To witness such a dramatic cultural shift in my short twenty-four years of life is, predictably, quite jarring. As a teenager, I begged for parental permission to get on Instagram–I longed for the opportunity to curate the way my peers saw me with precision. My hair was long, frizzy, and the black winged eyeliner I painted on daily was often messy and uneven. Any chance to prove to my classmates that I wasn’t annoying and undesirable was an important one–the weight of that social...