Hooked on the Game: Instagram and a New Form of Social Media ‘Addiction’
This post is a little different. I’ll take you through a curated ‘Day in the Life’ of my own Instagram use, exploring some thoughts from my typical sessions of over-analysis. As an aspiring artist, I share how I approach this social media platform in my quest to optimally navigate the digital frontier. Moreover, this is a story of a new kind of social media ‘addiction’, legitimised through its real-world benefits in the game of ‘Content Creation’.
I wouldn’t normally consider myself an ‘addict’ of any sort, but my dependency on certain technologies is making me question my existing views. To explain how this happens, I’ll take you through the ‘Three Stages of Social Media Use’. Within these three realms, each level involves higher user input and expression, alongside greater, more tangible real-world benefits. Taking inspiration from Ali and Taimur Abdaal’s Not Overthinking conversations, I labelled the respective levels as 1) Consume, 2) Connect, and 3) Create.
In my humble opinion, Instagram has masterfully crafted a system where users are both attracted to and held hostage by the perceived benefits of the platform. On the basic level, it is the convenience of mindless content consumption that keeps people hooked. In the ‘Elite’ realm of Content Creation, Instagram tempts foolish artists (like me) and other creators with very tangible rewards, in exchange for us working to further enrich their little circus. Here’s how it plays out.
STAGE 1 - CONSUME:
This is me. I’m not particularly happy here. I’ve somehow woken up at 5AM again, sluggishly checking the ungodly hour of my accidental waking.
I instinctively reach for my phone, opening Instagram on my blindingly bright screen. Before my brain could process my actions, I inevitably get distracted by the pretty pictures that instantly flood my home page. And then it began. Double tap. Scroll. Double tap. Repeat.
For reasons that confound my rational mind, I carry on with this all-to-familiar, pointless cycle. What you just witnessed was the Consume stage – the first degree of addiction – where my active brain shuts off and goes on auto-pilot, seeking the next dopamine hit with each swipe of my thumb.
The primary use case for most Instagram dwellers is content consumption; to seek entertainment, news, education, or inspiration from online media. Whether its masterful digital artworks or reposted Twitter memes, Instagram has it all. Its visual-centric nature, ease of use, and sheer popularity all make it a prime hotspot for casual browsing. Unsurprisingly, Instagram is my go-to application for checking out art and keeping up with my favourite artists. Its most potent feature is the now-common ‘newsfeed’ system, which automatically presents posts from your followed accounts and topics of interest. As such, apps like Instagram have revolutionised the way that I consume content; gone are the days of painstaking manual discovery, when I would scour Google Images for ‘cool dinosaur drawings’. These algorithmically-curated platforms – be it Twitter, YouTube, or Instagram – now brought the content to us.
For artists who constantly need references and inspiration, this upgrade was borderline divine. However, as you have likely noticed, the idea of the ‘Feed’ is actually pretty alarming. We essentially allow these platforms to ‘tube-feed’ us content for constant consumption; the name itself says a lot about its questionable nature. Despite giving supposed ‘individual agency’ (following accounts of your choice), users have very little specific control over the individual posts that populate your Home and Explore pages. You simply choose what things you are interested in, and the system does the rest. Van Dijck repeatedly warns that most of us have no real grasp of the backstage processes that influence what we end up seeing (2009). Crucially, there is a drastic reduction in the ‘brain power’ required to consume content; I no longer need to think to consume. The ‘feed’ removes the entire process of individual searching, therefore increasing our consumption rate and removing the need for a ‘truly active’ user (Zeratsky 2017). What results is the potential for mindless loops of consumption, hooked by the constant trickle of dopamine from each passing image. Truly some ominous stuff when I think about it.
