by Sara Tasker
HASHTAG AUTHENTIC
Finding creativity and building a community on Instagram and beyond
SARA TASKER
@me_and_orla
CONTENTS
STORYTELLING
OUR VISUAL CULTURE
THE DEMOCRACY OF DIGITAL PHOTOGRAPHY
START WITH WHAT YOU HAVE
FINDING INSPIRATION IN YOUR EVERYDAY LIFE
A VISUAL TIME CAPSULE
MOMENTS, NOT THINGS
EVERY PICTURE TELLS A STORY
FINDING YOUR STYLE
FINDING YOUR NICHE
DO SOMETHING WORTH PHOTOGRAPHING
MAKING PICTURES
COMPOSITION IS KEY
COMPOSING FOR INSTAGRAM
THE SIMPLE SECRETS OF COMPOSITION
CHASING LIGHT
WHAT GRABS THE EYE
THE PHOTO VS REALITY
BEING SEEN
GETTING THE MOST OUT OF YOUR PHONE CAMERA
GETTING OFF AUTO MODE ON YOUR DSLR
EDITING ON YOUR PHONE
A STEADY FLOW OF INSPIRATION
ARCHIVING YOUR LIFE
IT DOESN’T HAVE TO BE DISNEYLAND
CRAFT & MAKING
FOOD & INGREDIENTS
ROAD TRIPS & TRAVEL
WEATHER & SEASONS
OCCASIONS & CELEBRATIONS
MAKING A HOME
BEAUTY & DRESSING UP
FAMILY & PETS
LANDSCAPES & NATURE
WHIMSY & MAGIC
SHARING YOUR WORLD
A PERSONAL EXHIBITION
PLAN YOUR GALLERY
CAPTIONS
INSTAGRAM STORIES
SUCCESS ON YOUR OWN TERMS
FINDING YOUR PEOPLE
SUCCESS BEYOND INSTAGRAM
SAFETY & SANITY
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
INTRODUCTION
By the conventional rulebook, I should never have found success. Small, socially awkward and devoid of any real self-belief, I made none of the life choices that could facilitate my dreams coming true. I thought I might make a good photographer, but didn’t dare choose to study it at university. I love to write and considered journalism, but there was no way I could move to London to await a break that would probably never arrive.
Instead I built a quiet, simple life for myself and squashed those dreams down into hobbies that never asked me to try. I told myself all the bigger dreams were for other types of people: those from wealthier families, with better health, mindsets and opportunities. And then Instagram changed my world.
That sounds ridiculous, I know – to give so much credit to a free app we all have on our phones. And yet it is utterly true: starting my account, beginning to take photos and share tiny fragments of my thoughts was the catalyst to everything unfolding for me; the tightly scrunched paper ball of my life being spread out and opened, full of uncharted territory like a long-forgotten map.
I was on maternity leave from my National Health Service job, learning the ropes of being a mother and feeling utterly, hopelessly lost. I hated being in our inner-city home, looking out onto concrete and other people’s walls. I missed my job, my patients, my sense of usefulness. I missed my identity outside of this new role of motherhood that, like my post-partum wardrobe, just didn’t seem to fit how I’d imagined. I sat at home under a sleeping newborn and wondered how I would tell her about all the talents and skills that I’d secretly possessed, but never thought to put to use.
Trapped in this bubble, whole days fuzzing by, I turned to my phone for some solace and company. And that’s when I discovered Instagram.
Here was a place where my creativity could exist. Here was a space where I could connect with others – other parents and mothers, yes – but also makers and writers and artists and coaches. It was a place where I could reclaim a wider sense of identity; where I could put all my years of nerdy Internet sharing and connecting on forums to a next-generation use. It felt like a place where I could be entirely and safely myself; something I had never – and still haven’t, if I’m honest – managed to fully discover in the realm of ‘real life’.
I called my account Me & Orla – myself and my daughter – because in those long stretches of empty daytime, that’s all that it felt like there was. I began to share the small, inconsequential moments of my days – the ripe pears on the windowsill, the way the sunlight streamed through the curtains in the afternoon, the slice of cake I walked two miles with her to eat. Too tired to lug around my old DSLR, I decided to shoot a photo each day using only my iPhone, and so began my long-term love affair with those incidental phone cameras we carry with us wherever we go. I set myself a challenge on 1 January that year: I would try to post daily and find 1,000 followers by the end of the year. Within a month I’d exceeded that target, and by April I’d been featured by Instagram and was approaching my first 40k.
From there things continued to bloom: a bigger audience, a well-read blog, lucrative influencer work, press coverage, new friends, trips away and exciting events.
I was able to quit my job and move my little family out to the countryside, to a house that was home, where the windows look out onto green hills and sky. And I found my real passion – the thing that got my heart pumping fast: talking about the how of it all. Sharing with anyone who wanted to listen what I knew and had learned about photography, social media, Instagram and beyond. How to use it, as I had, to build something more, in this digital landscape that didn’t follow the old rules.
I began to mentor, and then to teach online courses and classes about social media. Gradually that grew into the multiple six-figure business that employs both me and my husband today, with enough time and space for spontaneous summer picnics with Orla, or a ‘what the hell’ road trip when my schedule allows.
