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.

Photo: Getty
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The age of China's female self-made billionaires – and why it could soon be over

Rags to riches stories like Zhou Qunfei's are becoming less common.

Elizabeth Holmes, 33, was the darling of Silicon Valley, and the world’s youngest self-made female billionaire. Then, after a series of lawsuits, the value of her healthcare firm plummeted.

Holmes might have abdicated the billionaire crown, but another tech queen was ready to take it. Only this time, the self-made female billionaire was not a blonde American, but Zhou Qunfei, a 47-year-old from China. She dropped out of high school and began working at a watch lens factory as a teenager. In 1993, when she was in her early twenties, she founded her own company. Her big break came ten years later, when Motorola asked her to develop a glass screen for smartphones. She said yes.

Zhou is in fact more typical of the SMFB set than Holmes. Of those listed by Forbes, 37.5 per cent come from China, compared to 30 per cent from the United States. Add in the five SMFB from Hong Kong, and the Middle Kingdom dominates the list. Nipping at Zhou’s heels for top spot are Chan Laiwa, a property developer who also curates a museum, and Wa Yajun, also a property developer. Alibaba founder Jack Ma declared his “secret sauce” was hiring as many women as possible.

So should the advice to young feminists be “Go East, young woman”? Not quite, according to the academic Séagh Kehoe, who runs the Twitter account Women in China and whose research areas include gender and identity in the country.

“I haven’t seen any of these self-made female billionaires talking about feminism,” she says. Instead, a popular narrative in China is “the idea of pulling yourself up by your boot straps”. So far as female entrepreneurs embrace feminism, it’s of the corporate variety – Sheryl Sandberg’s book Lean In has been translated into Mandarin.

In fact, Kehoe believes the rise of the self-made woman is down to three historic factors – the legacy of Maoist equality, and both the disruption and the opportunity associated with the post-Mao economic reforms.

Mao brought in the 1950 Marriage Law, a radical break with China’s patriarchal traditions, which banned marriage without a woman’s consent, and gave women the right to divorce for the first time.

In Communist China, women were also encouraged to work. “That is something that was actively promoted - that women should be an important part of the labour force,” says Kehoe. “At the same time, they also had the burden of cooking and cleaning. They had to shoulder this double burden.”

After Mao’s death, his successor Deng Xiaoping began dismantling the communist economy in favour of a more market-based system. This included reducing the number of workers at state-owned enterprises. “A lot of women lost their jobs,” says Kehoe. “They were often the first to be laid off.”

For some women – such as the SMFBs – this was counterbalanced by the huge opportunities the new, liberal economy presented. “All this came together to be a driving force for women to be independent,” Kehoe says.

The one child policy, although deeply troubling to feminists in terms of the power it dictates over women’s bodies, not to mention the tendency for mothers to abort female foetuses, may have also played a role. “There is an argument out there that, for all of the harm the one child policy has done, for daughters who were the only child in the family, resources were pushed towards that child,” says Kehoe. “That could be why female entrepreneurs in China have been successful.”

Indeed, for all the dominance of the Chinese SMFBs, it could be short-lived. Mao-era equality is already under threat. Women’s political participation peaked in the 1970s, and today’s leaders are preoccupied with the looming fact of an aging population.

“There has been quite a lot of pushback towards women returning to the home,” says Kehoe. Chinese state media increasingly stresses the role of “good mothers” and social stability. The one child policy has been replaced by a two child policy, but without a comparable strengthening of maternity workplace rights.

Meanwhile, as inequality widens, and a new set of economic elites entrench their positions, rags to riches stories like Zhou Qunfei's are becoming less common. So could the Chinese SMFBs be a unique phenomenon, a generation that rode the crest of a single wave?

“Maybe,” says Kehoe. “The 1980s was the time for self-made billionaires. The odds aren’t so good now.”

Julia Rampen is the digital news editor of the New Statesman (previously editor of The Staggers, The New Statesman's online rolling politics blog). She has also been deputy editor at Mirror Money Online and has worked as a financial journalist for several trade magazines.