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In the past, every time an Instagram user posted with the option to share on Facebook, the photo on Facebook said it came from Instagram, with a link back to the app. Instagram’s analysis showed that between 6 and 8 percent of all original content on Facebook was cross-posted from Instagram.
So there was no longer a link to Instagram on tens of billions of Facebook photos every day.
Ironically, in an act of competitive defiance against their own parent company, they ended up doing what Facebook had always advised.
For Facebook, those problems would always seem like a side project. And so at Instagram, which always said it prioritized community above all else, the community lost.
Mosseri’s title would be “head of Instagram.” At Facebook Inc., there was room for only one CEO.
At the end of 2019, Instagram announced that it would stop letting people see the like count on other users’ photos. Results from a months-long test of the change showed positive effects on behavior, though Instagram wouldn’t say exactly what the effects were.
The app also started telling users when they’d seen all the new posts in their feed, so they could stop scrolling. Both moves were praised by the media and celebrities. Instagram seemed to be standing up for the well-being of its community. But
As Instagram became part of our culture, Facebook’s culture of measurement did too. The line between person and brand is blurring. The hustle for growth and relevance, backed by data, is now the drumbeat of modern life online. No matter what Instagram does with like counts, our communication has become more strategic. Instagram has made us not only more expressive but also more self-conscious and performative.
The frequency of advertising on Instagram had increased. There were more notifications too, and more personalized recommendations about who to follow. Being part of the Facebook “family” meant making compromises to bolster the bottom line—and to account for the growth rate slowing down on the main social network. That October, Instagram employees gathered around a cake.
There are also the regulatory questions. Governments are waking up to the idea that the top alternative to Facebook is an app also owned by Facebook. The
“technology” or with “social media” at large. Mosseri’s answer to the important question was perfect by Facebook standards: “Technology isn’t good or bad—it just is,” he wrote. “Social media is a great amplifier. We need to do all we can responsibly to magnify the good and address the bad.”
But nothing “just is,” especially Instagram. Instagram isn’t designed to be a neutral technology, like electricity or computer code. It’s an intentionally crafted experience, with an impact on its users that is not inevitable, but is the product of a series of choices by its makers about how to shape behavior.
In 2019, Instagram delivered about $20 billion in revenue, more than a quarter of Facebook’s overall sales. Facebook’s 2012 cash-and-stock offer was a historic bargain in corporate acquisition history.
But 1 billion users later, the app they developed to have tremendous cultural influence has been mixed up in a corporate struggle over personality, pride, and priorities. If Facebook’s history is any guide, the real cost of the acquisition will fall on Instagram’s users.
A heartfelt thanks also goes to Stephanie Frerich, my editor, who championed this book so strongly that she took the project with her when she switched jobs to Simon & Schuster.
Bloomberg News leadership has demonstrated incredible support for the project, especially considering that it meant their Facebook reporter would be distracted or away from the desk during a period of congressional hearings, federal investigations, and privacy scandals.
Kara Swisher, a mentor to so many young journalists in Silicon Valley, advocated for this project and introduced me to fascinating people who made these chapters richer.
