The Brand That Slid Into My Instagram DMs

New Arrivals // ACNE STUDIOS ‘Dixie’ Knit #vsp #acnestudios #designerconsignment

A photo posted by VSP (@vsp_consignment) on Oct 6, 2015 at 9:29am PDT

Yesterday I bought a sweater through Instagram DM. On most days, my Instagram DMs are exclusively group chats between various friends who want to share their outfits, reading materials, and eyelash extensions; occasionally there’s a good nude. This is the first time I’ve ever had a consumerist enterprise slide into my DMs, and I was…not mad!

The sweater in question is from a consignment store owned by a friend, so there’s some precedent for our casual interactions. I sold a bunch of clothes to them before I moved and have been sitting on my credit, just waiting for a way to ~treat myself~, and scrolling through their Instagram is just as effective as visiting their online store, if not more so. Two days ago I was muttering to myself about the differences in sizing between a Balenciaga peacoat and an Alexander Wang jacket posted on their online store, trying to determine how they would fit, but yesterday I commented “want” on the above photo and within minutes had a detailed breakdown of the sweater and photos of a sales associate wearing it to provide a visual reference for the fit and texture. My store credit covered all but $15 of the ticket price; sold.

There was a brief period, I vaguely remembered, when shopping through Instagram was supposed to be the next step of the brand valued at $35 billion doll hairs. In June they announced that sponsored Instagram posts would have a “Shop Now” button; I just quickly scrolled through my feed trying to find one, but all I could find was a prompt to “Watch More” of a Special K ad. I did accidentally mistake a genuine photo from The Row as an ad in the process, which seemed particularly apt.

Instagram is, like Facebook and Twitter before it, often sold as a cheap alternative to advertising directly to your targeted demographic. Beyond VSP Consignment and The Row, I also constantly follow and unfollow multiple vintage clothing stores and brands with a pattern that can be closely tied to how much disposable income I have. When I feel rich and reckless I want to see what kind of shoes are for sale at Maryam Nassir Zadeh. When I feel broke and responsible I don’t want to be tempted, through a misplaced “like” or flippant comment, to buy something I don’t need and can’t afford.

Before yesterday, I had bought a t-shirt because I saw it on the Instagram account of a girl with great taste (this t-shirt, which is my ultimate favorite item of clothing), but I had never committed to a financial transaction without leaving the app first. I felt like I was doing something truly absurd. Then again, I often think about how many people told Natalie Massenet, the founder of Net-a-Porter, that women would never buy luxury clothing online; she launched very shortly after a similar site, Boo.com (when I read about this I was like “literally who”) went under, just 18 months after receiving $135 million in venture capital. By contrast, according to site lore, Net-a-Porter once had a customer spend $100,000 in a single transaction.

Recently, as well, I read about a dinner Vogue threw for Instagram, and was truly floored by this quote from Anna Wintour:

“Clothes may come and go, but we’ll always have Paris, and now we will always have Instagram,” said Anna Wintour, before introducing Instagram CEO and cofounder Kevin Systrom.

This was also a key highlight for me:

“There’s an entertaining Peeping Tom element, but really Instagram works as an encyclopedia for young people today,” said Christopher Kane. After the raspberry and ginger sorbet was served, guests departed into the mild Parisian evening — stopping for a few selfies on the way, of course.

The sign of a successful evening? Just check your Instagram feed.

Instagram is, like their parent company Facebook and brief nemesis Twitter, a free and effective way to sell a brand and merchandise, it’s true. But it also is, like the majority of other social media networks, valued based on who uses it and how; to return to Anna’s baffling and perhaps hilarious analogy, we will not always have Instagram, since it is merely the best way right now for brands to reach the eyeballs and wallets of people looking to buy and subsequently selfie. Soon there will be some new thing we can scoff at, maybe “ha ha as though I would ever spend my hard-earned money just because a Snapchat told me to!”

Jenna wrote about this cycle last year, that it is precisely the fact that Instagram isn’t designed for shopping that makes it feel so fun:

Instagram isn’t designed to be an e-commerce site, and that’s part of its appeal to me. Internet giants like Amazon.com have finely calibrated algorithms that suggest items and services before I even think of them, and they are very useful. But there is something undeniably charming about flicking through photographs that are carefully curated and personally posted by some Instagram sellers, who regularly offer one-of-a-kind treasures.

For me, Instagram resembles a modern-day bazaar — one I visit on my phone when I have a free moment. I’ll peek at pictures while riding in an elevator or standing in line at the grocery store. A huge part of the appeal is that the goods I’m perusing are sandwiched in my Instagram feed, in between my friends’ selfies and pictures of snow-covered spots where they’ve stopped during the day. Stumbling across an unexpected and gorgeous find like a wool Aztec throw or pair of leather boots on a social app like Instagram brings with it the excitement of discovery, not unlike the thrill you get when coming across a rare find at a flea market.

This might be a good time to start thinking of new shopping startup ideas; I, for one, would absolutely buy something if it was delivered on a Funky Duck. As they say in Paris, et tu?