New this issue: Who would tavitulle be without Instagram? The Rookie founder and early influencer writes about life as a brand
A History of Instagram in Four Acts: The Instagram aesthetic is always evolving. Gevinson and photographer Eva O’Leary reenacted some of its phases. Act I, The Polaroid: Before #nofilter, the filter was the point. Photo: Eva O’Leary. Special thanks to Royal Palms Shuffleboard. This article was featured in One Great Story, New York’s reading recommendation newsletter. Sign up here to get it nightly.
It’s not that my public account was some highly curated performance. I’ve always thought I could be myself in public pretty easily — by which I mean, speak without second-guessing myself too much on social media, in writing, in interviews. But the memory of my private account tells me I still had a strong instinct for savvy that I couldn’t or wouldn’t admit to myself or anyone.
I got Instagram in 2011, when I was 15, at the same time I got an iPhone. Early on, it felt like a fun, paced-up version of blogging, meant for savoring parts of my real life and peeking into the realities of people unlike me. The more I used it, however, the more I found myself searching for some definitive reality in the way I was perceived by others via comments, likes, and follows.
I think I am a writer and an actor and an artist. But I haven’t believed the purity of my own intentions ever since I became my own salesperson, too. Once my blog started getting readers and press, it was also met with skepticism, with a writer for the Cut even speculating that it was a hoax. Ten years ago, just the idea of a child sharing parts of her life online to an anonymous audience was a novelty. Famous young people were usually musicians, actors, models, athletes — people with corporations and contracts behind them. Few fashion bloggers were monetizing their hobby back then, and there wasn’t much of a road map for doing so.
My readers became Rookie’s readers, contributors, and editors. For seven years, I dictated our monthly editorial themes, reviewed pitches, scoured the internet for new contributors, DM’d celebrities to ask them to do something with us, and wrote a monthly “Editor’s Letter.” I edited and art-directed our five print anthologies and promoted them through press and tours and, of course, on Instagram.
I acted in three Broadway plays. I gossiped, bought lots of clothes, drank too much. On Instagram, I posted my own press photos, party photos, and red-carpet photos, and I quieted the inner, younger me who would’ve found that shallow and gross. There was no need for another private fake-public account for these moments; they became my everyday. At last, I could claim the realm of visibility I’d authentically infiltrated.
The internet was changing, and I became an adult. I knew it would stunt my growth to be Rookie’s editor indefinitely, to try to read teenagers’ minds long after I had been one. Still, I never thought that should mean the end of Rookie for future generations. So in 2017, Rookie’s publisher and I started seeking options to give it a long life: funding, partnerships, acquisitions.
I was paid a flat rate for the whole year, not by the post, and the question of how often to post was left pretty open. Mostly, the marketing firm deferred to me, as they too wanted my Instagram to feel like I was posting the same content I would normally. Before the campaign was announced, the firm asked me to post a photo showing I had moved, geotagging the building but not tagging it as an #ad. I complied, figuring I’d have shared that I’d moved anyway.
None of this negates the criticisms I received for my initial lack of transparency or for the building’s contribution to gentrification. It only serves to highlight the way the black hole can make something as personal as one’s finances seem knowable to strangers. Whatever the source of this anxiety, it seemed foolish to do things I knew were making it worse. So in the fall of 2017, I evaluated which activities could go. Rookie, at that time, felt nonnegotiable. So did promoting it on Instagram. And promoting my sponsored apartment and my acting projects and my general self I make money off, also on Instagram.
Since Rookie ended, lots of people have referred to it as one of the safest, kindest places on the internet. And it was genuinely very special, thanks to the thoughtfulness and talents of everyone in its community.
After Rookie folded, I watched my follower count drop from 544,000 to 509,000. I saw in my analytics that I have more followers in the 45-to-54-year-old bracket than the 13-to-17-year-old one. When I first noticed these shifts, they felt significant, and I was struck with the feeling that I still “need” to use my account for work. But my job now is to finish writing a book and a movie.
Act IV, The Relatable: Aspirational photos no longer perform as well as ones that feel #real. Photo: Eva O’Leary Earlier this year, I decided to use Instagram to reacquaint myself with these possibilities. I paid attention to people who I thought looked like they were having fun on the app, like the comedian Chloe Fineman with her many ingenious impressions. One weekend in March, Ivanka Trump posted a sinister video of herself on Twitter, and I posted a video parodying it.
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