As someone who is currently in that godforsaken limbo of “waiting for college admissions to end,” I’ve become what you could call... chronically online. And by that I mean I spend an unhealthy, arguably embarrassing amount of time on my phone, mostly doomscrolling through Instagram like it’s my full-time job.
And you know what happens when you scroll too much? You start trusting Instagram reels. And that, my friend, is where the downfall begins.
Like bro. I’ll be minding my business, peacefully rotting in bed, when I see a book edit pop up. The soft lighting, cute couple, a slow, intense stare between them while some nice bollywood plays in the background. A line flashes: (a really cute scene or yk SOMETHING ACTUALLY INTRIGUING) I open the comments. Everyone’s sobbing, saying that's the greatest book ever. ^_^
Me, being the clown I am: open wattpad faster than the speed of light and I look for the book. And what greets me is—mediocrity in its purest, most uncut form. Like someone took every cliché from 2015, shook them together in a Ziploc bag, and slapped on a fancy cover.
Revenge/arranged marriage. Replaced bride. Cold CEO. Mafia heir. Desi prince with mommy issues. Like fr! I could cry at the absurdity!! I’m sorry but where is the plot. Where is the grammar. Where is my dopamine. WHERE IS THE BOOK I WAS PROMISED.
It’s not even the books that piss me off anymore. It’s the pattern. The way content works now. If you can edit a reel with pretty aesthetics and throw in a few girlboss lines/plain smut, the algorithm will hand you a crown and the world will clap. Meanwhile, people writing with actual heart are getting buried under the noise.
I’m tired. I’m annoyed. I still scroll. But I might just throw my phone out the window if I see one more, book thirst trap. like fr! BAS KARO BHAI.
Anyway, this was supposed to be the next rant for yk my rant book, but i already kinda talked about instagram in my last rant so maybe one for the conversation board?
