Images via @lilmiquela and @kimkardashian.
“We want Instagram to be a place where people feel comfortable expressing themselves,” so said Mia Garlick, Facebook Australia and New Zealand’s director of policy, as Instagram implemented their new ‘hidden likes’ feature in seven countries last week. The setting will disguise how many likes or views a post receives from followers, allowing only the user who posted the image themselves to access the like count. After a positive reception from Canadian users (where ‘hidden likes’ was introduced in April), Instagram has branched the feature out to six further countries: Australia, Brazil, Ireland, New Zealand, Italy and Japan. “We hope this test will remove the pressure of how many likes a post will receive, so you can focus on sharing the things you love,” concluded Garlick, in an announcement which would, unsurprisingly, ignite debate across the globe.
The questions were endless. Considering that the platform has long been correlated with promoting low self-esteem amongst its community, was this a long-awaited and necessary step forward in improving users’ mental health? Or was it simply pandering to its audience, manipulating users in an entirely profit-motivated decision? What does this mean for the future of influencers? And finally, will ‘hidden likes’ really enact any positive change for mental health?
In the wake of Instagram’s recent announcement, it’s important to note that the photo app is owned by Facebook—the company responsible for engineering the premise of likes as measure of popularity and social status in the first place. From its inception, the like button had dark and unsettling intentions. In 2017, Facebook’s first president, Sean Parker, revealed that the button was specifically engineered to exploit the vulnerability of human psychology. “It’s a social-validation feedback loop,” Parker warned, “the inventors, creators … understood this consciously, and we did it anyway”.
If Instagram’s parent company still readily encourages the use of the like button, then the platform’s supposed concerns for their user’s well-being comes under scrutiny. “I can’t help but think there must be a profit motivation behind this,” considers Irish Podcast host, Molly Parsons (@mouldyparnsips). Parsons, who may not subscribe to being labelled an ‘influencer’, does concede to using Instagram as “a promotional tool and a sort of accessible CV for potential projects.” Based in Ireland, where the ‘hidden likes’ scheme is currently being trialled, the 22-year-old would surely have reason to worry over the new feature. “Actually, I really love the idea,” she enthuses over DM. “Regardless of Instagram’s motivations I still think it’s a bold move from them … Likes had almost become a palpable monetary value on a photo … It really created a sort of imaginary competition between peers.”
Her stance is refreshing in a sea of online figures despairing over the new feature. Take New Zealander influencer Mikaela Testa, who published several tearful Instagram stories lamenting the policy. The videos, in which Testa sobs that “blood sweat and tears” have gone into curating her feed, were met with sneers from hoards of online commentators quick to condemn influencers as ridiculous and laughable. Parsons, however, remains calm and cheerful: “I really believe it is a small step in a new direction for mental wellbeing when using social media.”
“I can’t help but think there must be a profit motivation behind this."
“Small-step” is the operative phrase for Keelin Moncreiff (@kee_mon), an online activist and contemporary of Parsons, who runs a YouTube channel which she uses alongside her Instagram to promote environmental and social causes. Happy to be labelled an influencer, and also based in Ireland, Moncreiff is dubious about the scheme and its supposed mental health benefits. “The mental health and self-esteem justification seems a bit wishy-washy to be sincere, the likes might be hidden but the feeds are still teeming with Facetuned bodies and airbrushed complexions.”
Moncrieff’s remarks call into question some of the larger problems with Instagram. Namely, is the content of the photographs themselves more damaging than the like count? “The content of the photographs is one thing,” notes Parsons, “but an actual number below it deeming it as ‘likeable’ or its ‘popularity’ value is altogether another.”
As for the future of Insta-influencers, neither of the women see ‘hidden likes’ as ushering in the demise of Instagram stardom. “I can’t see it as having a huge impact on the rate of uploads,” Moncrieff tells SLEEK. Parsons agrees, suggesting that perhaps the only difficulty will be that brands will now struggle to detect ‘fake’ or ‘bought’ followers (previously brands were able to compare a like count and follower count, assessing whether or not an influencer’s following was veritable). Canadian blogger, Gabrielle Lacasse, however, who boasts an Instagram following of 55.9k, posits that this may in fact be a force for good.“I think brands need to educate themselves on the importance of content and to choose the right fit for them instead of likes and followers. To me, that would be the real win.”
A real win would also, no doubt, be to encourage a less homogenous and more imaginative approach to photo-sharing. Somewhere along the way Instagram’s mission to foster creativity got bogged down with likes, lattes and #livelaughlove. Perhaps losing our likes will also help us to lose our inhibitions to post. As Parsons concludes, “I could see it encouraging people to post more freely and creatively. I can only see it having positive effects on both my work and my attitude towards it.”