I’m a fairly nondescript person living in Kansas City, MO. Even so, for a number of unremarkable reasons, I have more than 500,000 followers on Instagram. I’m an artist, and I do strive for and enjoy a large audience, but most of the people I know in the real, physical world greet this numeric feat as strange news. Those who respect and follow the world of “mobile photography” seem mystified as to why I’m enjoying such success. And those who don’t participate in such distractions at all seem to regard my city-sized population of followers as something they imagine I’ll one day be embarrassed of – as though they unwittingly discovered that I am the kingpin of a hidden, vibrant world of Beanie Babies.
More and more, the difficult aspect of both conversations is the fact that my state of mind awkwardly triangulates both of these positions with my own dose of self-loathing, disbelief, and – to be honest – an ego that is constantly being stroked by someone, somewhere. But there’s a disconnect: I don’t know who these people are. And even worse, I’m often wondering what their problem is.
The vast majority of comments I get on the photos I post are one-word compliments (“nice” is far out in front). From there, it’s a treasure chest of spam, vulgarities, trolling, confused tappings of dense children, and “shout-out” requests. Aside from the self-advertising spam, I’ve collected a few PG examples of each variety:
“Gr8 Shot!”
“Boobs Lol”
“this is STUPID”
“Well, I very hate it”
“Can u please give me a shoutout please!!!!!!”
Beyond this fledging ecosystem of brief remarks, there are the most bewildering comments of all. Those that one simply cannot make sense of or understand, not unlike any number of absurd occurrences we’ve all experienced in a city, late at night. All of these comments are a reminder of how many people are now following my account – and what a cross-section of the population begins to look like when you move beyond your outer circles. “The world is a very big place,” I find myself telling my slightly concerned mother.
People refer to all of these comments with a sense of urgency – as though I don’t know. “Have you seen the comments on your Instagram feed,” they ask me. My canned response to most inquiries has consistently been something along the lines of, “Sorry, I have a bunch of 14-year-old followers…it’s weird.” And even though my Instagram account is not the center of my waking life, it is a creative outlet for me, as an artist, and I have grown tired of sheepishly writing off the whole endeavor as a weird sideshow that I quietly allow.
All of these comments are a reminder of how many people are now following my account – and what a cross-section of the population begins to look like when you move beyond your outer circles.
And so the other day, I decided I would try to not be so cynical, and would instead do my best to bring out the best in my commenters. I posted a high-speed montage of photos from the past three years, a kind of self-portrait of favorites – photos that are a way of saying what I’m about. Accompanying those images, I simply asked, “Who Are You?”
Because let’s face it, it’s more personal than an artist’s body of work. We’re peering into someone’s pocket, and the impulse they have to fetch a device… in any personal place, at any odd hour. That’s powerful. That’s strange.
This morning I noticed that my Instagram account had crossed the threshold of 500k, and a feeling I’ve been having more frequently became decidedly pronounced: Who are these people, and what am I doing with them? Please don’t misunderstand, it isn’t that I judge you for following me, I am indeed quite flattered, given the innumerable selection of better photographers than myself. But when I share images from what I consider to be a rather specific life, in a locale that many don’t list among the most picturesque, I can’t help but ask, “Who am I showing this to?” The thoughts continue down a line from there: Who among these people still have Instagram on their phone? Who among them are not 14 years old? What does this growing number represent? What understanding are we gaining about someone else when we follow them on Instagram?
Because let’s face it, it’s more personal than an artist’s body of work. We’re peering into someone’s pocket, and the impulse they have to fetch a device from that small soft spot on their outer leg on any given day, in any personal place, at any odd hour. That’s powerful. That’s strange. So, with this strange occurrence being the best excuse I’ll likely have to be selfish, I would like to ask a question that will make this strange personal/public dance more worthwhile for me. To all those who are actually seeing and reading: Who are you? What is your first name, what defines you, and where do you live? You too, trolls.
My surprise at the response reveals that I’m nearly as naïve as my worst commenters. I suppose I expected the “conversation” to quickly divulge into an adolescent mess. Instead, a steady stream of thoughtful, articulate, and interesting comments came in faster than I could read them. After a few hours, there were more than 400 answers. I was humbled and fascinated. Simply knowing that these people had been looking at the images I post is a special privilege.
“Hye. I’m Eizzati. It’s hard for u guys to pronounce my name because I’m from Malaysia. I’m 18. I love looking at things (big or small) through other perspective. I define myself as a person that is trying to be good to other people through actions and words. But people define me as mysterious (huh?). Keep up the good work Mr. Artist in kansas.”
– aniseizzati
“Pretoria, South Africa. People, women, Technology, life, nature…”
– riaandelange
“My name is Neil. I’m from KC area. Instagram is my guilty pleasure because photography is my favorite art, but there’s not an artistic bone in my body. I enjoy seeing your view of our city. Thanks!”
– nkanning
“I am a woman, who is deeply in love with a love that no longer exists. Mortified by the choices, I chose for it to be extinct. A californian woman at the age of her mid twenties trying to find something to uplift her; uplift her in higher spirits and someone to tell her “it will be OK” to face the next day.”
– dayslonger
“Dayslonger. You are not alone.”
– lildebbie1956
It became clear to me that those who usually leave comments on my photos were essentially warded off by the long introduction. In the meantime, a smaller subset of mature people from all over the world was glad to take the stage. I found it especially curious that so many of them thanked me for asking about them. But I should not be surprised, they are all interesting. More than anything else to do with my Instagram account, or even Instagram in general, this experience was deeply encouraging for me as a human. There are thoughtful, quiet individuals everywhere, from all places, of all ages. They’re paying attention; they’re assessing what is worth their attention. They’re waiting for you to ask.
