Facebook eats itself

Social networking firm launches rival to Instagram, on which it just spent $1bn.

Facebook has launched its own smartphone photography application, just six weeks after its controversial $1 billion Instagram acquisition. But why would it want to effectively compete with itself?

Facebook's new mobile photography app, simply named 'Camera', is the latest attempt by the company to better integrate its social media platform with smartphones - a weakness the company acknowledged in its recent – and troubled – IPO.

Just six weeks ago Facebook CEO Mark Zuckerberg announced the controversial purchase of Instagram for $1bn, a revenue-less, profitless start up photography application provider that has proven popular with the young and trendy, especially the 'hipster' demographic.

 The two apps share much in common, but for now Zuckerberg has said that Instagram will be run as its own entity, without being folded into Facebook proper.

Photography-wise, it's safe to say that Camera has borrowed a lot from Instagram, such as instant Facebook posting (naturally), basic cropping and colour filters. Most of these filters are very basic, and don't tend to cross over into Instagram's retro faded-Polaroid cachet.

Where Facebook's new app really shines is in its reviewing capabilities, which is actually very well integrated with Facebook itself. I actually now find this to be preferable to using the formal Facebook app (or mobile web version) to review images posted by myself or contacts.

Simple tabs flip between 'Me' and 'Friends', users then scroll vertically through albums, and then horizontally within the albums themselves - it makes for a very quick and efficient browsing platform, and reminds me of Flipbook's UI.

Normal Facebook posts and the other detritus are excluded, making for a nice visual experience - likes, comment numbers and tags are translucently overlaid in the corners of the images. Tagging is done simply by tapping the image, while comments exist in a text box below the image.

Basically, you don't need to open new windows, or leave the app to fiddle with your images (although that’s an option), which is a breath of fresh air for Facebook's normally torturous mobile interfaces.

But why has Facebook decided to compete with itself in this space?

Google learned the hard way with its attempts years ago to run YouTube alongside Google Video after its purchase. Google Video was eventually folded into YouTube, and mostly disbanded. It exists now as little more than a YouTube shell.

HP has also demonstrated how buying companies can go wrong - if it ain't broke, don't fix it. Run it separately and collect the profits - let the founders run it as they have been. Although in the case of Instagram, the business case is a bit more iffy and looks worryingly like a 'dot-com' purchase.

To be fair to Facebook, it has had its Camera app in development for a long time - long before any Instagram purchase - Zuckerberg has admitted as much.

I suspect the demographics between Camera and Instagram are different enough for them both to survive comfortably for the time being. As mentioned earlier, Facebook has been careful not to steal Instagram's most visible appeal - its scratchy, retro Polaroid look that hipster kids love: essentially a false sense of individuality and creativity.

Allan Swann is the deputy editor of Computer Business Review

Photograph: Getty Images

Allan Swann is the deputy editor of Computer Business Review.

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If there’s no booze or naked women, what’s the point of being a footballer?

Peter Crouch came out with one of the wittiest football lines. When asked what he thought he would have been but for football, he replied: “A virgin.”

At a professional league ground near you, the following conversation will be taking place. After an excellent morning training session, in which the players all worked hard, and didn’t wind up the assistant coach they all hate, or cut the crotch out of the new trousers belonging to the reserve goalie, the captain or some senior player will go into the manager’s office.

“Hi, gaffer. Just thought I’d let you know that we’ve booked the Salvation Hall. They’ll leave the table-tennis tables in place, so we’ll probably have a few games, as it’s the players’ Christmas party, OK?”

“FECKING CHRISTMAS PARTY!? I TOLD YOU NO CHRISTMAS PARTIES THIS YEAR. NOT AFTER LAST YEAR. GERROUT . . .”

So the captain has to cancel the booking – which was actually at the Salvation Go Go Gentlemen’s Club on the high street, plus the Saucy Sporty Strippers, who specialise in naked table tennis.

One of the attractions for youths, when they dream of being a footballer or a pop star, is not just imagining themselves number one in the Prem or number one in the hit parade, but all the girls who’ll be clambering for them. Young, thrusting politicians have similar fantasies. Alas, it doesn’t always work out.

Today, we have all these foreign managers and foreign players coming here, not pinching our women (they’re too busy for that), but bringing foreign customs about diet and drink and no sex at half-time. Rotters, ruining the simple pleasures of our brave British lads which they’ve enjoyed for over a century.

The tabloids recently went all pious when poor old Wayne Rooney was seen standing around drinking till the early hours at the England team hotel after their win over Scotland. He’d apparently been invited to a wedding that happened to be going on there. What I can’t understand is: why join a wedding party for total strangers? Nothing more boring than someone else’s wedding. Why didn’t he stay in the bar and get smashed?

Even odder was the behaviour of two other England stars, Adam Lallana and Jordan Henderson. They made a 220-mile round trip from their hotel in Hertfordshire to visit a strip club, For Your Eyes Only, in Bournemouth. Bournemouth! Don’t they have naked women in Herts? I thought one of the points of having all these millions – and a vast office staff employed by your agent – is that anything you want gets fixed for you. Why couldn’t dancing girls have been shuttled into another hotel down the road? Or even to the lads’ own hotel, dressed as French maids?

In the years when I travelled with the Spurs team, it was quite common in provincial towns, after a Saturday game, for players to pick up girls at a local club and share them out.

Like top pop stars, top clubs have fixers who can sort out most problems, and pleasures, as well as smart solicitors and willing police superintendents to clear up the mess afterwards.

The England players had a night off, so they weren’t breaking any rules, even though they were going to play Spain 48 hours later. It sounds like off-the-cuff, spontaneous, home-made fun. In Wayne’s case, he probably thought he was doing good, being approachable, as England captain.

Quite why the other two went to Bournemouth was eventually revealed by one of the tabloids. It is Lallana’s home town. He obviously said to Jordan Henderson, “Hey Hendo, I know a cool club. They always look after me. Quick, jump into my Bentley . . .”

They spent only two hours at the club. Henderson drank water. Lallana had a beer. Don’t call that much of a night out.

In the days of Jimmy Greaves, Tony Adams, Roy Keane, or Gazza in his pomp, they’d have been paralytic. It was common for players to arrive for training still drunk, not having been to bed.

Peter Crouch, the former England player, 6ft 7in, now on the fringes at Stoke, came out with one of the wittiest football lines. When asked what he thought he would have been but for football, he replied: “A virgin.”

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 01 December 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Age of outrage