Sure, my photos aren’t the greatest or the prettiest or the most original. But they’re mine. And if you want to do something with them, just ask me, okay? I’m not even saying no. I’m just saying: Have enough respect to ask me and give me options. By putting terms in place that offered no way to opt out, short of deleting your account, Instagram delivered an ultimatum.
And so I quit Instagram on principle. Because I’m tired of contributing to the commodification of my own existence. I’m not a pork belly, or a barrel of oil. I’m tired of clicking on agree, when I vehemently oppose. I’m tired of saying yes, when I want to say no.