Published on May 2, 2025 9:01 PM GMT
"nancygonzalez8451097." Her fingers moved swiftly across the phone's virtual keyboard as she filled in the username. Mimin Schuman was 19 years old and had owned a smartphone since she was 11. Mimin only used her phone to occasionally call a friend, check the map for a store location, or text Mom that she would be late for dinner. She had never understood why anyone would want an Instagram account. She had always thought social media was just for fake people living made-up lives. But today, Mimin had changed her mind. The comment she had received two days ago from a woman heading home from pilates class had initially unsettled her, but this morning when she woke up, Mimin realized the woman had been right. Mimin should definitely pursue modeling; she possessed all the necessary qualities. Besides being tall, slim, and having skin as pure as the finest porcelain, Mimin had crystal blue eyes that could light up any room when she gently stepped into it. Mimin had heard from her girlfriends that there were many models on Instagram. It was on Instagram where one could truly be discovered and become famous, perhaps even as famous as the Kardashians.
Mimin was satisfied with her choice of username and pressed "next." The screen stated that she should accept Instagram's terms and conditions. "If this is where I can become rich and famous, it doesn't matter what rules they have," she thought. Without hesitation Mimin pressed "I agree." Immediately, she arrived at the next page in the registration process, which asked her to upload a profile picture. Mimin had never taken a picture of herself before, but just that morning, she had done so by chance. She had only been wearing her nightgown, but the picture turned out well. The picture had even turned out perfect. In the photo, you could see her flawless skin, well-shaped body, and dazzling blue eyes. "If I'm not discovered now, I never will be," she thought.
"Welcome to Instagram, nancygonzalez8451097," it said in large print on the screen. "Let us start customizing your experience," it said in smaller letters just below.
Instagram asked Mimin to share her contacts from her phone or Facebook so that Instagram could help her connect with people she already knew. Mimin was eager to get started with Instagram, so she pressed "Don't allow" and then "Skip." Now Mimin came to the page where Instagram suggested she follow some popular accounts. It said she didn't need to choose to follow any accounts, but she quickly followed the five topmost accounts. Having come this far, Mimin felt she wanted to be friends with the whole world. Now Instagram asked her what interests she had. Instagram wanted to know so they could show her content she was interested in. There was so much that was interesting. "Am I interested in dance, travel, fitness, food, yoga, fashion, or maybe puppies?" she thought. She couldn't choose, so she opted to press "skip." Now she was finally done. Or so she thought. She saw from the icons at the bottom of the screen that she was "home." She saw an icon on the far right that was a miniature of her profile picture. She pressed on the picture and came to her own profile page. She saw that there were more things she could fill in. She so badly wanted to tell the world who she was and what she wanted in her life. "How should I describe myself, what do people or a modeling agent really want to know?" she thought. Mimin finally chose to go with her feelings; she had heard that was the best thing to do when something became too complicated.
"Bloggare
🧑🦲 Aspiring model. 
💚 Want to see my photos and videos?💕
👇 My main page is linked below. 👇
carolaalbin.top/IsOqy8"
Mimin looked contentedly at her profile. Soon the whole world would know who she was. She immediately wanted to see what was on Instagram and pressed on the home icon. The first thing that appeared was an anonymous image of a forest in morning light where the sun's rays forced their way between the tree trunks. There was nothing remarkable about the image, yet Mimin felt a stab in her heart. It was the most beautiful forest she had ever seen. She wanted somehow to tell the world what she felt in this moment. Just below the image, she saw an icon that looked like a heart. It was exactly how she felt; she felt it in her heart. Carefully and with trembling movements, she slowly moved her index finger toward the heart on the screen.
"Sir, would you like to have your breakfast before your meeting at 10?" asked the woman who looked like a mix between a flight attendant and a suited agent.
"No. I'll eat lunch with the kids. Maybe," Mark replied. Mark had, as usual, been out on the sea alone on his jet ski all morning. He liked to drive his jet ski around in circles. Hour after hour. The repetition gave him a calm he couldn't get anywhere else. For several years, he had driven in circles where he turned left, but in recent months had started to drive in circles where he turned right. He didn't know why he had changed direction, but the new circles felt good; he felt freer somehow. Mark's jet ski often broke down. Mark liked to drive it fast, often so fast that it couldn't hold up.He blamed the manufacturers for building jet skis that couldn't handle his aggressive riding style. Besides, he didn't need to worry; he had several skilled mechanics on the escort boat who could always patch and repair his jet ski when it broke down.
Mark took off his wetsuit and quickly showered off the seawater. He tangled his fingers in his curly hair that he had let grow out in recent years. He wished he could look as cool as his bodyguards did with short haircuts, but he didn't and had therefore decided to go with the somewhat less bad alternative and chosen longer hair. He put on his favorite t-shirt. He rarely wore it in public nowadays, but here on his yacht, it was the only garment he wanted to wear. The t-shirt made him feel at home. The t-shirt allowed him to think without being distracted by the fabric feeling strange against his skin or the color bothering him.
Mark went to his office on the large yacht and sat down in front of his screens. This was his command bridge. The time was 9:58. He had time to check a few emails before the meeting. At exactly 10:00, he logged into the video meeting. On the screen appeared the heads of his tech and compliance teams at Instagram. Mark smiled a friendly but awkward smile. The faces on the screen in front of him looked like they wanted to look away.
"Give me the weekly report," said Mark, who was no longer smiling.
"We have blocked 57,234,923 posts and deleted 237,697 accounts in the past 168 hours. As usual, India, Turkey, and Brazil are at the top. We are doing our best to remove what they don't like. Or, we actually remove everything they don't like, even before they know they don't like it. Everything has become so easy in recent years with the new systems," replied a woman dressed in a dark suit.
"Okay. Tech?" said Mark directly into the air as a prompt to get someone from the tech side to answer quickly.
"Zero problems. The systems have functioned 100%. We have always had control over every tiny interaction in the system, but the new AI tools are really good. We catch the slightest anomali, in everything from the registration process to analyzing uploaded images, videos, messages, and comments. The system can immediately determine if something is created by bots or violates our terms of service. No one can get passed it, we are super proud," answered a bespectacled man in a white shirt that appeared to be buttoned incorrectly.
"How many sign-ups have we had?" asked Mark.
"Net is 834,432," answered the bespectacled man.
"This is so cool. I thought many markets had been saturated for several years, but sign-ups just keep pouring in. Hour after hour. Day after day. Year after year. How many people are there really on the planet? Has Elon had any more children in the last week? This figure makes the advertisers happy. Imagine that they can get in touch with so many new potential customers and that our system guarantees that they are real people living real lives," said Mark in a tone as if he were speaking to himself.
"jeffyoung9385500." Her fingers moved swiftly across the phone's virtual keyboard as she filled in the username...
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