Ssserotonin's Instagram Audience Analytics and Demographics
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PROFILE OVERVIEW OF SSSEROTONIN
40.7% of ssserotonin's followers are female and 59.3% are male. Average engagement rate on the posts is around 0.40%. The average number of likes per post is 342 and the average number of comments is 11.
Ssserotonin loves posting about Travel, Photography.
Check ssserotonin's audience demography. This analytics report shows ssserotonin's audience demographic percentage for key statistic like number of followers, average engagement rate, topic of interests, top-5 countries, core gender and so forth.
GENDER OF ENGAGERS FOR SSSEROTONIN
AUDIENCE INTERESTS OF SSSEROTONIN
- Photography 77.53 %
- Travel & Tourism 64.75 %
- Art & Design 53.53 %
- Beauty & Fashion 49.77 %
- Technology & Science 44.44 %
- Business & Careers 38.18 %
- Books and Literature 34.36 %
- Movies and TV 34.35 %
- Music 34.28 %
- Fitness & Yoga 33.75 %
- Entertainment 33.44 %
- Clothes, Shoes, Handbags & Accessories 32.89 %
- Restaurants, Food & Grocery 32.30 %
Hermano Toj. Taken in a seemingly other life at the lake, forever ago when @noel.alva came to visit and our shoes were heavy with mud on our tipsy walks over volcanic rocks and tree roots by the Santa Cruz lakeshore. Barely able to make anything out, the moon swallowed by a heavy ink blotted sky, it was a miracle we made it home unharmed. These moments have us all reminiscing of lighter times, they have us sinking our teeth in opalescent waters, desperately grasping for tenderness.
Trespassing through the railroad graveyard in Zacapa felt like being in stealth mode in a video game. Silently zigzagging between abandoned train cabins, gigantic lizards, crispy dead vegetation that looked like it had most likely never been green and vibrant. We mouthed soundless “oh my gods” as we glanced into dark vestiges, uncovering and witnessing Guatemala’s history. It felt like we were traveling through time, yet it was impossible to imagine these steel giants in an operable state, rushing sugarcane, corn, bananas to the coasts. My grandmother’s stories of traveling by train seemed as conceivable as a fairytale being truthful. Everything looked like the skeleton of a long forgotten and mostly silenced story. Redolent of shame, unspeakable mistakes, peeling iron and centennial sweat, impossibly preserved in the sweltering, suffocating heat. “A generation from now, this will all be dust.” And we stood here, our fingers tracing the labor of worker’s before us as they once dreamt and marveled at these monuments, fantasizing about travel on vast stretches of tracks laid out by their forefathers, not imagining they’d be forgotten and left to disintegrate sooner than their own bones.
An entry from my journal from 2016 reads: “I’m not sure where my tears end and the rain begins.” I can admit that’s awfully depressing. I can’t recognize who I was then. The memories are faded and feel like they belong to someone else. Like viewing yellowed photographs in some stranger’s family album. Sometimes the things you cannot imagine yourself living without end up being the precise things you need to let go of. Sometimes you just need to hit rock bottom, then dig even deeper, to excavate your worth and drag it back up to the surface. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But damn am I glad I went through it. Ps. The rain in this photo was produced with a sprinkler because it didn’t rain as expected.
The hottest week of the entire year, obstacles, detours, endless unpaved roads, dirty fingernails, extreme discomfort, spider venom, backtracking, narco fincas, chronic dehydration, hunger, fear, nausea, hundreds of sketchy bridges, bridges destroyed by hurricanes, collapsed bridges, bridges hanging on by a thread, sawed off bridges that are impossible to cross... just a few of the things we endured while bikepacking along Guatemala’s abandoned railroad system 2.5 years ago. I have SO MUCH material from this experience and truly too many stories to condense into an Instagram post, so I’m thinking I should probably write a proper blog post. It’s the least I can do to commemorate the epicness of it all. Here’s one of most memorable campsites of the trip, after pedaling for hours in the dust only to find out we’d have to backtrack it all the next morning. The second photo is one of the many remaining water towers used for the steam engines. The last one is Christian arranging obsidian fragments on the ledge of our end-of-the-inexistent-trail site.
Four seasons are turning into two. The fall moon shines late into the afternoon and disappears at night. We were a few days shy of the peak of golden aspens. It lasted about 76 hours. A week later all the leaves had been shed from the skeletal trees. Ever so unpredictable, this world we’ve destroyed. Ever so selfish we are. This desire to possess, to capture, to put birds in cages... it’s killing everything around us. When will we realize we’re digging our own grave? Only once our fingertips have turned to ash.
Swipe to make @christian.greene smile ☺️ He’s on an indefinitely long Instagram hiatus and 100% still my favorite human on this planet. Also, who thinks it’s time he brought the short hair back? (🙋🏻♀️)
Scintillate - v. to produce sparks, draw attention with liveliness or beauty (or by holding a rig with hella pyrotechnics over your head while running down the streets as everything pops and whizzes, like they do in Guatemala) ✨
The truth is... I had to bribe Mila to get out of the van and sit on this rock for a photo in exchange for a box of Pocky sticks 😌 *snap snap snap* literally three shots later she asks “are you done?” And this is all I got from that beautiful California scenery on a cold January day.
A few summers ago, when @pazaaa and I decided it was a good idea to road trip through the Balkans in his Mini Cooper. I have so many great memories from that time, but I rarely talk about them in detail. This charming old town and fortress in Montenegro, home to countless stray cats roaming the cobblestone alleys, was a mandatory stop. The morning of my birthday we got up with the sunrise, ate cold leftover pasta and made our way up the switchbacks on the mountain to reach these vistas, before the stifling heatwaves and cruise ship tourists flooded the area. Patrick knew a secret way to go through the “back” to avoid paying however many euros to pass through a gate that wasn’t even open to the public yet. Later that day, we continued on to Kosovo, where I had the craziest birthday celebration to this date. Definitely one of my favorite stories, but we’ll save that for another time.
I had been anticipating shooting the autumn leaves for a long time. The last fall I experienced before this one in Aspen had been fifteen years ago. Fifteen years of navigating the eternal cycle of wet & dry earth. I had flashbacks of my infancy in the northern hemisphere — crispy dry leaves tickling my skin, my tiny self buried chin deep in fallen leaves — I longed for seasons that never came. Time seemed motionless on the breadth of the equator. There’s truly something astonishing about the engilded trees, the way they shed their leaves at their most beautiful moment. It’s like they know it’s an intentional sacrifice, an offering that must be made in order to die and be born anew in the spring. And like deciduous trees, we too, must release treasured parts of ourselves to give birth to new ideas, new experiences, new life. 🍂
When you have an ancient heart and childlike spirit you must feel deeply but go lightly. To trace and learn the language of waves. How all the seas carry secrets, yet still move freely. I am still learning how to be water. — Victoria Erickson
Everything is falling into place ✨
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