the chaotic and liberatory instagram of bernadette peters
In June of 2018, Instagram hit the one billion monthly active user mark: a milestone for a company that has become one of the world’s most popular social networks, which is a near-ubiquitous element of lives well- (or at least publicly) lived. Significantly, Broadway diva Bernadette Peters joined Instagram that same month, cementing Instagram’s pervasive use even among celebrities of a certain age (senior citizens, though Bernadette doesn’t look a day over thirty).
Instagram, of course, originated rather innocently as a photo-sharing app, where non-photographers could approach artistry through the use of eight or nine filters. As the app has grown, however, it has become a platform for the exhibition of a new form of the autobiographical self; one with blemishes, bad moments, and cellulite cropped out. Like it or not, Instagram pages are reflections of their users, and their level of curation can literally be used as currency, as seen in the rise of influencer culture. Therefore, even the stripped down, authentic “this is me” posts that feature a beautiful person wearing no makeup, crying, or showing their pre-Facetuned body are well-framed and lit.
As any responsible Instagram user knows, there are good times to post, bad times to post, and limits to how many times a day you should post to your grid (ONCE and then not again for at least another WEEK please). Often, celebrities and influencers know well enough to follow these often unspoken rules, for their livelihood relies on the consumption of the public identity that masquerades as their private persona. Part of that public identity is shaped by adhering to said rules in a seemingly carefree, whimsical manner, as if the user *just happened* to fall onto the post upload button with a pro-shot, perfectly Facetuned piece of spon-con at the ready. Posts are spaced out so as to exude a lack of reliance upon the app and its reliably quick hits of serotonin, but still occur frequently enough lest you forget that a celebrity or influencer still exists. However, it seems as though no one has informed Bernadette Peters of any of this.
In January of 2019, Bernadette Peters went to Africa. I know this because on the 15th of that month, she blatantly flouted Instagram etiquette and posted six pictures to her main grid, including one of a “Very pensive” gorilla and one of her tracker, who “has 3 wives !!” On January 19th, while on the same trip, Peters made a whopping twenty-two posts, both pictures and videos of the many animals she saw while on safari accompanied by captions such as “Seeing gorillas wow.” Just a month ago, Peters reposted three images from shows she’s performed in with the *Bernie Sanders in a chair* meme cropped in. She didn’t even credit the original posters, who certainly didn’t seem to mind her blatant thievery (@amaya.mack wrote under the Hello Dolly/Bernie meme that was stolen from her: “i made this picture!! thank you so much for reposting it i can’t believe it!! *heart emoji*”). Since 2017, Instagram users have been able to post carousels, or swipe-able collections of up to ten posts. However, Peters either made the conscious or unknowing decision to flood her followers’ feeds with many single photos, chaotically making it known that she doesn’t care about any silly, made-up rules of engagement. She’s Bernadette fucking Peters.
Though she is famous enough to have a team or at least an assistant, Peters seems to hold the reigns to her own social media. When celebrities at least give the appearance of manning their own social media, they usually try to present a (false) appearance of closeness or relatability. Not so when it comes to Bernadette Peters. Peters frequently posts about her close relationship to fashion designer Zac Posen, of whose designs Peters claims she is the muse. I certainly don’t need my favorite celebrities to be humble – I prefer when they respect me enough to tell me the truth. Bernadette Peters is a 72-year old woman who looks younger than she did at 25. Of course she’s Zac Posen’s muse. I’ve literally only ever seen her in stage costumes or evening wear. She’s my muse too.
The function of social media is, in part, to share your life with your followers, those avatars for the people you actually know. This is even truer of celebrities and influencers, who use the mask of Instagram to feign intimacy, whose carefully curated feeds encourage the parasocial relationships that trick us into believing we know anything about them. That Instagram gives any view into someone’s personal life is an accident, for the nature of consciously performing one’s private self renders it artificial. Curating your Instagram is like playing the part of a more perfect person, and the social media app whose purpose is to share and be known therefore makes it all the more difficult to really know anyone beyond what they project.
To me, intimacy is best found in the mundane. It’s the dull things, the messy things, and the ugly things. It’s the skin with lines only noticeable from a quarter of a foot away, bad moods, blemishes, and unflattering angles. Part of knowing someone comes from seeing them drop the act and just be. Whenever I’ve seen Bernadette Peters in person, she’s literally been performing. However, based on her lawless, 2012-style Instagram, where you’re likely to find poorly lit pictures of flowers, a photo she took of herself performing on her own TV screen, the same ad for Broadway Barks posted twice in a row by accident (maybe??), or dogs, I feel I know her better than some people I actually know IRL. There is a sense of chaotic liberation to Miss Peters’ inability to follow a single rule of social media, and in her singular lack of social self-awareness or ability to perform authenticity online, she very ironically achieves it in a way that only a senior citizen with no social media assistant ever could. Catch me liking every single iteration of the view of the sky from her apartment – she really earned the engagement.
All images courtesy of @OfficialBernadettePeters on Instagram.