I thought I knew myself. Or at least, what I enjoyed.
Throughout my 28 years, I’ve fine-tuned my interests and fixated on hobbies that truly meant something to me: college football, barrel-aged craft beer, Parson Russell terriers, original sketch comedy and personal fitness, to name a handful.
I’m not someone who will follow an account simply because I know the person who operates it. No. I have to enjoy what they post on a consistent basis (a Starbucks cup with your name misspelled gets you an automatic "unfollow").
But when I visit my "Explore" page on Instagram? The tab on the app where they’re “always working to update...