My free podcast, which shares its name with this book, has allowed me to connect with thousands of other like-minded souls, and my speaking engagements have taken me on more far-flung adventures than my old self had amassed in her whole thirty years.
I’ve appeared in my favourite magazines – Marie Claire, Cosmopolitan, Stylist and more – chatted on BBC Radio and – in what I think we can all agree is the ultimate achievement in life – exchanged a string of DMs with my teenage celebrity crush.
But most significantly of all, I’m living my life as myself. Seen and heard, messy parts and all – and learning the kind of valuable lessons that I hope will help my daughter escape all the traps that I’d put myself in.
Tuning into my creativity and finding a community that sees the world like I do has been transformational. And when I stopped to look back and took in all it had made possible, I really only had one question that I couldn’t find an answer to. ‘Why did nobody tell me this was possible?’ My hope is that this book will tell you what nobody has before. That it’s possible, entirely doable, for you, right now, exactly as you are. Not you ten pounds skinnier, or you in another degree’s time. Whatever you have, whatever has brought you to this point, it’s really all that you need to begin to follow your heart.
People will tell you it’s silly. There will be folk in your life who simply won’t understand. That’s ok; it doesn’t matter. Do it anyway, and trust that your right people – including me – will be cheering you on.
The Internet is a huge, diverse and colourful place. Dive in, share your world, and come see what is waiting for you.
STORYTELLING
OUR VISUAL CULTURE
My Grandad took pictures. Hundreds of them, each one a tiny rectangular labour of love. Light metered, settings carefully chosen, he would capture the moment and wind on the film; walk down to the camera shop days or weeks later to get them developed, and then write on the back in his perfect, sloping hand, the place, occasio
n, and date.
Both he and my Grandma are gone now, but these pictures remain. I found so many as we cleared out their home – an entire treasure-trove of forgotten memories and love. Pictures of them smiling at familiar Venice landmarks. My Grandad, a heartbreaking twenty-year-old soldier with dreamboat hair, perched on the hot steps of the Pyramids in Egypt. Me and my siblings with toys, with friends, with Christmas trees, with missing teeth. In school uniform, in tears, in homemade Halloween masks.
An archive of our very own, and the most wonderful, magical gift.
Things are different now. Nobody prints photos any more, and there’s no need to write the date and place. Yet almost every one of us is building our own little archive, day by day, using the camera we carry around in our pocket. Smartphone technology and digital photography have removed the problems of expense and accessibility that our grandparents faced, and in doing so, have taken away some of our intentionality, too.
When every shot costs you money and time to develop, you give it some thought. We are blessed not to live with this boundary – I’m sure I and countless other digital photographers would never have discovered their gift with those barriers still in place. We can play, experiment, take fifty shots and just keep one. It’s a wonderful, liberating thing.
But the downside is, we often give it less thought. We don’t work for that right angle quite as much, we don’t scrutinise with our photographer’s eye. What does it matter, after all? We’re just going to stick it on Facebook for a day, then forget it exists, right?
I believe it does matter. In a digital age, the place for pictures in our lives has changed, but that doesn’t mean they have lost their significance. Being mindful, artful and creative with our cameras can forge powerful connections – with your friends and family, with the wider community, and with yourself as well.
THE DEMOCRACY OF DIGITAL PHOTOGRAPHY
We’re so fortunate to live in an ever-evolving age of photographic technology. Once just the preserve of those with a decent disposable income, cameras are now almost ubiquitous in the western world; always in our handbag or pocket as part of our smartphone or tablet.
Gone are the costs of rolls of film and the lag time of developing, and all the expensive mistakes of that learning curve. Now, any one of us can take 100 photographs at no extra cost – then delete them all, and take 200 more if we want! The barriers to photography have come crashing down, and now anyone and everyone can get involved.
It’s an exciting time, with increasingly diverse voices, stories and creations flooding our senses, and the evolution of platforms like Instagram has made it easier than ever for this work to be shared.
And we all have a story to tell. In human history, there have been too few voices with little diversity. Women, people of colour, people with disabilities, the LGBTQ community and a great many others have found themselves rendered invisible through a lack of representation in art and books and publishing. The internet, and platforms like Instagram, gives everyone the chance to own their voice for the first time in human history. I believe this is a big part of the reason why the mainstream media will so often deride bloggers and YouTubers and Instagram stars. We’re not playing by the old rule book and we’re not telling the stories that have always been told.
Still, it’s easy to judge ourselves by these old standards. Isn’t Instagram oversaturated now? How is me sharing my morning coffee going to change the world? Well, maybe it won’t, but that doesn’t mean it has no value.
Perhaps your habit of making time for your coffee each day gives a burnt-out mother permission to do the same for herself. Perhaps the caption you add, mentioning how you switched from plastic coffee pods to a biodegradable line, prompts a handful of others to do the same, and then take further steps to go plastic-free. Maybe the cafe you tagged in the photograph gains a new local customer thanks to you, and becomes a little more profitable as a result. Connection, communication and community are the underrated secret weapons of social media. Quiet and gentle, they nevertheless have the power to slowly shape our world.
