Instagram + Me

(Originally published on Sophomore Magazine)

I sat across from four brilliant women and a bottle of wine, at a panel discussion at Bad Girls Club, a feminist art show in Toronto in October 2015. Rosie Prata, a writer for Canadian Art and our moderator for the evening, finished her introduction and directed her first question at me:

“What steps do you take to consciously control your image online in crafting a brand for yourself that includes your professional and creative endeavours?”

At that point — and realistically, at this point too — I was just a fledgling freelancer with more intern work than real work (I hesitate to make that delineation, but it’s the truth) and was barely even aware of my own ‘brand’, professionally or otherwise. Despite this, it was my first time on a panel and I was too eager to appear as though I had my shit together, so I jumped the gun. In replying quickly and confidently I gave some answer that basically denied any difference between me and my professional work as a photographer and writer, something about how it’s cohesive and that they complemented one another. And maybe they do, but the next morning while coming down from the whirlwind that was the rest of the evening, I reflected on what Rosie asked, in my own personal post-mortem of the show. And, I don’t want to sound melodramatic, but it was in that moment that my relationship with Instagram completely changed.

Should I not be posting selfies?

Should I be worried about showing my cleavage?

What really is “a professional”, and am I one? Do I ever want to be one?

Without context, these questions may seem inconsequential — after all, it’s just Instagram. But for me — and I’m sure I am not alone on this — IG has resulted in new friendships, new jobs and a significantly wider audience for any and all of my work. Though the platform may be justan app on my phone, the opportunities it has afforded me have had a huge impact on my personal and professional life. This epiphany was reoccurring, incessantly self-critiquing every aspect of a post I was about to make that would reveal a bit more of my personal life. From the amount of a skin I was showing, to the frequency of my face on my timeline, these are things I was (and still am) very conscious of.

Retrospectively, I can realize now that these questions were not really just about my ‘brand’ online, but that they plagued me deeper than that because they were really questions about my own appearance as a woman (on or offline) and the desire to fit a more ‘hireable’ mold (read: be accepted by male counterparts). As a woman in a male-dominated industry and, at the time, interning at a menswear store as well, I am hyper conscious of how ‘feminine’ I appear. Fearing that if I dressed too much in a certain way or revealed too much about my life/perspectives/activities as a woman and ardent feminist then I wouldn’t be hired. Or if I was hired, I wouldn’t be respected. And though I have gotten nothing but respect from my close coworkers and peers, I am not naive to the fact that the representation of women in photography and writing (and most other industries) is completely unbalanced, that the pay gap is very real and that the idea of a ‘hireable mold’ as a woman in these industries encompasses not only your appearance but your perspectives and your vocality surrounding them. Are the messages and photos I post on Instagram too feminist, too conscious, too feminine, too sexy, too angry? Am I really free from discrimination based on my gender if these thoughts are very real considerations that I take into account every day? Sadly, this anxiety about my image is nothing unfamiliar and, unfortunately, this post is not really just about Instagram either.