As I was scrolling through my photo album trying to track down rarely-seen pictures to post for my friend’s birthday, I was hit with a wave of exhaustion. In what I admit could be filed under “humiliating non-issues,” I became frustrated by the expectation that I had to make a public show of my love for her through a carefully curated mix of nostalgic old Snapchat videos and more flattering recent shots.
I’d only myself to blame here, for I set the precedent. For years, I’ve been the type to post birthday shoutouts for just about any friend I regularly keep in touch with, and thus, I’d become beholden to the assumption that on each of my closest ~20 friends/family members' birthdays, a full social rollout dedicated to them was to come. But on this pivotal day last summer, I made a promise to myself that I’d be more selective about who gets the full IG story treatment.
Trivial as my dilemma might be, I know I’m not alone. Based on recent observations, there is a sentiment shift afoot regarding The Birthday Post. For one thing, I’ve been seeing way fewer gushy birthday stories in general. They haven’t altogether disappeared from my feed, but gone are the days when I couldn’t open the app without seeing at least one. Then there’s the fact that I’m meeting more people in my day-to-day life who’ve pared back or completely sworn off birthday posting, and who are quite decided in their stance.
“I used to post them for every person that I considered a close friend. But the fact that it became a social obligation made it less fun,” says Fernanda, a 28-year-old teacher's assistant. “I didn’t like how I started feeling bad if I forgot or didn’t have time to post something for someone. Like, why do I feel bad if I texted this person or got them a gift? I’m not sure who the birthday posting is for.”
“Other unwritten social rules are great,” she continues, “But why does it matter if I’m sharing a picture of my friend to my 1,000 followers, only 10% of [whom] know her? I get that it’s fun, but because it became somewhat of a rule, I became anti.”
But the commonly cited issue with divesting from the IG Story Birthday Shoutout Industrial Complex is that it’s difficult to do it halfway. If you don’t abstain from birthday shoutouts altogether, the ones you do choose to post then carry an added weight. They become a more pronounced statement, an implicit ranking of which friends you feel deserve to be publicly claimed. Amauri, a 27-year-old nurse, admits that she originally took a step back from constant birthday posting out of righteousness.
“It became a petty thing, like Oh, she didn't post me for my birthday this year, like I'm not gonna post her next year. Now I feel like heartfelt text message or call to my truest friends [does more] than a birthday post.”
“Social media is so fake, so sometimes people are posting and they're not even good friends with a person, they're just doing it to do it.” Amauri continues. “I still do birthday posts, but within the past couple of years, it's only been for like my best friend and my closest cousin. I know that they’d post me as well, but also I wouldn't be mad if they didn't, because we usually spend the day together and have more like sentimental and heartfelt [celebrations].”
My own decision to release myself from IG birthday duties wasn’t purely rooted in pettiness or social pressure, but in genuine fatigue. How many “love you forever” and “Happy International [name] day” captions can just one girl be expected to dole out per year? And I’d prefer not to feel anxious about missing someone’s special day, worried that they’d been spending precious birthday hours waiting for my official public statement. To avoid offending people, it’s either everyone gets a shoutout or no one does (barring my family and maybe 2 of my closest friends). John, a 27-year-old filmmaker, is sort of in the same camp.
“I have too many friends, I’m bad with birthdays, and I’m worried I might forget someone. I fell into the mental dilemma of, If I post for this person, then this other person will feel bad because I didn’t post for them. I don’t expect people to post for me, but I [did go] from having a life-affirming dozen or so stories on my birthday to having only one or two.”
The consensus among the birthday-posting antis I spoke to is that they’re ok with seeing a decrease in posts on their own special day as a result. They simply no longer see much value in the gesture at all. And as Fernanda notes, on her birthday, even deciding which shoutouts she reposts has become a tiring sensitivity to navigate.
“I genuinely don’t care if people post me on my birthday anymore, but it is fun to see pictures of yourself,” she shares. “I think it’s so weird that people care about what you repost or don’t. First, I think it's tacky to repost everything other people post for your birthday, but I remember [someone being upset] that I reposted other people’s stuff and not theirs—like yeah, you posted a picture I didn’t like! But thank you.”
We’ll never see a world in which birthday posting dies out completely. From the early days of MySpace celebrations to late 2000s Facebook wall shoutouts, this particular brand of online posturing has lived many lives and will continue to live plenty more. But those opposed to unlimited birthday posting argue that this gesture should be considered a fun supplement to real-life celebrations or thoughtful direct messages. Once the public-facing story post is treated as the consummate birthday gesture, its value shifts. It’s no longer about meaningfully reconginizing the person of honor, and more about performing the celebration for passive spectators.
Still, if you choose to hold yourself to strict birthday posting expectations, know you’re acting as a helpful resource for those who may not keep an updated calendar of special days. “I will say it’s useful when I’m reminded of people’s birthdays through story posts,” says Fernanda. “But it’s not my job to remind you.”
