Sometimes, pivotal moments in life can spark significant transformations. For me, the recent presidential election was just such an event. By mid-summer, my evenings filled with shouting at the television shifted to putting my thoughts into writing. Honestly, the alternative was a one-way ticket to a straightjacket. This change yielded double the benefits: expressing my anxieties through writing was profoundly therapeutic, and my 2-year-old was much less likely to drop an inappropriate F-bomb (kids really do say the darndest things!).
With some modest success, I continued to pen my thoughts on politics. As a stay-at-home mom, my recent definition of success revolved around basic hygiene tasks, so receiving compliments for my essays on domestic policies and elections felt absolutely fantastic. I felt rejuvenated, ambitious, and full of energy—almost as if those tiny humans hadn’t spent years waging sleep deprivation warfare against me. I was soaring!
That was until the self-appointed internet police arrived on the scene, clad in oversized T-shirts and wildly patterned leggings, ready to inform me that my political musings were unwelcome on their feeds. I completely understand—we’re all mentally drained from the chaotic fallout of the past election. However, I firmly believe in the necessity of civic engagement, especially as a mother. While it seems we’re all tired of the constant barrage of political topics, I can’t fathom why simply scrolling past content you dislike is such a challenge. Besides, I’m not flooding your feed every 15 minutes.
But alas, I should have anticipated that wouldn’t suffice for the internet enforcers. It began with gentle reminders, akin to a traffic cop giving a warning rather than a ticket. Annoying? Sure, but it was bearable. Then came the passive-aggressive posts, the sudden disinterest in neutral conversations, and the dreaded “unfollows.” How does one discover these “unfollows,” you ask? Well, those passive-aggressive posts reveal everything.
While mildly annoying, these antics paled in comparison to phase two: community service. Suddenly, the legging-clad enforcers morphed into an unsettling mix of judge, jury, and an infomercial on repeat. Despite being publicly scolded for my political comments (the horror!), I found myself bombarded with endless invitations to join live Facebook events. I was added to bizarrely enthusiastic groups without consent—like “Flamingos on Your Pants: A Life Goal” kind of weird. I became paranoid that an overpriced box of clothing would show up at my door, accompanied by a bill. It felt as though I was being coerced into donating my time, energy, and money to causes endorsed by those who had just dismissed my political views. All this because, apparently, commerce knows no political boundaries.
It wasn’t my first experience with social media marketing, but this felt different. I had been sidelined for my opinions by people who once enjoyed my company—rendered useless, except for my wallet. What used to be easy to overlook now felt exploitative. Each generic marketing message dripped with an unsettling inauthenticity that became harder to ignore.
To all the legging enthusiasts: I get it. You want social media to be a realm of uplifting quotes, lighthearted anecdotes, and, of course, merchandise sales. I understand that discussions of politics—especially those that don’t echo your own beliefs—feel unrefined, even tasteless. It’s quite ironic coming from a crowd that struts about in leggings adorned with leprechaun motifs.
But let’s find a middle ground. I apologize if my political views make you uneasy, but perhaps a little discomfort is exactly what you need. With your livelihood tied to those soft, stretchy pants, it’s understandable to want to avoid anything jarring. However, while you’re immersed in your latest seasonal prints, remember that many people lack such luxuries. Their hunger won’t be solved by hitting “unfollow.” Their sickness can’t be cured by an angry emoji. Ignoring their suffering doesn’t erase it; in fact, your aversion to discomfort only perpetuates their struggles.
So, the next time a political post crosses your feed, resist the urge to roll your eyes. Embrace that discomfort; it’s where growth occurs. And know that I don’t aim to irritate you. My goal is to use my voice for change, no matter how small that impact might be.
Let’s strike a deal: I’ll cease my political commentary when you stop pushing your leggings on me. Fair?
But let’s be honest: such a compromise is as futile as attempting to bomb a Syrian airfield without taking out the runway. (What? Too soon?) We’re both passionate about our pursuits, and that’s perfectly fine. The internet has room for us both. So, let’s retire those internet police badges for now; they’re divisive, unnecessary, and frankly, they clash with your outfit.
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Summary:
This article highlights the tensions between political discourse and social media marketing, particularly emphasizing the discomfort that arises when personal beliefs clash with commercial interests. It advocates for embracing discomfort in discussions about politics while acknowledging the value of diverse perspectives in the digital space.
Keyphrase: politics and social media
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