I’ll tell you what sparked this article.
I was on Snapchat this morning. Not using Snapchat — just existing on it.
I don’t maintain streaks. I don’t chat. I don’t really use the app the way it was intended to be used. I mostly open it to click pictures and leave. And honestly, I think that’s the case with most people of my generation now.
Snapchat has lost its kick.
Back in the day — meaning before I even owned a phone — Snapchat was the app. The app. The game everyone played.
Snapchat: When Social Media Was Literally a Game
Are you old enough to remember Snapchat awards?
Because I am.
Starting streaks. Reaching ten days. Adding friends. Unlocking tiny achievements that made absolutely no difference in real life but somehow felt monumental. Snapchat didn’t feel like social media — it felt like progression.
You weren’t scrolling.
You were playing.
And more importantly, Snapchat was original.
This was before Instagram Stories existed. Before Facebook copied them. Before WhatsApp followed suit. Snapchat introduced disappearing messages and stories when originality still mattered online.
They even gave us Bitmoji — long before Meta avatars tried recreating the same idea.
Which brings me to what triggered this entire existential crisis.
I opened Snapchat to change Bitmoji Shreyalogy’s outfit. Not because I wanted anything new. Just curiosity.
And now they charge real money to change clothes on an animated version of me.
Snapchat, what happened to you?
Instagram: When It Was Just Photos
When Instagram was normal, I technically had a phone — but I was a Wattpad girl, not a social media girl.
Apparently, Instagram originally existed for one radical purpose:
Posting photos.
No essays. No reels competing for attention. No algorithm deciding your worth. Just pictures and occasional videos.
When I first joined, we could still see what our mutuals liked, followed, or commented on. Oddly enough, that visibility kept people accountable. There was a quiet social awareness.
Now, in the name of privacy, we’ve collectively become feral.
And somewhere along the way, Meta took over and turned Instagram into what feels like a digital fast-food chain.
That yucky burger of social media.
Facebook: National Television Energy
When I was a kid, Facebook was mysterious adulthood.
Everyone talked about it. I desperately wanted an account — and was absolutely forbidden from having one.
Naturally, I created secret accounts using my friends’ phones.
By the time I finally got my own phone, my brain had already migrated to Wattpad, so I never truly learned how Facebook worked.
Even today, the app terrifies me.
I change my profile picture and suddenly it feels like half the country has been notified.
Please. Let me update my DP in peace. This is not breaking national news. I promise even the Prime Minister does not need to know.
Twitter: The Internet Without Makeup
RIP to the little blue bird.
No matter what happens, it will always be Twitter to me.
Ironically, Twitter is the only platform that hasn’t fundamentally changed. It was chaotic then. It’s chaotic now.
You’ll still find people confidently defending the worst possible opinions with disturbingly convincing threads.
While Instagram and Facebook chase perfection, Twitter remains what it has always been — unfiltered society.
Unhinged. Brutal. Honest.
And honestly?
Love that for them.
WeHeartIt: The Forgotten Safe Space
I’m not even sure how many people remember WeHeartIt.
But it was everything.
Pinterest before Pinterest dominated. Tumblr energy without Tumblr chaos. You could post images, create collections, write blogs, curate aesthetics — all in one place.
It felt soft. Creative. Feminine. Safe.
Most people describe it as Pinterest’s baby with Tumblr, and that analogy feels perfectly accurate.
My personal theory?
WeHeartIt was quietly murdered by someone rich.
No investigation followed.
Wattpad: The Kingdom That Raised Writers
Back then, you were either a WeHeartIt person or a Wattpad person.
I tried being both.
But I was unmistakably a Wattpad girl.
It gave young writers something revolutionary: readers who cared. Support before professionalism. Community before algorithms.
Honestly, it’s probably why I’m still writing today.
Wattpad now feels different — oversaturated, commercialized, reduced mostly to trending romance and smut-driven visibility.
But I still believe someday the former king will rise again.
Because platforms change.
Stories don’t.
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