I was swiping through someone's Instagram 'photo dump' recently (what a horrendous term, right?) when I found myself judging their lack of... filter.
Each photo was either blurry, awkwardly angled or just a downright ugly image of a dirty Sydney street. In hindsight, I can see how it looked like real life. Chaotic. Messy. Completely and utterly unphotogenic.
The fact that I was initially judgemental of it says a lot about me, but also about Instagram. Over 12 years, the app has grown to roughly one billion monthly active users, most drawn in years ago by the picture-perfect, carefully curated aesthetic of lattes, avocados and neon signs. Things were designed and created 'for the gram'. Floral walls, pancakes with fairy floss, photo booths, cutesy product packaging.
It was obviously manufactured, and we bought it. Because for a long time, Instagram was about trying to fit in. It was about showing off a 'highlights reel' of beaches and brunches, just like everyone else, and at its most extreme, about looking like everyone else too: with plump lips, high cheekbones and thick brows.
There were Instagram rules, but scrolling through a feed featuring Cara Delevingne's blurry selfies, Rita Ora's stripy socks and a weird chalk message an acquaintance saw on the footpath, it feels like they've been done away with.
I would argue there's an element to the pandemic in this shift. As cliche as it has become to attribute cultural changes to COVID-19, it's also hard to argue that it wasn't difficult to keep up the traditional, over-thought, staged Instagram aesthetic when cafes were closed and the only events taking place were on our couches.
The pandemic gave birth to the 'photo dump', a way for us to share the mundane happenings of early pandemic life in a carousel. They were like dipping our toes into the anti-aesthetic waters. Now we're neck deep and being thrown about by the waves, which have definitely not had their saturation levels turned up in Lightroom to turn them a picture-perfect shade of turquoise.
There has also been the rise of TikTok, where users typically elevate content based on individualism, humour and self-deprecation over looks and aesthetic. When the biggest videos on the app are young people sharing their most embarrassing stories, fails and mistakes, it makes sense for that authenticity and carefree attitude to jump to other forms of social media.
In the past, users would pre-plan posts, spend an hour playing around with filters and presets and then save it a draft until came the opportune time for posting. This fresh approach to Instagram prides itself on putting much less effort into it.
Mamamia writer Emma Gillman explains the shift offers "a more fulfilling social approval", where users are being validated for content that feels authentically 'them'.
"I think the unfiltered silly posting could be a result of that. People want to show off their personality a little more. It's a bit fun, cheeky and shows that you don't take anything too seriously," she says.
It's not just a fun new way to present yourself, though. It's a pushback and display of differentiation on an app that has been full of homogenous content. It was started by teens and young adults, but is slowly being adopting by older users too.
The appetite for this approach is clear in a newer crop of influencers, who have built platforms off their seemingly spontaneous, unfiltered, Lo-Fi feeds.
While millennial influencers of 2017 would drag a DSLR camera everywhere they went, then curate and edit an entire photoshoot just for one shot, the Emma Chamberlains of the world have amassed 15 million followers by snapping candid moments and sharing directly from their phones.
"I think Instagram's old 'aesthetic' look of 2013-2016ish - think VSCO filters and matching colour tones edited to suit an individual's profile feed - feels far too forced for Gen Z," Gillman says.
"It's very trendy to not 'try' or look like you care about your socials."
Olivia Simons from influencer agency Squad says there has been a noticeable change in the way influencers and brands work together as more 'authentic' content has come out on top.
"TikTok has really changed the game on this one where any content that comes across as ungenuine, overly curated or staged is now less engaged with. Gen Z, and their stance on being responsible for a more inclusive and accepting culture, is shown through the kinds of content that they engage with - authenticity is key.
"Brands have had to reevaluate how they engage with talent and content creators. Content, especially branded content, has to add some sort of value to their audience, whether it is informative, entertaining or emotive. Audiences are becoming savvier and more switched on to sponsored content. A flat lay or standard grid post just doesn't seem to cut it anymore."
The rejection has seeped into other parts of life in interesting ways. The 'Instagram face' of the past has become less and less popular for women inquiring with cosmetic and plastic surgeons.
In 2021, experts told my colleague Erin Docherty that there was now a growing number of Aussie women having their cosmetic work reversed and either going completely natural or instead seeking 'tweakments' — that is, subtle, often non-surgical procedures that aren't too obvious.
This doesn't mean that Instagram, social media and being perpetually online isn't influencing people to alter their appearance. There is still an 'Instagram face' - minimally invasive procedures like fillers, wrinkle-reducing injectables, and skin treatments are only on the up - but it just looks a little different. The brows are fluffier, the lips more glossy and the overall look is less 'one size fits all'.
At the surface, this all points to a much healthier approach to social media. Instagram is regularly criticised for perpetuating unrealistic beauty standards and glorifying unattainable lifestyles. It has long been about 'keeping up', with both the Joneses and the Kardashians.
Online isn't real life, and this new way of posting at least aligns more with what our real lives actually look like: imperfect.
But rather than throwing out the rules, this new approach might just be a rewriting. Is it real as 'no f***s' as it appears?
"I think Gen Z want to set themselves apart from their older peers/friends who are 'proving' their lack of culture/understanding of trends by using Instagram as an overly filtered highlights reel," Gillman says.
"It's a status thing for sure. It's very cool to reject the typical rules about posting once a day in prime time with an edited pic, but of course then we are following new 'Instagram rules' of our own by doing so, aren't we?"
Simons says it may look different, but "Instagram always has and always will be curated because it's only ever going to be a snapshot of reality".
There are still wider cultural issues at play here, too. Thin, beautiful and white are still the traits most revered by peers, and most likely to be elevated to positions of influence and power. There's also a humble brag element. Essentially, what they're saying is 'even my unfiltered life is fun'. There's nothing wrong with that, but rejecting curation with a different form of curation is... still curation.
"It's pretty clear that to participate in this 'IDGAF'-style trend you still need to have status," Gillman explains.
"It's a shift from one trend to another, whether that's better or worse is up for discussion. I love that Gen Z is using social media to show off some more personality, but as with all social media phenomenons, I think it's more nuanced than a complete rejection of trends. We're performative! At least this content is a little more fun."
Keep that in mind next time you're swiping through a, ugh, 'photo dump'.
Chelsea McLaughlin is Mamamia's Senior Entertainment Writer. For more pop culture takes, sarcasm and... cat content, you can follow her on Instagram.
Feature image: Instagram/Canva/Mamamia.
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