Feeding Our Stomachs or Our Feeds?
Should our phones “eat first”?
—By Samantha Nelson
These days, I’m hard-pressed to scroll through my Instagram popular page for more than five seconds without happening upon a foodie account. Though I wouldn’t consider myself an Instagram fanatic– I only post once in a blue moon and my follower count is pretty average– over the course of my college career I’ve gradually developed a guilty pleasure: food porn.
Food porn is essentially the visual representation of food in an appetizing or attractive manner, and for some odd reason, it has wormed its way into my pre-bed ritual, the pizza cheese-pulls, chocolate lava cake cuts and ice cream scoops serving as a bizarre, yet habitual de-stressor in my nightly routine. While a little mac and cheese visual before bed sounds harmless, with near 90% of my feed now comprised of these scrumptious eats, I’ve started to consider the ‘why’ behind my late-night indulgences. Certain that I couldn’t be the only one drooling over these pages, I decided to do a little digging into the Instagram-fueled foodie community in Ann Arbor and beyond.
Food on film
Instagram has sparked a shift in food culture, serving as a platform for student foodie accounts and Ann Arbor restaurants alike and introducing a virtual dimension to the historically tangible experience of eating. Allison Weisenfeld, sophomore and Marketing Director for the Michigan chapter of Spoon University, a digital media food publication for college students, and senior Meredith Sherbin, the brains behind the popular Ann Arbor-eats account @michmunchies, both offer inside scoops on this digital change, as well as their insights on Generation Z eating and Instagram tendencies.
Though involved in the Ann Arbor food scene through different avenues, both Weisenfeld and Sherbin are unanimous in their agreement that Gen Z has altered food as we know it. Sherbin notes, “I’ve noticed that it has evolved from a necessity to an activity. Like, going out to brunch is such a ‘thing.’ Right away when the brunch is brought out, my friends will all take their phones out to take pictures of it.” Further emphasizing this desire to chronicle via technology, Weisenfeld expresses, “I feel like everyone can appreciate a nicely put together plate of food, but our generation is a little bit more reliant on wanting to take a photo of food to preserve it, versus the older generations which don’t necessarily have that urge.”
According to Sherbin, this documentation makes a big difference, even in her own personal eating decisions: “Going out to eat is an experience and an activity. For example, at Teaspressa, the drinks are coffee and tea but they are beautiful. They use sparkling sugar and all of this fancy stuff. When I’m in my daily routine and thinking about where I can get a nice cup of tea, I’ll think back to what I just saw [on my Instagram feed].”
It isn’t just the student body that is impacted by these Instagram food moguls, local businesses are also a big part of the equation. While initially @michmunchies started out as more of a fun way to advertise to peers, Sherbin indicates that establishing connections with nearby restaurants has become part of the ripple effect: “At first it was more about advertising what we as freshman were interested in and what we liked. Now I am starting to get in contact with different restaurants and a lot of them will send me pictures.”
Weisenfeld has a similar mentality about Spoon University’s ties to the Ann Arbor restaurant collective, and further stresses that Spoon has become a way to advertise lesser-known eating destinations: “That’s a main part of our mission, to encourage people to go out to these places that might not be as well known. I mean, everyone knows Savas, and everyone loves Savas, it’s an awesome restaurant! But you might not know places like Ginger Deli, which is a smaller, seasonal restaurant that is so good. Featuring restaurants like that allows those restaurants to get more exposure and contributes to how we picture Ann Arbor and the foodie culture within it.” And it isn’t just a one-and-done photo opp. There is more direct interaction involved between the media accounts and the businesses. “Lately we’ve been having some restaurant owners come and speak,” Weisenfeld points out. “Ginger Deli came to our meeting two weeks ago and they spoke about how they cook their food, why they do it and a little about their business model. Through that, we ended up connecting with the owners.”
Real food is overrated
While it isn’t hard to understand the appeal of these student-led foodie accounts based on their mouth-watering content alone, there is perhaps another, more scientific dimension at play in our cravings for images of sweet and savory treats. The Atlantic writer Cari Romm’s article, “What ‘Food Porn’ Does to the Brain,” illuminates the idea that as a species, we are drawn to things that we think look pretty, a phenomenon known as “supernormal stimuli.” Odd as it may sound, Romm highlights the fact that the “imitation” of food can, in many cases, be more appealing than the real thing.
Take the simple example of candy and fruit. Fruit is the “real thing,” so to speak, but time and time again we are suckers for the artificial taste of a lollipop or a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. Romm goes on to describe a 2012 study where food images were found to be just as stimulating as the actual act of eating food, suggesting that “just looking at pictures of food may be enough to cause an uptick in ghrelin,” the hormone in our stomachs that produces hunger signals. Additionally, a 2011 study found that food images could satisfy cravings for specific food items. In other words, we don’t feel like we need the real thing if the food in the photo has the same kind of flavor as the food that we want to eat.