STAGE 2 - CONNECT:
At its centre, Instagram is clearly an app built on connections. The Web 2.0 notions of ‘content consumption’ and ‘creation’ are both rooted in the digital connectivity offered by these platforms. As the label suggests, I use Instagram to build and maintain relationships with like-minded people across the world. Instagram’s messaging services are rather rudimentary and not particularly distinct, but it offers a convenient way to interact with intriguing users. If we ignore all the nervousness and overthinking on my part, the process of connection (‘reaching out’) really is just hitting that Message button to begin chatting. This connectivity has enabled a drastic expansion of my social circle, inevitably increasing net Social Capital (Neves 2013). Social capital can be understood as the opportunities and resources embedded within one’s social ties (Neves 2013). Once I got past my initial hesitance, Instagram has become a place of countless friendships and fruitful business opportunities. I’ve since chat with incredible artists, grateful ‘fans’ (I don’t know how else to describe them), and respectful clients. Instagram’s connectivity has undoubtedly led to the creation of deeply fulfilling social ties regarding emotional, artistic, and financial benefits.
Platforms like Instagram reflect the notion of ‘Networked Individualism’, where their hyper-connectivity positions the ‘individual’ – rather than the community – as the central aspect of socialisation (Wellman et al. 2003). As digital connections are no longer bound by geo-spatial and temporal constraints, we are now capable of making personally selected relationships without being limited to our local networks. The problem is that Networked Individualism promotes a fragmented, ‘low-commitment’ approach to socialisation, increasing speed and breadth with no guarantee of depth (Rainie & Wellman 2012). My experience both supports and rejects this theory. While I admit that most ‘connections’ were indeed ‘high-speed, low-quality’, I nevertheless made a few core art-centred friendships of significant emotional and intellectual depth. The sheer volume of connections, alongside the selective, interest-based nature of this process, helped make this possible; I see it as no different from ‘real life’ relationship-making, simply with an expanded and more ‘deliberate’ potential network (Rainie & Wellman 2012).
The ‘Business’ account mode offers further interesting considerations. I often feel a pang of guilt as I systematically shove unexciting chats into the backwater ‘general’ section, separate from my ‘main’ tab with my core creative friends. However, while I happily take advantage of such features, it must be noted that Instagram itself is partly to blame for this otherwise appalling behaviour. Through implementing and advertising such features as benefits to creators, Instagram encourages the intentional segregation of people’s interactions. In this way, socialisation becomes an ‘individual endeavour’ in both the creation and management of relationships (Raine & Wellman 2012, 125).
STAGE 3 - CREATE:
Finally, we have Create – the highest level of platform usage and user input in my experience. Here is where the story becomes a little exaggerated in describing my ‘daily usage’ of Instagram. Realistically, I don’t post every day. Hell, sometimes I don’t post for weeks – excluding regular mini-posts on Instagram’s ephemeral ‘Story’ function. Overall, Instagram remains the primary conduit for sharing my creations – both digital art and photography – to an online audience. It is the easiest way for my artwork to reach tens of thousands of individuals worldwide (not a flex 😊), all while I cram university assignments in my bedroom. I won’t bore you with actual details of cropping pictures and adjusting aspect ratios, instead going over some deeper ways in which Instagram has shaped my creative process.
On a macro level, Instagram encourages – and almost necessitates – a heightened awareness and management of the ‘Self’. Quite the mouthful, but this idea is foundational to how I present myself online to build an artistic digital presence. Most notably, I have separate accounts for differing purposes. The ‘Main’ profile displays a curated collection of my better artworks, representative of my interests and art philosophy at a given time. The ‘side’ account houses varied sketches and ideas, acting as a less formal outlet for my process and thoughts. A completely detached Photography account serves as a standalone visual portfolio of my urban photos. This separation and distinct identity performance all act to optimally manage viewership and retain audience engagement; rather than a clutter of random posts, each account has consistent subject matter to maximise traction and minimise confusion.
What the hell do I post?
