Satire: Finding Meaning in the Campus Snapchat Story

Have you ever loved something that could never truly love you back? For me, it was the Loyola campus group Snapchat Story. 

When I first joined, I saw a campus-wide diary of students leaving their ephemeral mark, and watching it vanish just 24 hours later. Each snapshot is shared with anyone who engages with it, like a digital common room. The Story had a promise of connection, attention and — maybe — a hint of glory.

My first post was a quick snap of the sunrise, the clouds artfully swirled.

I added a heartfelt caption — “I’m not lazy on defense, I’m just conserving energy for my victory dance.” 

I felt excitement as the views came in. Six views, twenty, then thirty. Who are these thirty people? Did they like my snap? Did they, perhaps, like me? I couldn’t know the answer, and it didn’t matter. 

What mattered was the thrill — the Story was watching.

Before long, I was courting the Story. Each day, I’d post new scenes of my life as if I was wooing an elusive love. Posts of late-night library studying, a half-eaten chili dog, a blurry photo from a basement party — all tributes to my craft. The river was pulling me deeper, and I let it. My soul and dignity were grasped by its promise of something greater, though I didn’t know what.

The call to post — the necessity — escalated. I began posting hourly, pining for more views. One day, a classmate approached as I was trekking across campus, grinning. 

“Yo,” he said. “Aren’t you the kid who never stops posting on the Snapchat Story?”

The comment stunned me. Until then, I hadn’t known the consequences of my transformation. I felt exposed, like a character in someone else’s narrative. How many people were judging me as I threw myself into the Story?

Angered at the thought of unwarranted attention, I instinctively posted a picture of my leg captioned, “Don’t hit me up. I ain’t interested in y’all.” I was back in the Story, pouring frustration into a post meant for no one — a faceless crowd that consumed me.

But as the words aired publicly on the university Story, I felt hollow. Had the Story become a reflection of my desire for attention? The views felt empty, and I realized I couldn’t find validation in a place that only offered shadows of connection. In my moment of clarity I did an unthinkable act — I deleted the app.

My first day off Snapchat was unbearable. My hand reached for the camera instinctively, like a phantom limb. Captions would taunt my mind, unbidden. Events like a great burrito became a missed chance for a post. The social emptiness clawed at me — a feeling of grief for all the unshared blue skies.

Gradually, I began to find peace. No longer was I in Snapchat’s jungle and bound to the audience, shaping every action to the lens. The world was somehow calmer, fuller. I found myself viewing life instead of curating it — the pictures I took of my soup were for me. Although there was still an urge to go back at every snap-worthy moment, I felt free.

Then one day, as I watched the second-floor Halas water fountain sparkle in the afternoon’s light, I felt no desire to take a picture. I was back to the surface. The Story had been a river, but I climbed ashore wiser, maybe even more whole.

I’ve never regretted those posts. The memories are there — brief but etched into my college experience. Sometimes my hand still shakes when I see someone else on Snapchat. 

Who knows? Someday the river may call — and I’ll only be a snap away.