It seems harmless enough on the surface. Cute, even. Not many of us are the joyless, cold-blooded sorts who can bring ourselves to ignore and scroll past a reel of a sweet baby curled up with her pup, just being effortlessly adorable. It is the sort of thing that brings a much-needed smile to the face in a narrow, insular world where Trump and the techmasters are on the rampage. Where a post of a nepo kid cutting ties with his celebrity parents is likely to steal the attention from an ongoing war. But every time a video of a tiny tot shows up on my feed, there is a part of me that feels so unclean I might as well have been eyeballing something far more hardcore. Perhaps a closer look at this acute discomfort is warranted, especially since the all-knowing influencers are forever urging you to examine your ‘big feelings’ so that you can be your ‘most authentic self’.
The trend of commodifying babies from the moment of conception is so commonplace that barely anyone raises an eyebrow in an age where everything is monetised in the interest of brand building. It was bad enough when celebrities did it, selling their most intimate, carefully curated moments to commercialise themselves and build diverse empires off the backs of their burgeoning popularity, then selling overpriced, nonessential products to their rabid fanbase. Now everybody is doing it, using Instagram to magnify their private lives for the ravenously voyeuristic public and making a reality show of it, even the seamier aspects rendered in tasteful sepia tones to amplify the appeal. But surely, we can draw the line when it comes to babies having their privacy robbed and childhood commandeered?
In utero-pics, clicks of every detail of the nursery done up in pretty pastels and carefully chosen fairytales adorning the walls, rattles, and cribs are uploaded as appetizers before the big reveal. The newborn’s first moments have to be recorded, of course, with the mum’s hair and makeup just so (what is the point if not to make harried moms with puke on their mismatched clothes and frizzy hair feel unattractive as all hell?). From that point, every milestone has to be painstakingly photographed, filtered, and beamed out to random strangers. A child’s first smile, first vaccine, and the ensuing tears, first steps, first fallen tooth, and even potty training are considered fit material for public consumption. It is not enough to love the kid, of course, but to post that sentiment in a caption with a picture of the two of you at a theme park, seated on unicorns, and chomping on cotton candy. Milking the all-powerful algorithm in this manner might translate to millions of followers, brand partnerships, and big bucks, but it is an accident waiting to happen.
Babies deserve to have inviolable rights. They are entitled to grow up in peace without being forced to preen for the camera at all times. Kids shouldn’t have to endure the rude gaze of trolls and paedophiles because of clueless caregivers. Responsible parenting does not translate to sharenting, especially when the risks are too great and rewards too few for the vulnerable offspring.