instagram is a drug. I am shamelessly hooked. I want those Carrara marble arms; I want to effortlessly produce those cinnamon roll pancakes at breakfast; I want to lounge on a $10,000 couch with my prize-winning goldendoodle. I cannot stop dreaming of one day attaining the curated splendour I see on my phone.  

Lately, however, I have been trying to ween myself off the drug. Perfection has value. It inspires us to reach higher, to become a better version of ourselves. Knowing there are people out there who look like Adonis encourages me to go to the gym multiple times a week, which is apparently good for my physical health. But fixating on perfection too much is bad for my mental health, because, of course, it creates unrealistic standards, and because it devalues what I already have. Judging by the Instagram scale, nothing I ever do or make will ever be good enough. I will always fall short when placed alongside the grid. 

A few weeks ago, I watched an Insta influencer perform the social media equivalent of seppuku. Looking contrite and oddly pained, as though somebody had just tortured him, he admitted that much of what he presented on his feed was not exactly real. His lifestyle of effortless excellence was not effortless at all, and not even, in fact, his lifestyle. This was not a new story; YouTube is filled with exposé videos about how social media is “staged”, about “the fake luxury lives of influencers”. But I found a great deal of comfort in watching this stranger pull back the curtain on the fantasy and show me the stage ropes. His video felt like the antithesis of perfect. It felt messy.

There is a very good essay by the American writer Katie Roiphe titled “The Allure of Messy Lives”. The essay discusses the behaviour depicted in “Mad Men”, that classic television drama about Madison Avenue advertising executives. “In some larger cultural way,” Roiphe writes, “we have moved in the direction of the gym, of the enriching, wholesome pursuit, of the embrace of responsibility, of the furthering of goals and away from lounging around in the middle of the afternoon with a drink.” We have, in other words, moved away from the hedonistic world of “Mad Men” and towards the ascetic, disciplined universe of CrossFit. Roiphe mourns the dramatic shift. What have we lost? she wonders. “Is there some adventure out there that we are not having, some vividness, some wild pleasure, that we are not experiencing in our responsible, productive days?”

It is a good question. Sculpting, planning and organising every aspect of our lives may make for Instagram-worthy photographs, but it probably leads to creative stagnation. Embracing messiness is to embrace the potential for surprise, spontaneity, serendipity — and fun! (Who hasn’t wanted to lounge around in the middle of the afternoon with a drink?) 

I am trying to let go of perfection, to see the benefits of a messy life. I am trying to make space for that vividness and “wild pleasure”. In other words, I am trying to let go of Mariel and be OK with Muriel.

There is a Japanese art called kintsugi, where broken pottery is mended with lacquer and then dusted with gold or platinum, so the fracture lines show. Indeed, the flaws — the messiness of the breakage — is highlighted by kintsugi. The result is something more beautiful than the original flawless vase or teacup.

What would an Instagram feed of messy lives look like? I imagine opening my phone to find an algorithm that bends towards chaos. Here is a picture of a couch with a red wine stain from a raucous dinner party. Here is a cake that sags in the middle but probably tastes really damn good. Here is a man who goes to the gym but who also eats cheese, who is unafraid of carbs and calories. Here is a dog from a rescue shelter, not purebred and not particularly well trained. Just an ordinary dog.

That version of Instagram will probably never exist in the algorithm search. Humans are instinctively drawn to perfection and beauty like birds are drawn to shiny objects. We will always press on Adonis and Zendaya. But maybe the solution — for me, at least — is to abandon Instagram altogether. Happiness is finding a balance between perfection and messiness, and there is a place where that balance already exists. All I have to do is look up from my phone: here it is. 

This is an extract from an article that appears in print in our twelfth edition, Page 32 of Winning Magazine with the headline: “Bless This Mess”. Subscribe to Winning Magazine today.