Article by Beth Dobson
Dwelling quietly in an upmarket café, I experienced the wrath of a new subspecies and a revolution in middle-aged humanity. The instagran. Often hunting in packs, their eagle-eyed scouts spy out the very best grammable locations. Adorned in chic attire, they professionally practice their signature pose whilst their post-menopausal pals direct them encouragingly. Pensive, glamorous, aloof, ecstatic, they can do them all. Flash after flash, pose after pose. Then once the photoshoot has come to a reluctant close, the editing begins. An hour or so later, with a polished tagline and appropriate hashtag, one solitary, filtered image emerges on social media for all to see. The flurry of likes begins and the cycle of the instagran continues.
My first experience of the instagran was...