Instagram asserts the right to sell your photos

You are not the customer, you are the product.

Instagram, the photo-oriented social network which was purchased by Facebook for $700m in cash and shares last April, has revealed the new terms of service which it will be implementing from January next year, and they mark a new direction out for the company.

The passage which is getting all the attention online is the second section under the heading "Rights":

Some or all of the Service may be supported by advertising revenue. To help us deliver interesting paid or sponsored content or promotions, you agree that a business or other entity may pay us to display your username, likeness, photos (along with any associated metadata), and/or actions you take, in connection with paid or sponsored content or promotions, without any compensation to you. If you are under the age of eighteen (18), or under any other applicable age of majority, you represent that at least one of your parents or legal guardians has also agreed to this provision (and the use of your name, likeness, username, and/or photos (along with any associated metadata)) on your behalf.

Instagram is not just taking adverts, as many predicted would happen once the Facebook acquisition was complete; it is also claiming the right to sell use of your photos to businesses to make ads with.

That's a pretty big step up from previous practice, but is similar in tone to what Facebook has been doing with their social marketing for a while now. As Nick Bergus learned, Facebook's method isn't without hitches. When he posted a jokey link to a 55-gallon barrel of "Passion"-brand lubricant, it was adopted by Facebook into an advert which was then shown to all his friends.

The problem with the Instagram extension of this concept is two-fold. Firstly, just as with the Bergus screw-up, recontextualising a picture as an advert changes what it says, frequently for the worse. But secondly, it feels like a Rubicon has been crossed if the "user-generated content" being used is undoubtedly a creative work – which even the blandest Instagram photos are – and if money changes hands without including the actual creator of that work.

In addition, of course, there's the idiot factor: People seem to forget how public Instagram is, and finding themselves included on a national poster campaign could be a nasty way to find that out.

As ever with this sort of change, there is likely to be a disconnect between the rights the ToS claim, and Instagram's actual plans. I would be surprised, for instance, if they intended to sell user images for use as generic stock photos, rather than for Instagram-specific ad campaigns. But I would also be surprised if these terms didn't give them the right to do that if they so desired.

Oh, and you can't actually reject these terms. If you're still using the service on 16 January, you are deemed to have accepted them.

It seems almost too perfect that in the same week that Instagram launches an anti-user change, Flickr – remember Flickr? – has released a new iPhone app which brings a host of Instagram-like changes to the service, including far quicker access to the camera, better Twitter integration and, yes, filters. A number of people are suggesting switching to (or back to) the service as a result.

The best thing about this switch is that it isn't just kicking the can down the road. After all, the reason Instagram included these changes is because it has to make money. The Atlantic's Alexis Madrigal makes the point:

[C]ompanies have to sell themselves because they do not have a sustainable business. And when they're sold, they either A) get shut down or B) become part of an advertising machine, like Facebook's.

Truly, the only way to get around the privacy problems inherent in advertising-supported social networks is to pay for services that we value. It's amazing what power we gain in becoming paying customers instead of the product being sold.

Flickr, by contrast, does have a paid service, and has for years. There's no guarantee it won't take the quick buck – but it has a business model which involves treating users as the customer, not the product. And that's a nice change from the norm, these days.

Instagram.

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

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What David Hockney has to tell us about football

Why the sudden glut of blond footballers? A conversation I had with the artist back in 1966 gave me a clue. . .

In 1966, I went to interview David Hockney at a rather run-down flat in Bayswater, central London. He was 28 and had just won a gold medal at the Royal College of Art.

In his lavatory, I noticed a cut-out photograph from a newspaper of Denis Law scoring a goal. I asked if he was a football fan. He said no, he just liked Denis Law’s thighs.

The sub-editors cut that remark out of the story, to save any gossip or legal problems. In 1966 homosexual activity could still be an offence.

Hockney and a friend had recently been in the United States and had been watching an advert on TV that said “Blondes have more fun”. At two o’clock in the morning, slightly drunk, they both went out, bought some hair dye and became blond. Hockney decided to remain blond from then on, though he has naturally dark hair.

Is it true that blonds have more fun? Lionel Messi presumably thinks so, otherwise why has he greeted this brand-new season with that weird blond hair? We look at his face, his figure, his posture and we know it’s him – then we blink, thinking what the heck, does he realise some joker has been pouring stuff on his head?

He has always been such a staid, old-fashioned-looking lad, never messing around with his hair till now. Neymar, beside him, has gone even blonder, but somehow we expect it of him. He had foony hair even before he left Brazil.

Over here, blonds are popping up all over the shop. Most teams now have a born-again blondie. It must take a fortune for Marouane Fellaini of Man United to brighten up his hair, as he has so much. But it’s already fading. Cheapskate.

Mesut Özil of Arsenal held back, not going the full head, just bits of it, which I suspect is a clue to his wavering, hesitant personality. His colleague Aaron Ramsey has almost the full blond monty. Paul Pogba of Man United has a sort of blond streak, more like a marker pen than a makeover. His colleague Phil Jones has appeared blond, but he seems to have disappeared from the team sheet. Samir Nasri of Man City went startlingly blond, but is on loan to Seville, so we’re not able to enjoy his locks. And Didier Ndong of Sunderland is a striking blond, thanks to gallons of bleach.

Remember the Romanians in the 1998 World Cup? They suddenly appeared blond, every one of them. God, that was brilliant. One of my all-time best World Cup moments, and I was at Wembley in 1966.

So, why do they do it? Well, Hockney was right, in a sense. Not to have more fun – meaning more sex – because top footballers are more than well supplied, but because their normal working lives are on the whole devoid of fun.

They can’t stuff their faces with fast food, drink themselves stupid, stay up all night, take a few silly pills – which is what many of our healthy 25-year-old lads consider a reasonably fun evening. Nor can they spend all their millions on fun hols, such as skiing in the winter, a safari in the spring, or hang-gliding at the weekend. Prem players have to be so boringly sensible these days, or their foreign managers will be screaming at them in their funny foreign accents.

While not on the pitch, or training, which takes up only a few hours a day, the boredom is appalling, endlessly on planes or coaches or in some hotel that could be anywhere.

The only bright spot in the long days is to look in the mirror and think: “Hmm, I wonder what highlights would look like? I’ve done the beard and the tattoos. Now let’s go for blond. Wow, gorgeous.”

They influence each other, being simple souls, so when one dyes his hair, depending on where he is in the macho pecking order, others follow. They put in the day by looking at themselves. Harmless fun. Bless ’em.

But I expect all the faux blonds to have gone by Christmas. Along with Mourinho. I said that to myself the moment he arrived in Manchester, smirking away. Pep will see him off. OK then, let’s say Easter at the latest . . . 

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 22 September 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times