Instagrasm consists of publishing a slice of life, a photo or a very short video sequence on social networks, generally accompanied by a brief text and keywords, with the aim of pleasing and presenting to the world a dream image of oneself, an improved version, a super-me.
We’ll say so-and-so had an instagrasm.
This action boosts self-esteem, brings pleasure and is therefore addictive for the person who posts an instagrasm after another. Similarly, the receiver of the instagrasm may also experience a form of pleasure and addiction, through a transference mechanism, as the image of the other becomes a fantasized version of oneself.
In surfing culture, which perpetuates a number of codes of conduct, publishing a photograph of a surf spot with its name and location, especially if it’s a little-frequented or even secret spot, is very badly perceived by other surfers. And with good reason, since they then see their quiet beach assaulted by hordes of surfers, thanks to the ego of a single instagrammer. Just like the Tik-Tok phenomenon in the summer of 2021, when an influencer launched “tous à Hossegor” (all to Hossegor), generating mass tourism to the destination among a public of young party-goers.
However, instagrasm isn’t always an unconscious phenomenon; it often becomes a marketing tool, a publicity stunt in the ocean of social networks. Instagrammers sell themselves to the highest bidder. Does this mean that his or her instagrams are faked? No doubt researchers are already looking into this question.
Numerous merchandising products are riding the wave of instagrasm, such as the go-pro that you stick to the front of your board, or to the end of a pole.
Surfing is the ultimate dream vehicle. It lends itself extremely well to instagrams and all forms of exploitation, particularly advertising and electioneering: surfing makes you cool, surfing makes you eco-friendly, surfing makes you handsome – and the seaside politician, conservative though he may be, has understood this very well!
