The Instagram Reels Conundrum: Why Does Everyone Hate Them So Much?
Instagram Reels. The very name seems to evoke a collective groan. Whether it’s a dubious promotion for rubbing beef tallow on your face in the name of skincare, a series of questionable ab exercises promising to eradicate belly fat overnight, or a Gen X individual attempting to spread joy through awkward dance moves, Reels are ubiquitous and, for many, utterly bewildering. The common reaction? "What have I done to deserve this onslaught of bizarre and often unwelcome content?"
It’s not merely a dislike; it’s a profound aversion. "Reels" has transcended its function as a feature on a social media platform and evolved into an adjective, an insult even. It’s become a shorthand for describing anything perceived as corny, basic, subtly repulsive, and ultimately, something no one genuinely wants to engage with. Deeming something "perfect for Reels" is akin to condemning it to the fringes of cultural acceptability.
So, what fuels this widespread animosity towards Reels?
The content itself has long been criticized for its low quality, a perception dating back to its launch in 2020 as Meta’s answer to the burgeoning popularity of TikTok. While TikTok’s algorithm has earned both admiration and concern for its uncanny ability to predict user preferences, prompting privacy debates, Instagram’s algorithm for Reels is widely considered a comedic disaster. This is particularly ironic given the vast amount of user data Meta possesses across its various platforms. One would expect that with access to such a wealth of information from Instagram and Facebook, Reels could offer a uniquely personalized and engaging experience. Instead, the algorithm seems to fling content at users with reckless abandon, a frustrating experience for many.
While Instagram boasts hundreds of millions of users, a surprisingly small fraction actively create and post Reels. Leaked data from Meta in 2022 revealed that only about one-fifth of Instagram users actually contribute to the short-form video ecosystem. The vast majority remain passive viewers, often stumbling upon Reels unintentionally while navigating the app. And, crucially, they generally don’t enjoy what they find.
User accounts paint a picture of a chaotic digital landscape filled with content ranging from the banal to the downright bizarre. Unsolicited videos of mediocre stand-up comedians testing out material on unsuspecting crowds. Unqualified infertility advice dispensed by self-proclaimed experts. Rants alleging that yoga was designed by Satan himself. Deliberately disgusting food influencers pushing the boundaries of culinary experimentation. A woman offering unsolicited guidance on how to suppress "lust urges" through a series of air squats. The sheer randomness and perceived irrelevance of the content raise questions. Why is Instagram suggesting that someone who enjoys art and travel would be interested in smearing beef tallow on their face and drinking raw milk? Why would the algorithm assume that someone is seeking confirmation that yoga is a demonic practice?
Adam Moussa, a social media editor specializing in food journalism, describes the experience of navigating Reels as "aggressively uninspiring for everyone." He compares it to panning for gold and finding only gravel. The algorithm, he argues, feels haphazard and incapable of genuine curation. He observes a constant stream of engagement-farming content, videos that open with a generic shot of a kitchen sink or a doorknob, accompanied by the text "IT TOOK ME 45 YEARS TO LEARN THIS." The promise of a valuable payoff never materializes, leaving the viewer feeling cheated and frustrated.
Reels, it seems, rewards this form of social media "edging," prioritizing videos with high view counts over those that garner genuine user engagement in the form of likes or shares. While these two metrics can overlap, prioritizing sheer viewership over genuine enjoyment appears to be a significant contributor to the backlash against Reels. If there were some form of payoff – humor, satisfaction, a moment of genuine shock or insight – perhaps the bizarre and often unsettling content would be more palatable, even shareable in a "so bad it’s good" kind of way. However, the overwhelming lack of impact is what makes the experience so frustrating.
The generational dynamics at play also contribute to the dissatisfaction with Reels. Millennials, particularly millennial women, dominated Instagram in its early years. Consequently, the algorithm and content on the platform reflect their interests, especially as they age. Motherhood influencers, who found early success monetizing their content on Instagram, have become a dominant force. Whether providing wellness tips, offering parenting advice, or simply presenting themselves as "hot moms," these influencers have cultivated a large following. As their peers become parents themselves, the algorithm inundates them with parenting-related content, regardless of their own parental status. This influx of millennial-centric content, no matter how well-intentioned or professionally produced, inevitably falls prey to the same pitfalls as previous generations: it becomes corny.
For younger millennials and Gen Z users, Reels feels like "being on social media with your parents." The content, the presentation, the interface – it all feels dated. It’s like visiting a social media retirement home, watching older people make jokes to other older people. The "millennial cringe" is simply too much to bear.
The core frustration with Reels boils down to a chicken-or-egg dilemma. Which came first: the algorithm or the content? Does the algorithm prioritize "slop" because there’s so much of it available, or are creators simply producing more "slop" to appease the algorithm?
Sharon Kim, a lifestyle content creator, finds that Reels incentivizes a specific type of video. While she and other female creators dedicate time and effort to producing wholesome, uplifting, or inspiring fitness or lifestyle content, the algorithm often fails to promote it to even a small percentage of their followers. However, when she posts a photo or video of herself in a bikini or wearing makeup, Instagram immediately pushes the content to a wider audience. This disparity highlights the fundamental difference between TikTok and Reels. While both platforms offer curated glimpses into her life, TikTok allows her to showcase different facets of her personality, whereas Reels feels restrictive and limiting. TikTok, she finds, is also better suited for videos to go viral.
On Reels, users are more likely to encounter strangers who are critical and unsupportive. The comments section tends to be judgmental, a stark contrast to the more supportive environment on TikTok. The negativity surrounding Reels may be a reflection of the negativity within Reels itself. Pointless videos catering to the tastes of a generation losing its cultural relevance, featuring predetermined, dull content from uninspired creators, coupled with hostile comment sections. It’s no wonder that "Reels" has become a pejorative term.
Perhaps the most frustrating aspect of the entire situation is the realization that Meta has the power to fix Reels if it truly wanted to. Platforms can disincentivize low-quality content, throttle its reach, or even ban it entirely. However, Meta seems indifferent to incentivizing quality content, allowing the platform to be overwhelmed by a deluge of uninspired and unoriginal material.
Ultimately, if Meta were to address the underlying issues plaguing Reels, we would unfortunately be forced to find a new and innovative way to express our collective digital disdain.
