The Latin American part of Instagram Reels

Preliminary findings from a vital subdomain of the region’s cultural production

As Twitter/X has deteriorated as a medium over recent years I have been spending more time watching Instagram Reels, something I never did before. A lot of what the algorithm sees fit to show me could be described as clips emanating from the deep reaches of Latin America, or at least ones that purport to show L’Amérique profonde to the presumably somewhat more upscale consumers of such “content” in Latin America itself.

One series of videos from Brazil depicts middle-class interviewers holding a microphone in front of humbler types—generally middle-aged men found, it seems, sitting around in the middle of the day—and asking them what their “gender” is and how they “identify.”

“I’m an atheist, thank God,” one man replies, grinning a wide gaptoothed grin and holding his arms high above his head. A compact illustration of what you might call the gloriously incoherent Brazilian approach to religion, perhaps not incoherent at all, perhaps a serene synthesis of opposites, a warm sublation.

“I’m a lover,” says another. The responses, invariably delivered with easy confidence after a momentary hesitation or moment of incomprehension, range from references to marital status (“I’m a widower”) to declarations of soccer team loyalty—arguably the more important “identity” in Brazil (“I’m Flamengo”). None of the portrayed interviewees grasp the question, based on a reference to American-originated cultural concepts that have not spread much further than Brazil’s plugged-in upper-middle-class, but the result is an irreverent and heartening display of the Brazilian character. To keep things smooth, the interviewees seem tacitly to be thinking, there’s no need to ask for clarification and cause an awkward moment—better to just offer whatever answer springs to mind; if it’s a good one, the questioner won’t mind that it wasn’t exactly what they were looking for. And after all, aren’t they right?

Another related series—here the premise is a bit more malicious toward the interviewees—shows questioners asking subjects whether they support heterosexuality. “No, I don’t agree with that, I’m evangelical,” one says. Another concedes that if his son were heterosexual, he would support him, although he maintains it isn’t natural.

A third series asks interviewees to mention a sentence that “only Brazilians understand.” These are somewhat difficult to translate. “I didn’t see so much as a whiff of him,” is one (Não vi nem o cheiro dele). Another is tem mas acabou—“We have some but we ran out”—a Pythonesque and typically Brazilian shopkeeper’s answer to the question, “Do you have such and such thing?” They generally involve a play of contradictions which adds up to a softer way of navigating a situation, an upside-down yes as an alternative to saying no.

The subject of many of these videos is obviously the national character of respective Latin American countries, a theme that has fallen out of style in many of the more sophisticated or text-based venues in these countries—and around the world, for that matter. Books like Octavio Paz’s 1950 Labyrinth of Solitude, a meditation on the Mexican character, aren’t written much anymore. But the popularity of these videos suggests that people still believe that there is such a thing as a national character—that their countrymen just are a certain way—and that they enjoy seeing portrayals of it.

The Argentine reels focus on many of the classic Argentine themes—drinking mate, cooking asado, etc. I find this “official” culture to rely somewhat too heavily on a rather limited set of referents. The more interesting Argentine Reels, to me, depict children. Argentina, as those who know the country will be familiar, is a land of inveterate bullshitters, and they start them young. Another Reel, of a (grown-up) Argentine comedian, has him excoriating one of his countrymen for at one point responding to a question with the admission that he didn’t know the answer. “You’re an Argentine!” the comedian bellows. “If we don’t know the answer, we make one up.” Argentines, especially porteños (residents of Buenos Aires), have this in common with New Yorkers of yesteryear, a limitless confidence, conversational stamina and a tendency, yes, to monopolize, to hold forth indefinitely, with varying authority but unwavering conviction.

What shocks me is just how young they start. One series of interviews features children on the sidelines of a playground, answering grown-up questions. One boy of maybe eight is asked something about domestic economy, about the finances of parents, and responds with a long, putatively knowing speech about the advantages and costs of private school versus public, inflation and grocery spending, day care and so on. The kid was impressive but you also feel he should just enjoy himself a little while longer—after all, living in Argentina, he’ll have to spend his whole life bullshitting. Why get a head start? Is it so bad to be curious, to be naïve for a little while longer?

The Argentines also have a slightly sharper-edged (New World-ified) version of the Italian penchant for melodrama—and a razor-sharp sarcasm. And in a country with at least as much resourcefulness as the United States but where the citizens, for good reason, have next to no faith in government and most forms of authority, people learn to protect their interests early by all means necessary. One particularly striking video shows a young boy on a rooftop. An adult (his father? Older brother?) calls out to him to come down. He says he refuses until he obtains guarantees that his lunch will contain no vegetables. “I have a hostage!” he cries, holding up a dog. “Let that animal go!” the older brother says. “Oh, you want me to let him go?” the boy says, dangling the dog over the precipice.

A young Argentine takes a canine hostage in his battle to avoid eating vegetables.

The dialogue continues with the older brother’s offer—“I’ll give you a frozen treat!” he says.

“You’re such a great negotiator, Ezequielito,” the boy says.

“Frozen water!” says Ezequielito.

“I’ll throw him right off of here!” the boy cries in vindictive rage.

“Ice cream! Ice cream!” says Ezequielito in panic.

Eight years old and already a little terrorist … there’s nowhere like Argentina …