by Jasmina Trifoni
Mrs. Rahma has adorned her patio with a profusion of flowers. In the center, she placed a low wooden table surrounded by a few stools, setting it with a tray and a plump metal teapot, the kind used to serve traditional mint tea. She then printed a sign saying “One Photo, 5 dirhams” and placed it visibly at the entrance. Five dirhams is not a significant amount, just under 50 euro cents. Yet, in no time, Rahma became a successful entrepreneur, even hiring a young man to act as a photographer and assistant, suggesting the best angles and poses for a stunning shot. Like her, countless residents of Chefchaouen have set up photo sets in the streets of the (formerly) delightful village at the foot of the Rif Mountains, earning the nickname “blue pearl of Morocco” thanks to the photogenic blue hue of its houses. Even after asking around, the reason for this color choice remains a mystery to me: some say it was an idea of the Jews who settled here after being expelled from Spain in 1492, while others more prosaically claim it keeps mosquitoes away.
Among the guardians of picturesque staircases, renters of “authentic Moroccan traditional costumes,” and owners of benches topped with giant hearts decorated with colorful lights and (fake) flowers, the absolute genius of Chefchaouen is Mr. Said. He sells orange juice in an alley set up with the precision of a movie set, featuring wicker sofas bursting with cushions (always with a cat perched on top, as a relaxed feline is a magnet for likes) and a pergola from which dozens of (plastic) oranges hang. He also employs several young directors who have perfected the storyboard for a flawless reel. Seeing is believing: the reel is repeated ad nauseam on Instagram, with different protagonists. To view it: @saidayach1 or #saidjuiceseller.
I visited Chefchaouen a couple of weeks ago and must admit that I experienced a truly enlightening socio-anthropological adventure. I never would have thought that people would come here from as far as China (a fairly faithful replica of Chefchaouen has even been created in Chengdu, Sichuan Province) and India (thanks to some Bollywood films shot here) with the sole purpose of taking photos, having their photos taken, and posting with the ubiquitous blue background, women in flowing dresses in colors that match the walls and high heels anything but suitable for the village’s steep streets.
So, I wanted to get to the bottom of the matter, discovering that Chefchaouen is in the world’s top ten places ruined by Instagram. According to a recent study, 37% of people under forty choose their vacation destinations based on Instagram. Vacations whose highlights, needless to say, will be posted on Instagram, in a social chain letter with explosive effects. Instagram is responsible for the exponential growth of tourism in places like the hyper-Instagrammable Greek island of Santorini (in 2010, the year the photo-sharing social network was launched, it received six million visitors; in 2023, there were 30 million). Or Pisa with its Leaning Tower, where taking (and posting) the silly “oh my, I’m holding up the Tower” photo is a must. Among photographers (Martin Parr included, who took that photo long before the trend, in 1990) and self-proclaimed photographers, it is equally fashionable to post silly photos of tourists taking the now-classic silly photo. On Instagram, a prize should be instituted for those who have photographed Martin Parr while he was taking the silly photo, and so on. Another chain letter was started in 2015 by pop star Justin Bieber, who shot the video for the song “I’ll Show You” in Iceland, specifically in the spectacular Fjaðrárgljúfur canyon, repeatedly posting stills of the shoot on Instagram and thus triggering an avalanche. Since then, Iceland has become cooler than ever, with that canyon with the unpronounceable name being cooler than the rest of the island’s wonders, so much so that for three years now, the location has been periodically closed to the public due to the damage tourists cause to the natural environment. The negative impact of the scenic-selfie mania on ecosystems has been widely documented in American national parks, Yellowstone being the most prominent, where ineffective signs have been posted: “How many likes is a patch of dead wildflowers worth?” Additionally, in these same protected areas, accidents, even fatal ones, have dramatically increased: tourists falling off cliffs or being attacked by bison while taking what was supposed to be the most liked photo of their vacation.
Instagram also creates false expectations. Which, according to the usual chain letter law, continue to bring tourists full of expectations. A case in point is the Lempuyang Temple, the most tagged in Bali: masses arrive for the ritual photo between the carved portals of the building, with their silhouette, or that of their girlfriend, reflected in the water mirror that – they saw it on Instagram – is in front of it. They then discover that the water is not there; instead, there is a group of clever Balinese who, for a fee, place a real mirror on the ground. Even so, that fake shot brings in a lot of likes, and the farce continues. As for the coveted, highly Instagrammable floral destinations, from the tulip fields in the Netherlands to the lavender fields in Provence, they are invariably devastated by careless photographers, so much so that the infuriated growers have had to protect them with barbed wire or have chosen to regulate access – for a fee, of course.
Finally, there are people whose lives have been made a nightmare by hyper-geotagging on Instagram. Among others, the residents of Rue Crémieux in Paris’s 12th arrondissement: bordered by low pastel-colored 19th-century buildings, this cobblestone street lights up in a way that grabs likes during the golden hour (the sun sets over the rooftops, exactly perpendicular to the street), when a crowd gathers here that would rival a Mumbai slum. Recently, the specially formed neighborhood committee appealed to the municipality, asking for – and obtaining – gates to be installed at both ends of the street.
So, if you live in a lovely place, or one that could become interesting for any reason, even the most trivial, or even if you have a favorite vacation spot and want it to stay that way, the golden rule is: tag responsibly. And never mind if you get fewer likes.
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