Look. I need to tell you something and I need you not to make it weird. I made an Instagram account. I know. I know. Instagram, the platform that started as a hipster with a Polaroid and a dream and slowly mutated into a fever swamp of engagement bait, sponsored detox teas, and grown adults pointing at floating text with the urgency of air traffic controllers. The place where every third post is a carousel titled "10 ENGINEERING PROMPTS THAT WILL REVOLUTIONIZE YOUR WORKFLOW" written by someone whose workflow appears to consist entirely of making carousels about workflows. The platform where a man in a Patagonia vest will look you dead in the eye through a ring light and tell you that this one ChatGPT hack will replace your entire marketing team, your accountant, and presumably your will to live. And yet. Here I am. Handle in hand. Bio written. Profile picture uploaded. Standing in the town square of the internet's most insufferable shopping mall going "hello, I also exist." Why?…
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