Lisa ARMSTRONG
It took me about three years to work out how to use Instagram. I spent another two agonising whether I wanted to. I’m guessing a lot of us feel the same.in the beginning, it seemed obvious it would be another mindless tool for vacuous yoof. As it celebrates its 10th anniversary, Instagram can count a billion regular users, 45 per cent of whom are over 35. That’s an age spectrum many corporations would kill for. Even if you don’t ’gram yourself, there’s a high probability you’re influenced by someone who does.
Insta has made stars of narcissists, exhibitionists and those blessed with mystifyingly elusive talents. But once you get over yourself and realise that many of us are confounding composites of good and bad traits (which is why your brilliant and intelligent friend manages to post such cringingly clunky, selfpromoting stories on their Instagram), you realise that like every Libran (ahem), in the end, Instagram is remarkably balanced.
I don’t want to belittle the FOMO and body dysmorphia that can be triggered by too much exposure to pictures of (often airbrushed) perfect physical specimens. But the flip side is that Instagram has enabled people previously patronised or excluded by fashion to have a stake.
If you’re more than five years old, you’ll remember when fashion was only for the thin, young and largely white. Beth Ditto, lead singer with the band Gossip, became, for a while, a fashion darling, partly because she is bright, articulate and charismatic, but mainly because she made brands look broad minded, while doing all the heavy lifting herself. But it was all quite token. Ditto is extreme and theatrical. Fashion loves that. What it can’t deal with is average, which is where most of us sit. Now, thanks to Instagram and the millions of “normal” women who took Carrie Bradshaw at her word and made life their catwalk, real is celebrated millions of times a day. True, the many filters available (a whole new ecosphere of business opportunities) mean some of those images are a long way from being “real”, but you can’t deny the diversity on offer or the way it has expanded our perception of what’s beautiful.
Instagram has also done more to break down preconceptions about what getting older looks like than a century of glossy magazines. From grannies who’ve had more silicone injected in them than a non-stick muffin tray, to ultra chic coat hangers, from cosy apple cheeks to downright wacky, instead of treating grandmas as one homogenous demographic, Instagram encourages a surprising amount of nuance. Fashion is taking note.
Palmer Harding photographed their spring/summer ’21 collection on grandmothers, and women in their sixties and beyond appear far more frequently in brands’ marketing.
As for the free tutorials, no niche is too niche. Whether you worship at the shrine of hats with veils, rickrack detailing or green eyeshadow, they’re all there for the taking. In the past, if you were, say, a Muslim woman living in the Australian outback or using a wheelchair and desperate for easy fastenings, you were stuffed as far as fashion choices went. Now your cup brimmeth with labels that cater to you and like-minded clusters eager to trade “inspo”.
Once such is Mimu Maxi, a small fashion gem in Brooklyn catering to
Many tiny businesses would not have made it past seedling stage
Hassidic women, with modest clothes for religious women that are now sought after around the world by women of all faiths.
Which brings us to the many tiny businesses far from any fashion capital that would never have made it past the seedling stage without the free global oxygen provided by Instagram. There are 25 million businesses on Insta and OK, some of them are selling 25-year-old plugs. But that’s useful to someone. With wit and imagination an acorn can garner more genuine engagement from its followers proportionally than oak tree brands that spend millions.
Inevitably some days the downsides seem overwhelming: the fatuous political lectures, shameless preening, endless unfiltered oversharing, fake emoting, the way you find yourself mindlessly scrolling – and the realisation that after centuries of being objectified by men, some women are content to post selfies that offer the same slobbering viewpoint.
But you can edit all of that out. Or switch off. If you haven’t watched The Social Dilemma on Netflix yet, make it your priority. If you’re worried about offending someone by unfollowing them, you can always mute them. It’s amazing how many users still aren’t familiar with this wondrous option. In a nugget, your “friends” will never know you’ve done it, and you’ll never be assaulted by their latest in-front-of-amirror selfie again.
In civilisation terms, we’re at the discovering fire stage, still learning how to tame the beast and not make twits of ourselves. Will we squirm when we look back at some of our posts? I already do. Thank heavens for the delete button.