At this point, studies are relatively inconclusive, but there is definitely no denying the power that food has gained on the virtual level. This very power has led to dramatic changes in the restaurant industry, as owners strive to match the quality of their food to the quality of their restaurant’s aesthetic to stay attractive to millennial and Gen. Z audiences.
From camera roll to table
Notorious for its chill, chic and au naturel vibes, Wilma’s is a well-loved Ann Arbor option for guaranteed distinctive and healthy eats. Social Media Manager and Photographer Claire Lindsey and Managing Partner Nathan D’Andrea shed light on the importance of marketing through the media. Lindsey clarifies that Instagram is Wilma’s primary social media and a key marketing tool at that: “Facebook is another outlet for that, but I don’t know if a lot of people in the demographic that would be inclined to come here by seeing it online are active on Facebook.”
While emphasizing that Wilma’s primary crowd falls within the 18-24 age range, D’Andrea indicates that one of the qualities that makes the restaurant so unique is its variety of customers: “It is cool here because we could be busy during lunch time and you could look at the line and we will have people from office buildings, we’ll have a group of sorority girls in the back and then like a family. We get a mixed demographic, but I think we are to the point now where a lot of people use Instagram.”
D’Andrea echoes the student perspectives of both Sherbin and Weisenfeld: “Younger generations changed everything. People are so much more adventurous with what they are going to do and what they are going to eat. There is this weird culture that the younger generation wants people to know where they were, what they ate and what they spent. I think people even a little older than me, they don’t really care about it.”
More than just drawing younger audiences in through its charming ambiance, Lindsey uses the restaurant’s Instagram as a means of personalizing interaction with and between customers: “As we are going forward, I am thinking that the photos that do really well aren’t always the most professional looking. Sometimes the phone pictures do a lot better and I think it is because people can see themselves taking that photo.”
Instagram overload?
Despite the cultural prominence of Instagram, there are essential questions posed over whether its role has become a little too immersed in our daily lives. In Eater magazine’s article “Instagram Food Is a Sad, Sparkly Lie,” Amanda Mull exposes the darker, socially problematic nature of Instagram. “Its appearance in your timeline signals status: You went to the place. You got the thing. You’re the kind of person who lives that kind of life.” Accompanied by the rise of Instagram is also a rise in the artificial. Food has evolved from an experience to be enjoyed among friends and families into a contest for likes. Mull suggests that it isn’t really about eating food anymore at all, but rather about showcasing it: “Instagram food has almost nothing to do with consumption as a gastronomic endeavor. This flattens it out from a sensory experience into an aesthetic one. It’s a visual-only binge.”
It isn’t just onlookers to the influencer-charged world of Instagram who are starting to question the close ties between Instagram and in-person interaction. Weisenfeld reckons that Instagram has both the potential to take away from and add to the real-life experience of sitting down to a meal: “I think it is definitely a balance act. If you’re at a meal with your friends and you take a photo of the food as it comes out, then put your phone away again, I don’t see a problem with that. It’s a problem when people take a photo of the food and then are continuously on [their phone] for the rest of the meal. It kind of ruins the experience.” Sherbin’s point of view echoes Weisenfeld’s: “The other week I was out to dinner with my boyfriend and I took out my phone to take a picture and I definitely could feel that it was taking time away. Sometimes if I don’t take a picture of my food I will feel like I missed an opportunity so I will try to do it right away, then put my phone away.”
Lindsey, however offers a less voiced opinion on Instagram usage: “I think that documenting it can be a way of engaging with it. If you are all going to a place that you found together on Instagram and spend the first five minute taking photos of each other, it doesn’t distract from the time there. A lot of people tend to use Instagram as a journal or a scrapbook. It can be a creative outlet.”
So, what is in store for foodie culture in the years to come? In “Why Are Millennials So Obsessed with Food?” Atlantic writer Joe Pinsker interviews Eve Turow, author and millennial food culture expert, who observes the growth of food studies programs at the university level: “Now, undergraduate and graduate programs are proliferating across the country and across the world. It’s exciting that people aren’t just eating and talking about their meals, but thinking critically about food policy.” Turow seems to think that, in an increasingly interconnected society, we can find commonality through food: “And food is also allowing us to access the globe, so we can find out what harissa is made with and how to prepare something with it, in two seconds on our phones.”
D’Andrea reiterates Turow’s point on the continuous role of technology, convinced that Instagram’s prominent function in marketing at Wilma’s is here to stay: “We have a southwest quinoa bowl here. Right now, we put shaved radishes on it but we are going to start using watermelon radishes instead. Do they taste different? No, but they look better. There are definitely decisions we make when it comes to ingredients and our plates and bowls. Fifteen years ago, nobody really cared about what plates look like. Now it matters a lot.”
While the impact of the relationship between Instagram and food is not entirely clear as of now, the movement of capturing shots of latte art, avocado ice cream and rainbow-everything doesn’t appear to be going anywhere anytime soon. Lucky for me, and for fellow foodie account enthusiasts, the future of food porn looks bright.
Feature photo credit: Qdoba burritos, by Marissa Samborn