TikTok, the “anti-” or “ultimate” Instagram?

Much has been written lately about the differences between TikTok and Instagram, two social media behemoths each with about a billion users as of late 2021. The. comparison has gained particular attention especially in the aftermath of the recent Instagram debacle. For those of you who don’t follow Big Tech drama, Instagram tried to better compete with (ahem, copy) TikTok by changing its feed to be more video- and recommendations-focused. Unfortunately for Instagram, the change was met with a revolt among its users. (“Make Instagram Instagram Again” cried its users, including the Queens of Instagram Kim Kardashian and Kylie Jenner.) Instagram had to backtrack, at least temporarily.

Instagram vs. TikTok: same game, different strategies.

The immediate differences between the two platforms is pretty obvious: videos vs. photos; following vs. discovery. Instagram feeds you the most popular images uploaded by your favorite friends, celebrities and brands, while TikTok’s For You Page (FYP) feeds you an endless stream of “random” video content, informed by your history and preferences but selected by TikTok’s algorithms. Despite these differences, the end game is the same: each platform wants to get you to spend as much time on the platform as possible to harvest your data and sell ads, and creators want to get validation by racking up followers and likes and ultimately, monetize on that influence.

Excerpt from “Why Instagram Gives GenZ The Ick,” Nylon Magazine

Interestingly, creators seem to have taken different strategies. If Instagram was about sharing a meticulously curated, filtered, and FaceTuned representation of the best parts of your life, TikTok seems to be more focused on sharing your “real” self: your random thoughts while walking on the street, embarrassing stories from the store while sitting in your car, or zoomed in videos on scars, fat rolls, acne.

And so TikTok has almost created a different type of “vibe” or culture from Instagram, one that is supposedly based on authenticity and relatability.

Or did it?

A more authentic and relatable platform?

Instagram gave rise to the Instagram Face (think: Kardashian Jenners) and the AirSpace aesthetic (basically any coworking space or professionally managed AirBnB you’ve been to in the last 5 years. In any city, in any country.) Instagram is all about the curated, filtered, aspirational life, #goals #blessed. We didn’t need Frances Haugen to intuitively know that Instagram makes us feel “not good enough.”

TikTok, on the other hand, seems to have created — or at least attempts to create — a different type of culture, one where imperfections and messiness are celebrated. Remi Bader blew up making “realistic haul” videos, trying on Zara and H&M clothes and mimicking the ridiculous poses in their ad campaigns, but in XL. Elise Meyers built a whole following based on a seemingly endless supply of stories on her most awkward interactions. She openly discusses her ADHD, anxiety and depression, mostly filmed in an oversized t-shirt and messy hair. And I don’t mean that faux “messy”-but-actually-styled hair, I mean actually messy.

Having grown up with the perfectly photoshopped magazine covers and Instagram grids perpetuating the very narrow and unrealistic expectations of women, I do find it incredibly refreshing to see actual diverse representation of people who have fully embraced their bodies in all shapes and forms. Or haven’t and can openly talk about their struggles and coping mechanisms with their acne or their mental health issues. Both are more relatable and helpful because in reality, don’t we all simultaneously embrace but also try to “enhance” ourselves?

Instagram would never… (@EliseMeyers)

Or nothing more than an evolved form of Instagram?

Having said that, I struggle to fully accept TikTok as the anti-Instagram.

That’s because Remi Bader, a size-14 woman who brought me joy during the pandemic by making fun of ridiculous sartorial campaigns and sharing “real” reviews of clothes she bought online, became a hot new influencer. She launched a collaboration with Revolve “focusing on … elevated and versatile styles.” Starting at $55 a crop top.

Remi Bader’s collaboration with Revolve

On the one hand, we should celebrate the fact that TikTok can help accelerate size (and gender and race and other) inclusivity across society. We should celebrate that “gate keeping” is a bad word on TikTok and people are trying to take away the privilege of “insider knowledge.”

And yet, I can’t help but feel that we’re just pawns in the game of capitalism played by large corporations and tech platforms. We are not dismantling existing value systems; we’ve perhaps just gotten better at feeling better about ourselves while holding them up. We aren’t eating the rich and beautiful and famous, we are just getting better at emulating them with our mass-produced #AmazonFinds. All the while making each and every one of us replaceable and disposable through algorithms.

Food for thought…

How much of the culture and impact of social media are determined by user behavior and preferences? By the platform design? Can we change the impact of social media on individuals and society through education and regulation?

Or is social media simply reflecting the culture and value of the society we live in? What we as humans want and have always wanted?

Whose responsibility is it to change?