INSTAGRAM AND THE BATTLE FOR ATTENTION: YEARS LATER: Why Don't You like my work ?

28 - 28 October 2026

  • INSTAGRAM AND THE BATTLE FOR ATTENTION: YEARS LATER

    Why Don't you like my work ?

  • Years ago, I first asked you a simple question: "Why don’t you like my work?"

     

    It was born out of frustration with Instagram, algorithms, and the relentless daily battle for a sliver of human attention.Fast forward to today, and the landscape of social media feels like it has shifted a dozen times over. Platforms rise and fall, algorithms pivot on a whim, and creators are left constantly trying to figure out the rules of a game where the goalposts move daily.

     

    We all love to complain about social media, the tech giants, and the mysterious computer algorithms that dictate who sees what. But let’s be honest with ourselves: many of us probably never would have had global careers without it.

     

    When I first started out as a photographer, none of this digital ecosystem existed. You relied entirely on physical gatekeepers—editors seeing your portfolio, magazines taking a chance on you, or an agency hiring you for a commercial assignment. I wouldn’t have a fraction of the exposure, or the incredible community of supporters I have today, were it not for these platforms.

    Is it perfect? Far from it.

     

    When I first started tracking this journey closely, my account sat at 45,000 followers—a milestone that took years of grinding to achieve. Over time, that number climbed past 250,000, largely fueled at one point by a massive surge of 90,000 new followers driven almost entirely by Reels showing what I do behind the scenes.

     

    How did those start? It wasn't born out of some master social media strategy. I could hardly walk around with a full video crew trailing me all day, so I decided to just start filming the back of my camera while I was out shooting. Suddenly, some of those raw videos were reaching 2 million views, often adding 15,000 new people on a single video. But the moment something works on the internet, the ecosystem shifts.

     

    After I started doing this, it felt like everyone started doing it.

  • "We all love to complain about social media, the tech giants, and the mysterious computer algorithms that dictate who sees what. But let’s be honest with ourselves: many of us probably never would have had global careers without it"

  • And once I crossed that 250,000 mark, things definitely changed again. Growth didn't just slow down; after consistently adding 300 to 500 followers a day, it plummeted to around 20 a day, and some days it actually went negative. You watch numbers tick downward for no rhyme or reason whatsoever. My work hadn't changed, but the algorithm sure did. One day a post hits, the next day it vanishes into the ether, and you realize there is no magic formula left to crack.

     

    Then, just when you think the tap has been turned off completely, the internet reminds you how absurdly unpredictable it is.

    This year, when I started sharing my images from 9/11, one single post blew through the roof and hit 14.5 million views.Celebrities like Jessica Alba and Jamie Lee Curtis were sharing it to their millions of followers. My phone didn't stop buzzing—major networks like the BBC, NBC, CNN, Fox, and practically everyone else were reaching out asking for interviews.

     

    At the time, I was down in Mexico opening an exhibition and running a workshop. But the truth is, I prefer to be away from New York City on the anniversary of September 11th. I find it very hard to emotionally deal with being in the city during that time. It took me two years before I could even talk about what happened that day; now, I’ve found it to be like therapy to discuss it during my talks and with camera clubs. Because of where I was and what I was doing, I had to decline the interviews. That single post added about 17,000 followers in a week.

     

    And then? Right on cue, the wave passed, and the numbers dropped right back down to 20 a day.

     

    In fact, let’s be real: it’s no longer really called social media.

     

    We used to connect with friends, peers, and a loyal community who chose to follow our journey. Today, most of your work isn't even being seen by your own community. Instead, it has morphed into interest media. Your content is pushed out to strangers based on algorithms trying to guess who might share similar interests with what you're showing. You're constantly broadcasting to a rolling wave of transient eyeballs rather than a tight-knit room of supporters.

     

    Through all the noise, the virality, and the shifting goalposts, a few core truths have become clearer than ever:

  • "In fact, let’s be real: it’s no longer really called social media"
  • 1. Be True to Your Work
    1. Be True to Your Work

     

    I’ve lost count of the number of times people ask me, "Why don’t you shoot in color?"

