Instagram is full of too munch information

There is a nagging sense that resides within most of us in the modern world; it tells us that we’re spending too much time with our smartphones — and for good reason.

A 2018 report from Kleiner Perkins Caufield & Byers found the average person spends nearly six hours per day online, compared to just three hours spent in 2009. The majority of that time — 3.3 hours per day — is spent on our phones. Studies have shown that excessive internet use can impair brain structure and function, mainly in the brain’s frontal lobe, the area that largely determines our sense of well-being.

For every enlightening piece of information we might come across while thumbing through our phone screens, there are millions of other posts we could do without. Much of this useless content involves food. Unremarkable pictures of scrambled eggs, smoothies and superfood salads abound on nearly every social media platform. But why?

The world has enough pictures of avocado toast. And even if a food picture moves beyond the realm of smashed avocado, it’s unlikely to carry much value besides contributing to the poster’s own curated, pseudo-authenticity. Beyond pictures of runny yolk brunches and haute cuisine,

the worst type of food content is even more insidious. It involves aesthetically assembled health food, including vegan raspberry chia oats and gluten-free Buddha bowls, which look so perfect it’s as if each raspberry had been chiseled and painted by hand.

Beneath these pictures, captions preach biased health agendas in favour of the latest fad diet without any regard for the potential health ramifications of switching to such a plan. It may seem like useful health information, but this unsolicited advice contributes to the enormous amount of noise that drives us down terrible nutritional paths.

The truth is that everyone processes food differently, and what works for one person may not work for another. Nutrition is a highly personal science. Plenty of doctors and nutritionists today will translate your 23andMe results into advice on what to eat and what supplements to take in. But it’s near impossible to glean such nuanced information from an Instagram post.

Perhaps not all food pictures are bad. Mouthwatering Instagram posts might encourage potential diners to pay a new restaurant a visit, ultimately helping small business stay afloat. And it’s hard to imagine a culinary world without René Redzepi’s involved taste test Instagram stories, or David Chang’s refreshingly frank

#UglyDelicious campaign, which features everything from Styrofoam containers of Popeye’s red beans and rice to jiggly spoonfuls of Korean Kong Bi Ji Jigae.

And yet, even seemingly helpful restaurant food pictures can often do eateries a disservice. Popular or viral food photos tend to breed the type of diners who are encouraged to try restaurants — not to experience the menu, but to order the eatery’s one or two most “Instagrammable” dishes. Often, chefs loathe these popular plates. After assembling them an insurmountable number of times, they are desperate to take them off the menu, but are forced to keep preparing them just to help pay the bills.

Food has always been cultural currency. What goes on our plates and into our glasses says something about who we are and what we believe in, whether we want it to or not. But like other beliefs, opinions don’t always warrant sharing just because they exist.

In the end we all want to know how to make the smartest and most delicious meal choices possible. And while the internet may seem like a great resource to help us do that, it often diminishes the culinary world more than it contributes to it.

No one cares about what you ate today. So please, spare us from posting about it.