For my 25th birthday, I managed to snag a coveted reservation at Toronto’s much-hyped Nobu — the kind of place that dominated Instagram feeds for weeks on end.
Surely, a restaurant with a name as big as Nobu, partly owned by Robert De Niro, would have a menu as grandiose and high-quality.
The space was undeniably stunning — all dim lighting and minimalist luxury. But the meal itself was underwhelming: a watered-down negroni, average maki rolls akin to a Cactus Club happy hour, and they even forgot my birthday. Plus, a meal like this for two can easily run over $200.
That’s when it hit me — my partner and I were dining at an Instagram restaurant.
The Instagram restaurant describes a specific subset of restaurants that exist for you to post on your social media feed. If you didn’t pick up your phone at least once during service, were you even there?
The Instagram restaurant pays more attention to the ambience and surroundings of a restaurant than the actual menu and quality of the food. Think neon signs, artificial cherry blossoms, moody lighting, short-lived food trends, luxe seating — anything that gets you to hit post and tag.
At a time when costs for dining out are skyrocketing, the Instagram restaurant points to a larger trend in the dining and hospitality industry where diners are selecting restaurants based on interior design and aesthetic.
The Instagram restaurant becomes a social currency that turns a dining experience into a performance.
It’s part of one’s personal brand: eating at the trendiest new bar on King Street that’s all over your Instagram “For You Page” becomes a form of status signalling. You’re in the know and have a carefully choreographed Instagram photo to prove it.
In turn, prices reflect this desire from an upscale clientele at the expense of a coherent menu. Metrics take precedence over authenticity. Storytelling and real purpose go out the window, and the restaurant staff doing the actual work are relegated to the background (even more than usual).
All this makes for an unsustainable business model that relies on trends and social buzz.
Leeanne Gomes has been creating food-related content as @hungreelee on Instagram for just over a year. She says she’s seen this shift towards a digital-first dining experience slowly evolving over the last decade. Menus and physical spaces are all about “factoring social media creators and a virtual audience of potential customers.”
“Playful neon signs, theatrical elements (fire displays, robots, dry ice, etc.), and monochromatic decor all serve as backdrops for the popular close-up shots of gooey cheese pulls, chocolate-drowned desserts, and meat-juice-dripping barbeque,” she tells The Grind in an email.
“Pizza is a dish that typically films phenomenally, often due to the cheesy bubbly centre, crisp but chewy crust, and bonus points for unique toppings and flavour combinations,” she says.
“But when the quality of the ingredients, balance of the base sauce, and overall flavour pairings become an afterthought in the flurry of social media exposure, the hype transforms instantaneously into disappointment.”
Any restaurant that encourages you to pick up your phone over connecting with the people around you misses the entire point of dining. It’s more than just a meal. It’s a chance to connect with loved ones and explore the culture behind the city’s food scene. It’s reliving the feeling of going to your friend’s house after school and their mom making you a childhood favourite over stories about life back home.
So the next time you go out, ask yourself: are you paying for the food or for an aesthetic and a lifestyle?
This article appeared in the 2025 Summer issue.
