The Spanish coast.

The Costa del Sol.

The place where half of Europe comes to thaw out, loosen up, and remember they have bodies again.

Sunlight bouncing off tiled promenades.

Languages overlapping like birdsong.

Salt in the air.

Joy happening accidentally.

And then—

fish lips.

Everywhere.

Faces frozen into the same expression, angled just so, staring into small black mirrors. The sea behind them, ignored. The laughter beside them, cropped out. The moment sacrificed to the rectangle.

Which reminded me of the ancient myth of Narcissus—the god who fell in love with his reflection in a lake and couldn’t look away.

Only now the lake fits in your pocket.

⸻

Enter: The Instagram God (on vacation)

We met one of them.

Not a bad person. Just… curated.

Phone always out.

Angles always found.

Reality always slightly inconvenient.

At one point he announced, very sincerely:

“My followers live vicariously through me.”

Which is impressive, because after spending one hour with him, his actual life appeared to be in open revolt.

He wasn’t reading the room.

He wasn’t reading the culture.

He wasn’t reading anything except comments.

We tried to gently disengage.

We failed.

⸻

Narcissus Sees Us Leaving

We stood up to go.

He noticed.

He followed.

We walked faster.

He stayed glued to us like a sponsored post.

Outside, waiting for the Uber, I said—calmly, politely, culturally:

“You can’t bring alcohol in an Uber.”

This is not a hot take. This is not radical theory. This is basic shared-reality etiquette.

He ignored it.

The driver hesitated… then waved it off.

And of course—because the universe enjoys punchlines—the drink spilled all over the seat.

No apology.

Just irritation.

As if reality itself had failed to collaborate.

That was the moment.

We exchanged the look.

The universal look that says:

We are never befriending someone on vacation again.

⸻

The Science Bit (Don’t Worry, It’s Short)

Here’s what’s actually happening:

• Likes trigger dopamine

• Dopamine feels good

• The brain says: Do that again

• The system rewards posting, not presence

Over time, attention shifts outward.

Not to people.

Not to place.

But to feedback.

The phone becomes the lake.

The reflection becomes the goal.

And the moment?

Collateral damage.

⸻

Why This Is a Losing Game

Here’s the part Instagram doesn’t show:

• Followers leave quickly

• Algorithms change without notice

• Engagement evaporates

• Loyalty is… theoretical

Perceived connection feels real.

But it isn’t sturdy.

When life gets awkward, messy, human—

the crowd doesn’t help you clean the Uber seat.

People do.

⸻

The Irony of the Costa del Sol

This is what gets me.

People cross continents to be here.

To feel alive.

To touch warmth.

To remember what joy feels like.

And then they spend the whole time documenting themselves almost experiencing it.

Like Narcissus standing in paradise saying,

“Hold on—let me capture this.”

And never looking up again.

⸻

The Oddly Robbie Take

I’m not anti-technology.

I build worlds with it.

I’m anti-missing-your-own-life.

Real connection happens:

• in eye contact

• in shared silence

• in laughter that doesn’t need subtitles

• in respecting the place you’re standing

Your real tribe:

• doesn’t need constant proof

• doesn’t disappear when the signal drops

• doesn’t live vicariously through you

They live with you.

⸻

A Gentle Suggestion (No Fish Lips Required)

Put the phone down once today.

Just once.

Look around.

Notice who stays.

Notice what doesn’t need to be posted to matter.

Narcissus didn’t die because he loved himself.

He died because he couldn’t look away.

And the Spanish coast?

She’s still right here—

waiting for you to notice her.