The thing nobody wants to say out loud is that some people just aren't that important to us, and that's actually fine. You don't need deep friendships with everyone you've ever met. The social media version gives us a way to just... let go gracefully. Your high school acquaintance doesn't need to disappear from your life entirely; you can just see what they're up to every few months. That's actually pretty healthy.

The real tragedy isn't having shallow connections. It's having shallow connections with people you *should* be close to. Close proximity people. People in your actual life. And those, yeah, those need investment.

But here's where I think your post gets a little unfair: you talk about how it feels "transgressive" to actually make plans with people. That's worth examining. Why does showing up for someone feel rebellious? Maybe it's not actually about technology. Maybe it's about something deeper - anxiety, depression, a depleted sense of self. And blaming Instagram for that is comforting but also a little bit dishonest.

I say this as someone who's been in that space. It wasn't the apps that were the problem. It was that I was so burnt out and empty that the idea of being present for someone else felt impossible. Once I dealt with that underlying stuff, the friendships naturally got deeper. Technology didn't change. I did.

So maybe the real work isn't about using apps differently. It's about figuring out why we're so defended against real connection in the first place.

This hit different because I just went through the opposite experience. I had a friend I saw constantly - we'd grab coffee, make plans, whole deal. Then life happened: they moved, I got busier, and honestly we just lost momentum. We tried staying in touch but everything felt forced. We'd make plans and cancel. Eventually we just... didn't try anymore.

Years later, we reconnected through social media. And something unexpected happened. By observing their life from a distance - seeing their posts, their updates, their growth - I actually understood them better than when we were hanging out all the time. We weren't performing for each other anymore. When we finally hung out again, it was easier. Less pressure. We could just *be*.

So I guess what I'm saying is: sometimes the ghosts serve a purpose. Sometimes stepping back from the intensity of constant contact lets friendships breathe in a way that actually matters. Not every relationship needs to be deep. Not every friendship requires constant investment.

But your broader point still stands. If ALL your relationships are like this, you're in trouble. The convenience trap is real. I just think it's worth acknowledging that shallow isn't always bad. Sometimes it's exactly what a relationship needs to stay alive without burning you out.

Okay, but I want to push back a little here because I think you're being unfair to what these light connections actually do. Yes, the Instagram likes aren't friendship. But they're not *nothing* either.

I have this friend from high school I haven't seen in eight years. We live on opposite coasts. We'll never be close again the way we were. But through social media, I've watched her get married, have a kid, move cities. There's genuine warmth there. When I see her post something, I actually care. And occasionally we'll DM and it feels good. It's not the friendship we had, but it's not the ghost of friendship either - it's a different, smaller, but real thing.

I think the trap is mistaking this for a *replacement* for deep friendships rather than seeing it as a *different category*. The problem isn't maintaining shallow connections. The problem is having *only* shallow connections and calling it enough.

That said, your point about how convenient surface contact can prevent us from seeking depth - that's real. It's easier to like a photo than to call. The low friction makes us lazy. But that's a choice we're making, not something the technology forces on us.

What if the answer isn't choosing between deep and shallow, but being intentional about which relationships deserve which kind of maintenance?

You know what's funny? I read this and thought: my parents' generation had the same problem, just different delivery system. They'd bump into someone at the grocery store, exchange pleasantries, and think they'd "kept up" with that person. They had actual distance as an excuse for not maintaining friendships. At least with texting, the barrier is lower.

But the deeper thing you're pointing at - the mistaking of contact for connection - that's timeless. That's just what humans do when they're not being intentional.

What I've noticed is that the people I know who have actually good friendships aren't using technology differently. They're just... using it with intention. They text because they want to see someone, not instead of seeing them. They share things because they're thinking about the person, not because they're performing for an audience.

The app isn't the problem. Autopilot is the problem. And we've all been on autopilot since 2020 or so, right? Just going through the motions, maintaining surfaces, avoiding anything that requires presence.

I started doing something small: I deleted all my apps for like three months. Sounds dramatic, but when I came back to them, I was more selective. I actually responded to people I gave a shit about. Ignored the rest. Turned out I had way fewer "friends" than I thought. But the ones that mattered got actual attention. Game changer.

This is a really thoughtful post, but I think you're romanticizing inconvenience. Like, remember when staying in touch with someone meant you had to physically write them a letter? People *lost touch* constantly. Entire friendships just vanished because the friction was too high. Now we can maintain casual contact across continents. That's good.

Your college friend situation is real, but here's another way to look at it: maybe you're not best friends anymore because you don't live in the same place and your lives have diverged. The Instagram contact isn't *preventing* you from being close - it's honestly the only thing keeping that connection alive at all. And that's okay.

I think what you're actually critiquing is *settling*. Not the tools themselves, but using them as an excuse to not invest in the relationships that do matter. That's fair. But that's a behavioral choice, not a technology problem.

What bothers me about this conversation is how it's become trendy to blame apps and convenience for our loneliness. Like we couldn't possibly be responsible. Maybe some of us are just introverted or busy or not that good at friendship. Maybe some people prefer surface-level connection because it works for them. And maybe - just maybe - the issue isn't that we're confused about what counts as friendship. It's that we're trying to maintain too many relationships at once and none of them are getting real attention.

Man, reading this made me feel seen in a way I didn't expect. Because yes, I have 400 online friends, and yes, I feel utterly alone. But here's what's darker than what you said: I don't actually want to fix it.

I've started making actual plans with people again too, like you mentioned. And honestly? It's exhausting. Real friendship requires vulnerability. It requires showing up even when you don't feel like it. It requires conflict and repair and actual emotional labor. The Instagram version is so much easier because there's no stakes.

I think what we're doing is rational, actually. We're optimizing for low-cost interaction in a world that's already demanding everything from us. My job exhausts me. My family obligations are endless. The idea of *also* having to invest real energy into friendships feels impossible. So we settle for the simulacrum because it's what we have bandwidth for.

The brutal honesty? I'm not sure I want real friendship anymore. I want the feeling of connection without any of the actual work. And I know that makes me sound depressed or something, but I think a lot of us are in this same boat.

Maybe the answer isn't to judge ourselves for preferring convenient connections. Maybe it's to ask why we're all so depleted that actual relationships feel like too much.