Secondly, the digitally ‘public’ nature of Instagram requires far greater consideration in content creation. Is this good enough to publish, potentially tainting my name on the permanent ledger of the Internet? Hogan’s notion of “asynchronous Exhibition” describes the difficulty involved in social media posting; creator’s must have a constant awareness of their artifacts’ potential audience, consequences, and whether it accurately represents their artistic intent (2010). Both this issue and the previous point relate to the avoidance of ‘context collapse’, segregating audiences to avoid unfavourable presentation of content (Hogan 2010, 383); those who came for my digital art may not want to be barraged with my photography, and vice versa.
Furthermore, Instagram and ‘The Algorithm’ promotes a degree of conformity to current societal trends, but also to the pre-existing ‘version’ of yourself. It is well known that piggybacking off hot topics and popular hashtags is key to boosting viewership (Macdonald 2020). A subtler influence is the aforementioned ‘consistency’ within accounts; falling analytics demonstrate that creators are not encouraged to stray from their existing content to avoid losing their established audience. This potentially stunts personal and artistic growth, as I’ve certainly experienced this externally-reinforced hesitance to try new things, further entrenching my internal fear of failure (Jiang & Ngien 2020). As Hogan warns, the notion of the ‘backstage’ is fading; you don’t simply fail in private anymore, you fail in public, potentially effecting all future performance on the platform (2010). As such, it is evident that ‘The Gram’ is no longer a mere hub for online media, but an entire lifestyle of expression, communication, and rationality.
Stuck in the Game
This is what leads to a ‘new form’ of social media addiction, where I’m hooked to the content creation ‘game’, pushing to optimise my online presence. It’s not quite the classic ‘I-cannot-stop-scrolling’ situation. Through attaching tangible benefits and consequences to your online actions, Instagram legitimises the entire usage of social media. Whether its more followers to market to, or fellow creators to collaborate with, there are very real benefits that come from usage. Thus, there is now a valid reason for me to religiously check Instagram, micro-managing each aspect of my online presence and monitoring engagement analytics. Instagram makes you want to be engaged for your own benefit; the more you play the Game, the better the rewards you get.
As I’ve discussed in my three stages of usage, Instagram has established itself as a conduit for increasing the ‘surface area for serendipity’ in my life. Its consumptive, connective, and creative capacities enable us to remove ourselves from the confines of our little offline ‘village’, entering the far greater domain of online interaction. Without this extensive digital networking platform, no one beyond my ‘village’ even knows I exist. The margins for Opportunity are miniscule, considered miraculous when any ‘lucky break’ eventually occurs.
All of these elements crucially reflect a greater, central phenomenon. Instagram and competing social media apps foster a degree of ‘Technological Rationality’ amongst its users, especially those with explicit creative and financial aims. All operations are geared towards maximising results, wherein optimal posting conditions should be met despite potential personal disapproval or annoyance (Marcuse 1998; Arriagada & Ibanez 2020). My entire usage of Instagram has slowly become a hustle for increasing ‘output’, not simply a relaxed expression of a hobby. Essentially, to me and countless other creators, it no longer makes sense to upset the system. It is for one’s own benefit that one sacrifices a part of our agency to engage with the social media ‘apparatus’.
Furthermore, under this rationale, ‘Worth’ and quality become externally appraised figures, taking power away from the user. Like concerns sparked by self-tracking applications, the danger of both technologies is this externalisation of judgement (Henwood & Marent 2019). Worth is judged from the number assigned by the algorithm, as a proxy for understanding how ‘good’ a post is. This is an incredibly reductionistic approach, where the artistic expression, emotional resonance, and depth of the piece are all compressed into a singular dimension represented by a few numbers. And so, Art becomes a statistic in the eyes of the system, reduced to basic figures denoting ‘audience engagement’ and ‘profile visit frequencies’.
In the end, Instagram is both the key to my artistic growth, and the shackles that chain me to this constant Game. In all stages – consumption, connection, and creation – the platform has significantly shaped the way that I interact with and comprehend the digital world. Hopefully this gargantuan piece gave you a sliver of value, perhaps sparking some deeper consideration of how we use and engage with social media.
-J.
REFERENCES:
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