It can be hard to recall a time when regular people ate food without taking dozens of photos, and restaurants didn’t optimize decor and plating to look good in patrons’ snapshots. A time before social media influencers made a living sharing promo codes for meal kits and weight loss shakes. Before LeBron James tried to trademark “Taco Tuesday.” Yet Facebook only launched in 2004 and YouTube in 2005. Since then, the percent of US adults who use at least one social media site has exploded from 5 percent to nearly 75 percent as of 2019, according to the Pew Research Center.
The good. . .
Instagram—my main platform of choice—launched in 2010. At its best, Instagram proves that a picture is worth a thousand words, especially regarding food. Not sure what you want to eat? There’s an endless stream of delicious visual inspiration. Although not as popular as Facebook or YouTube, it’s used by more than a billion people every month and is a top free app download in the Apple Store.
My Instagram feed is like a cookbook and dining guide that I’ve self curated. It’s chocked full of diverse accounts that feature everything from comfort foods to cuisines I’ve barely ever tried. And it’s a living document rather than a static experience. Plus I can actually contact the content creators with questions and feedback.
Instagram is also a great way for me to document what I’m up to in the kitchen or on the go. I’m lucky that my patient family won’t dig into a homecooked meal until I have a moment to photograph it. And that my friends let me capture their dishes if they are more delicious and photogenic than what I’m eating. To me, this is part of the memory making. I can almost certainly pull up most of my 1300+ Instagram photos and tell you who I ate that food with and what it meant to me.
. . .the bad. . .
But for every distinct perspective and quality content creator, there seem to be a dozen clickbait accounts. You know the ones—carefully staged with the trendiest food items that their creators probably took a single bite of before throwing in the trash. Add preset image filters and captions straight from an SEO robot on steroids pushing indulgence and luxury. Maybe throw in thousands of fake followers or some questionably acquired (read: plagiarized) images.
These accounts and others of their ilk aren’t selling actual food. They’re selling a lifestyle experience in which food, and too often disordered eating, is the content hook. Sometimes it’s about overindulgence and #cheatdays, other times it’s about staying skinny and #eatingclean. The underlying message is that you have the time and money to jet set to desirable locales, eat fancy food with no concern for price, and effortlessly remain conventionally attractive.
“Instagram food has almost nothing to do with consumption as a gastronomic endeavor; instead, consuming Instagram food means acquiring it, and sharing proof of your acquisition,” noted a 2017 Eater article. “This flattens it out from a sensory experience into an aesthetic one; for the hungry audiences of the thin, conventionally attractive women whose hundreds of thousands of followers net them hefty checks, whatever’s being photographed is rendered calorie-neutral. It’s a visual-only binge.”
. . .and the #basic.
Despite the fact that we have more power than ever to tell our own visual stories—the Internet at our fingertips, ability to take amazing photos and publish and share stories on demand—the most prominent, promoted content seems increasingly homogenized. Many smaller accounts try to emulate the look of bigger accounts that have seemingly cracked the Instagram algorithm. The result is that you click on a popular Instagram hashtag and see similar photos over and over. A rainbow acai bowl overhead shot. A burger oozing melty cheese. A muffin tin on a dishtowel surrounded by scattered chocolate chips and loose flour. An ice cream cone with a blurry background.
What troubles me the most is how the knee-jerk liking culture has diminished Instagram’s storytelling value. Why take the time to share how a cake recipe was your grandma’s strongest connection to the village she fled in the old country when ten accounts are going to instantly post ‘OMG yum! Like 4 like?’ and other comments that make it clear they didn’t even read your text? It’s pushing Instagram more and more into an advertising platform rather than a creative one.
The Future?
Nevertheless, I think Instagram hiding the number of likes on posts will help push things in a better, less clickbait-driven direction. I hope 2020 proves to be a year in which smaller, so-called “microinfluencer” accounts that cater to niche markets take off. I’ll be eagerly looking for their tailored, original content and hoping it inspires others to find their own voices, too.
You really hit the nail on the head here (I was trying to think of a food related idiom but nothing came… You really got the ice cream in the cone? Idk). “What troubles me the most is how the knee-jerk liking culture has diminished Instagram’s storytelling value… It’s pushing Instagram more and more into an advertising platform rather than a creative one.” YES. I go back and forth all the time with wanting to be part of a community on Instagram, but feeling so turned off by an inauthenticity that seems to be growing by the day.
You are so spot on! Especially the part about the diminished value of storytelling! It seems very few people take the time to read past the first sentence in my captions and it’s so frustrating when I see a comment not related at all to the story in the caption. Definitely feels less social at times.
You make a good point about things feeling less social. I like to have a conversation with people sharing photos of common interest, and it’s hard to do when social media has become so saturated with ads and clickbait. It feels like many people are seeking clicks rather than true engagement.