Where would we be if our favourite authors, musicians, teachers and role models had thought their voices were not important enough to be heard? How many times have you read an article or a blog post by someone who is similar to you, and felt vindicated or heard or enlightened as a result?
Instagram isn’t oversaturated – it’s not saturated enough. We need more people, more diversity, more perspectives. We need a cacophony of voices so that 100 years from now, the history books (or holo books, or whatever we have then) will have no choice but to mention us, and have room for us all.
START WITH WHAT YOU HAVE
In any new hobby or art, we’re always faced with a rush of self doubt – will I be any good at this? Will anybody like what I create? Will I be rejected by the people I’m trying to connect with? Appeasing that little voice is tricky at the best of times, but can be made even more challenging if we have to take a big leap financially as well as emotionally to embrace our new craft.
Or, perhaps affordability isn’t a barrier for you, and so instead you tend to overbuy for your hobbies. You’ll know if this applies to you – there’s probably scores of abandoned craft projects stashed away in your home, with all the best, top-of-the-range equipment that you bought and barely used once you began. Buying stuff, however great or flashy or seemingly vital, is no replacement for actually doing the work. Learn to ignore the little voice that might be saying, ‘I can’t possibly start until I have X, Y and Z!’
For all these reasons and more, I urge you: start now, with whatever you have. Smartphone, basic point-and-shoot camera or top of the range DSLR – they’re all just as valid, and just as capable of creating beautiful, powerful imagery.
As photography becomes increasingly accessible and automated, it’s less and less about who has the best kit or the fanciest techniques anyway. Instead, the focus has swung back to composition – what is the story? What can you make us feel? Where can you take us with your photographs? In a world of instant sharing, narrative, vision and composition are the modern photographer’s most important tools. They come with practice and patience, and they are completely and liberatingly, free.
FINDING INSPIRATION IN YOUR EVERYDAY LIFE
We tend to think of photography as a ‘special occasion’ thing. Birthdays, trips away, a day at the beach, a first day at school. In these moments we are motivated to look through a lens and capture something that feels precious and transitory – to preserve forever the happy memories we’re about to make.
Instagram and the little smartphone camera in our pocket allows us to document life more much frequently than this. Often, that can feel overwhelming at first – what should I shoot? I’ve got nothing worth photographing!
Later in this chapter I’ll share some tips and tricks for gathering subject ideas, but for the most part, my answer is really no different from the list above. Shoot the special things – the stuff that is precious. Take pictures of the things and the occasions that you treasure the most. Anything and everything that you never want to forget.
What changes, when we shift our mindset to taking more photographs on a more regular basis is how deeply we dig into what ‘special’ really is.
The first day of school is a milestone, of course – but it is built from a thousand other tiny milestones along the way. These moments don’t show in the typical photo – child standing against a blank wall, gappy smile, too-big uniform freshly pressed. Learning to tie shoelaces. The messy affair of breakfast. The thrill of a new pencil case packed with carefully chosen pens. Writing their name for the first time in scrawling, messy print. A little mittened hand slipped nervously into yours and foggy breath clouding the air on an early winter morning.
Photographing our everyday lives allows us to zoom in on the details and think about the small things that hold big meaning for us. With practice, it becomes a daily meditation on gratitude – a visual record of the beauty of ordinary everyda
y life.
A VISUAL TIME CAPSULE
One cold, drizzly day while browsing a flea market that had sprung up in a nearby village, I happened across an old bowl at an antiques stall. It was white china with a blue floral pattern and a teddy bear drawn in the bottom. And instantly, standing there with cold cheeks and a fidgeting child at my side, I was transported back to my own childhood, when I myself was just two or three. I didn’t even consciously remember this bowl – I would have drawn a blank had you described it to me, or ever asked me if I had owned one. But when it was before me, those early neural pathways in my brain sprang to life again, and its pattern was achingly, magically familiar.
It’s the most curious sensation, and one that most of us have experienced at some point. Discover an artifact from your past and you can be whisked back into memories you had no idea you still held. The colours, print or texture in a mundane item can be so comfortingly familiar that for a second it is like time travel – the years slipping back to when this inconsequential thing was a part of your small and certain world.
Photographs have this ability, too. And what I found, when digging back through my Grandad’s archive, was that it was seldom the obvious and posed photographs that brought this magic to life. There were so many of these – my sister and I in Halloween costumes or our best party dresses against a living room curtain or wall. Portraits taken for the purpose of finishing a roll of film or capturing a childhood milestone. In fact, nearly all of my Grandad’s photographs are portraits of one kind or another – holiday snaps at landmarks, groups of smiling faces at family gatherings. They’re precious in all kinds of ways, but it’s the incidentals that bring about that visceral, elusive sensation of rewinding the clock.
The pattern of a carpet, a toy just in shot at the side of a frame. Maybe it’s a pair of shoes that I’m wearing that I can suddenly recall made a clip-clopping noise when I ran across pavements, and how grown up and special that made me feel. Maybe it’s the sideways glance of a sibling that belies the obliging smiles we paste on for the flash.