Reflection on Ephemeral Narratives: Bar Mimi and the Beauty of Vanishing
Last night I reposted a friend’s Instagram story. An image of Bar Mimi in Edmonton, a new bar known for its ambiance (and for being hard to get a table at). The photo captured warm, soft lighting and the kind of mood that makes you want to linger. No people, just atmosphere. I was tagged in the story, and while I’m not particularly close with this friend, it felt like an invitation. It was an unexpected gesture that pulled me a little closer to her. I added it to my own story, and for 24 hours, it was in the feeds of others. People reached out, surprised I had managed to get in, and I also ended up messaging with family members and friends that I hadn’t spoken to in a while - all sparked by this single, fleeting post.
There’s something powerful about that. Ephemeral content, as Barnea, Meyer, and Nave (2023) explain, heightens attention because of the risk of missing it. People know they can’t return to it, and that scarcity draws them in. “Making content ephemeral elevates consumers’ perceived risk of missing information… consequently, it increases attention allocation” (Barnea et al., 2023). But there’s more to the story. Kim and Kim (2023) explored how Instagram stories (because they vanish) lessen social comparison and body image concerns compared to permanent posts. This impermanence offers a kind of psychological release, a softness in how we see ourselves. That’s part of why I shared this moment as a story and not a post - it didn’t need to live forever, and thus I didn’t need to curate it to perfection. This impermanence offers a kind of psychological release, a softness in how we see ourselves. I felt that too. The story was casual and quick, but it brought people in. Maybe because it wasn’t trying too hard, just letting the ambiance speak.
Coming from a theatre background, I’ve always found beauty in things that vanish. In live performance, the magic exists only in the moment. It can’t be replayed or perfectly captured. Instagram stories remind me of that in a way. I rarely post now, but when I do, I let them fade. No highlights, no archives. I am not usually very sentimental and letting them go feels right. Barnea et al. (2023) suggest that this fleeting nature can actually deepen engagement and memory, not despite its brevity but because of it. And I think they’re right. There’s something freeing, even thrilling, about sharing a moment that disappears. It is a digital kind of stage, where attention is intense and then it’s over. And that, to me, is part of what makes it meaningful.
References:
Barnea, U., Meyer, R. J., & Nave, G. (2023). The effects of content ephemerality on information processing. Journal of Marketing Research, 60(4), 750–766. https://doi.org/10.1177/00222437221131047
Kim, D., & Kim, S. (2023). Social media affordances of ephemerality and permanence: Social comparison, self-esteem, and body image concerns. Social Sciences, 12(2), 87. https://doi.org/10.3390/socsci12020087
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