I don’t have an Instagram. I’d like to pretend it’s because I’m too subversive for social media, but the truth is I’m too lazy for it. After witnessing my friends pour hours into photo capturing and filter selection, I decided it wasn’t worth the effort. Putting on makeup for a first-day-of-school selfie? Please.
Even though I don’t have an account, I’ve had substantial exposure to Instagram from glancing over the photos of my friends and those they follow. Much of what I’ve seen troubles me. Specifically, the accounts of Instagram celebrities, or the users whose hundreds of thousands of followers have helped them become online royalty. Instagram celebrities range from fitness gurus to club promoters, but a couple things remain consistent: They are beautiful, and they have fun.
Earlier this year, I flipped through the pictures of a friend’s favorite Instagram celebrities. The more pictures I saw, the clearer it became that they couldn’t possibly be an accurate representation of anyone’s life. Scattered among stunning “candid” photos of beautiful people were other calming, aesthetically pleasing images. A colorful, healthy meal poised against a beautiful natural backdrop. Candles next to a frothy bathtub with flower petals floating among the bubbles. It was as if these people lived their days in a tropical desktop screensaver and their nights in a glittery music video. No stress, no obligations and, most importantly, nothing ugly.
While it was blatantly obvious to me these pictures were a far cry from reality, my friend felt differently. She would pine over each photo and wish she had the body, clothes and lives of those she followed. It seemed to make her feel as though she lacked the beauty and comfort she saw in these accounts, and it left her with a sense of inadequacy. It left me saddened.
Recently, an Instagram celebrity named Essenna O’Neil deleted her account. Despite having half a million followers, the 19-year-old Australian model was fed up with the “contrived perfection” of her account. She confessed her posts were fake representations of her life and she often restricted her diet and posed for hours in order to capture the perfect picture of herself. She also admitted she was paid by fashion companies to post images featuring their products. By revealing that none of her photos were candid and she was unhappy with being an Instagram star, O’Neil shattered the illusion of the “perfect life” her account sold.
I was thrilled an Instagram celebrity finally addressed the superficial nature of the app. However, Instagram celebrity accounts trouble me not only for their falsity, but also for the way they celebrate passive lifestyles rather than actual lives. Instagram celebrities always seem to be relaxing and posing as mere objects rather than real people.
An Instagram fitness guru’s posts don’t show her drenched in sweat after a rigorous workout. Instead, they show her coyly looking away while sporting a flat stomach and fashionable workout spandex. An Instagram celebrity’s beach photos don’t show you the fun parts of a beach trip, the slamming into waves and getting sand in your hair. Instead, they show her in a bikini, dreamily looking off across the sea as if to say “I got this body by standing still and pondering.” They never seem to actually DO anything. It’s a strange glorification of easy living in which one’s only purpose is to look pretty and partake in meaningless pleasures.
As sad as I find it, it makes sense these “perfect lifestyle” accounts are what helps Instagram celebrities rise to internet fame. After all, Instagram is an image-based platform. There are very few truly meaningful things a person can do that can be summarized in a visually appealing snapshot. Pictures of the important things I do in my day would be pretty unexciting — a photo of me buried under a pile of coffee-stained notes, a photo of me applying to jobs, a photo of me sitting here in my torn sweater trying to write this column. None of these things would make for a particularly noteworthy Instagram, but I wouldn’t trade any of them for a thousand perfect pictures.
Perhaps the reason I don’t have an Instagram isn’t laziness. Perhaps it’s because I know the things in my life worth celebrating aren’t the things that make for flawless pictures. Perhaps it’s because I know my proudest moments weren’t great because of how I looked. They were great because of what I did.
Namwan Leavell is a UF economics junior. Her column appears on Fridays.