     

    The short answer is: I do. But do I need to share every aspect of my creative output on an interest-driven feed? Absolutely not. Social media is a storefront window, not the entire house. I prefer to showcase certain bodies of work on my website,in physical books, and on gallery walls.

     

    Digital platforms have their merits, but a glowing phone screen can never truly compare to holding or viewing a physical print. On Instagram, the best way I’ve found to tell a deeper story is through Carousels. It’s tough to showcase nuances of street photography on a tiny mobile screen where people scroll by in milliseconds. Usually, you need a strong, eye-catching hook image to stop the thumb, followed by a narrative arc inside the carousel. It’s always fascinating that when you ask people what truly resonates with them, it’s almost always the quiet images tucked away inside those carousels.

  • 2. Be Consistent, But Protect Your Joy
    2. Be Consistent, But Protect Your Joy

    Simply put: it’s a lot of work. If you want to make a living as a visual artist today, you have to show up. An old boss of mine used to say, "Half the business is just showing up." The same goes for your craft.

     

    If you commit to sharing your journey, you have to be consistent. But there is a fine line between showing up for an audience and losing yourself to an unpredictable machine. The moment you let negative follower counts, fluctuating metrics, and mysterious algorithmic drops dictate how you create rather than what you love, you run the risk of forgetting why you picked up a camera in the first place.

  • 3. Remember Why It Matters
    3. Remember Why It Matters

    At times, watching the constant churn makes me step back and consider asking myself: is this part of it all really worth it now?

    And then, right on cue, I’ll get a lovely message from someone telling me how much they have been inspired by the work,and how something simple I do can mean the world to someone in a far corner of the globe.

     

    Many of you know how much time I take to try and respond to every message I receive. Sometimes, of course, it's just spam. But I also remember vividly what it was like when I was young starting out—nobody back then would give me the time of day or respond to my letters and calls. Now that I am in a position where I can actually help an aspiring student or fellow photographer, I know exactly what it feels like to be on the other side of that screen. I take that position very seriously. To me, giving back and connecting directly isn't an extra burden—it is part of the job.

  • 4. Build What You Own
    4. Build What You Own

    If that wild swing from millions of views back down to a crawl proved anything, it’s that renting your audience is a rollercoaster you don't control. You can have hundreds of thousands of people follow you, but the platform holds all the cards.

     

    One behind-the-scenes adjustment to code you'll never see, and the people who signed up to follow your journey are cut off from seeing your work. That’s why physical mediums, personal websites, and direct mailing lists matter more than ever.

     

    When someone holds one of your printed books or hangs a print in their living room, that connection doesn't depend on an algorithm deciding whether to serve it to them that morning. It’s permanent. Use the platforms to open the door, but build a foundation that belongs to you.

  • 5. Shoot for History, Not the Feed
    5. Shoot for History, Not the Feed

    The 9/11 images resonated decades after they were taken because they weren't shot for an algorithm or a 24-hour news cycle—they were shot to record human history.

     

    Modern social media tempts creators into chasing instant dopamine: loud hooks, trending audio, and whatever the platform demands this week. But street photography and documentary work aren't a popularity contest. Whenever I feel the digital fatigue creeping in, I ask myself:

    “Will this image hold any weight twenty or thirty years from now?”

     

    Capturing a genuine slice of time—the light, the emotion, the grit of a changing city—is what endures long after the servers shut down. The masters whose monographs we study never had to worry about impressions or engagement rates.They cared about the frame.

  • The Bottom Line
    The Bottom Line

    At the end of the day, the battle for attention is never going away. Platforms will change, apps will come and go, and whether it's called social media or interest media, the rules will always feel a bit rigged. But metrics aren't art.

     

    So when that question comes back around—"Why don’t you like my work?"—maybe today the answer is simply that an algorithm buried it, or someone's thumb scrolled past half a second too fast. And that is completely fine.

     

    The next time you catch yourself staring at a negative follower day or wondering why the digital crowd ignored a piece of work you poured your soul into, take a step back. Step away from the phone, look at a real print, remember why you fell in love with photography, and create for the craft itself.

    The street is waiting—and it doesn’t care about your follower count.