Instagram is good, isn’t it? Lots of pictures of models doing the peace sign and thin men wearing immaculate trainers close to canals. Pictures of distant beaches and gauzy sunsets. It’s good how the filters make all the photos looked aged and slightly bad.
And then the photos of lunch: lunch after lunch after lunch, the lunches running into each other now, a sausage roll on a plate with a single chive laid across it, a burger-of-the-month with all the cutlery moved out of the way, a gourmet macaroon that has developed a thin sort of film-like texture on the surface because it’s taken so long to get the zoom and the lighting right.
Instagram has changed the way we consume food and turn it into energy: we now eat with our eyes, our bodies powered only by getting 12 likes and someone commenting “looks yum”. In 100 years time, no human being will eat food in the traditional ram-it-in-your-mouth way, and will instead get all of our nutrition via social media adulation. And this is Instagram’s fault.
But then that’s being negative, and now is not the time. Because Instagram has just this week announced that it has passed 400 million users, which is astonishing for a service that has only just introduced a feature where you can upload a rectangular photograph instead of just a square one. To be a fly on the wall in that meeting: “Chad”, someone is saying, because everyone who works at Instagram is called Chad, “Chad, what shall we introduce next? We’ve done all those filters that makes everything look aged and slightly bad. What’s next?” And Chad screwed up his face entrepreneurially and said: rectangles?
But at 400 million users, I fear the sun is picturesquely setting on Instagram. Because, at 400 million, you’re at a tipping point: every under-25 alive and every fashion blogger and every brand is now already using the service, so who is there even left to sign up? The answer is: mums.
I remember the first time someone said the word Facebook to me, because it was 2pm and I’d just woken up, and the year was 2008, and I was a long-haired awful student. Back then, Facebook required a .ac.uk email address, and was essentially a service that allowed students to document their foam parties – when will people learn that the presence of foam does not make anything fun? – and poke each other in an infinitely recurring loop. Then Facebook opened up its gates to people with jobs and responsibilities and also mums, and now look at it: it’s just photos of babies and people caught in traffic jams tagging themselves on the M1, and Minion memes, and Candy Crush invitations.
Mums are going to take every currently existing Instagram trope and mum it up. It’s going to be black-and-white selfies, but with a baby in the frame for good measure. A carefully arranged photo of a Sunday roast on immaculate white linen. A picture of brunch, but the mum is on a diet so it’s just a photo of half a grapefruit. And then somehow Candy Crush will export over to Instagram, and the new wave of invitations will render the service moot.
And then the dads find out about it: a squad of dads on a train to Carlisle, surrounded by warm tins and the wrappers from M&S sandwiches, earnestly calling for a selfie; dads with their curious way of being in charge of the family pet’s social media accounts, replying “woof woof, funny photo!” on every single Instagram post, 20 of them in a row, until the account is reported for spam, its six blurry images of the family dog chewing a burst football quietly deleted; dads posting a single lonely photo of a pint of Guinness for 16 consecutive Sundays.
And then finally the racists, the slowest adopters of all, the #ootd (outfit of the day) tag being taken over by Ukip propaganda and viral images of refugees slipped through the Hudson filter with a proud union flag overlay, elegant photos of a battered sausage and chips, the tray held aloft to the rain while the police kettle them in at the latest Britain First rally. Click “like” to respect our troops. Click “share” if halal is bad.
So that’s my vision of the future: Instagram – with all its hopes, all its dreams, all its 400 million users – its purity ruined by other people. At the time of writing, Snapchat undulates between 100 and 200 million users, with mums, dads and racists not yet wise to the simple joy of temporary selfies or that feature where it looks like you’re vomiting a rainbow. For now, it is a haven. See you over there.
