Explaining the South on Instagram, one habit at a time

If you grew up any way in the South, you’re probably familiar with the strict hierarchy that determines who brings the potato salad and cornbread to a plated dinner and who is responsible for the paper plates.

Chances are you know the difference between wandering and meandering. Just as you understand that a prayer request can be a sincere appeal for divine help on someone’s behalf – and a loophole for passing on gossip without, technically, engaging in it.

But not everyone can get such home training, thank God. That’s where Landon Bryant comes into the picture.

He has discussed all this and more in his daily videos on social media about the customs and manners he learned growing up in small-town Mississippi.

“The Lord has put it on my heart and we all need to lift her up because – insert info here,” Mr. Bryant expresses in the video detailing how to gossip through a prayer request.

“The prayer list,” he added, “is like a news feed.”

With his silky, shoulder-length hair and soft accent belying a devilishly sly sense of humor, the 35-year-old Mr. Bryant has become a fixture on Instagram, TikTok and YouTube with his explanations and exploration of what it means to be Southern.

A big part of it is food: grits, fried green tomatoes, sweet potato pie, divinity, corn nuggets, hot tamales and crawfish are just some of the delicacies he discussed. He’s delivered monologues about social protocol (a phone conversation should never end with a quick goodbye), language (defining “could” and “fixate on”), and Mississippi’s climate (the humidity can feel like wearing ‘a sweater full of Vaseline’). ).

Since February, his “Landon Talks” posts have amassed hundreds of thousands of followers, many from around the world — a testament to the strange fascination that has always surrounded the South’s quirks, characters and complicated history.

But many of Bryant’s regular viewers are about as Southern as he is, which confirms another enduring truth about the region: There are few things Southerners love more than reveling in their own Southernness.

The comments on his posts can be just as compelling as the videos themselves: plentiful and passionate, but never as heated. Take for example the thread about superstition in the region. A bird flying around the house is a sign that a loved one is about to die; a cardinal in the garden is a dead relative reporting.

“In these times of unrest and global unrest, it’s kind of fun to think about deviled eggs,” says one regular commentator, Patricia Altschul, the socialite and grande dame of the Bravo reality show “Southern Charm.” “People are arguing about a lot of these things that no one cares about but Southerners.”

As lighthearted as it all may seem, Mr. Bryant believes the conversation actually represents something more substantial: a sprawling family, full of bitter disagreements and painful histories, united by an abiding affection for home.

His audiences include a certified “Daughter of the Confederacy” and one of the more liberal members of the Louisiana State Legislature. There are people from a mix of racial and economic backgrounds, as well as people who are homosexual and non-conforming to their gender. Their diversity may surprise some outsiders, but it reflects the geographic, racial, economic, ideological and gastronomic vastness of the South.

“By breaking down our idioms, idioms and traditions, Landon reinforces the idea that there is a rich history and culture in this area,” said Claire Thriffiley, an Instagram follower of his and director of an art gallery in New Orleans.

Mr. Bryant acknowledged that many of his videos are snapshots of a fading way of life. The matriarchs who set the standard for potato salad are getting older or have already disappeared. ‘Might could’ is heard less and less.

The videos are also a kind of informal historical record. “It just became a love letter,” Mr. Bryant said in an interview in Laurel, Miss., his city of 17,000, where he lives on the same road where he grew up.

But over time, he realized that the videos and the conversations they sparked weren’t just about remembering an idealized version of the past. This was an opportunity to figure out which Southern traditions were worth preserving, and which were best left behind.

“Our generation will have to decide,” he said.

Mr. Bryant — an elementary school art teacher until he became a full-time influencer — does not claim to be the definitive voice of the South, as if one could exist.

Still, regular viewers say he is an ideal guide. “Landon is funny and has a soft, soothing voice,” said Mandie Landry, a Democratic lawmaker from New Orleans.

“Very Mr. Rogers,” she added. “He could start a cult of kindness and potato salad and I would join in.”

He never needed a camera or an Instagram account to launch into meandering monologues. His wife, Katelyn, encouraged him to record them and post them online – if only to avoid being his only audience.

Over the past year, his life has been transformed. He is contracted to write a book expanding on his videos. Lingua Franca, a New York-based purveyor of cashmere sweaters with hand-stitched messages, recently sold out a line featuring phrases from its videos, including “Bless your heart” and “Might could.”

Some of his posts include paid promotions where he mentions certain products, such as White Lily flour and cornmeal mixes. Mr. Bryant also produces made-to-order videos ($50 each) for Cameo, the service that offers individualized messages from personalities of varying fame. So far, he’s been hired to share a message from one twin sister to another to stop spending money at Starbucks and to settle a dispute over whether to eat grits with salt and pepper or with need to eat sugar. (“There is no right way to eat grits,” he said, “as long as you eat grits.”)

One question about his favorite drink (a French 75) turned into a meditation on drinking in the South. “Southern people either have a very favorite drink,” he said, “or you act like you don’t drink at all and you don’t make eye contact in the liquor store.”

Strangers now recognize him in public, including during a recent family vacation to Disney World. The attention was surreal, he said, and even a little uncomfortable. Still, he found that budding celebrities didn’t feel all that different from living under the watchful eye of a small town.

While recently running errands in Laurel, a man called out to him from a passing pickup truck, “Can I have your autograph, Landon?” It turned out to be the husband of his wife’s cousin.

His wife, who was one of his closest friends growing up, is amazed at how his rise as a social media influencer has lifted Mr. Bryant out of his embarrassment, but not so surprised at the connection he has made with viewers . “It feels like he’s talking to you,” she said.

He has the observation skills that are often developed by people who feel like outsiders in the place where they belong. As a boy he was small and a bit clumsy – he had to ‘grow into his ears’, as he put it – and he preferred listening to the ladies in the beauty salon to hunting, sports or other rough pursuits of the men. that surrounded him. For a while, he even tried to lower his voice to better suit that form of masculinity.

Still, the whirlwind of the past year has taught him that he may not be as much of an outsider as he once thought. “I didn’t realize how much I love this place,” he said. “I’m a Southern man too – whatever that means to me.”

He keeps a list of possible video topics on his phone and is constantly finding new inspiration, including recently when his grandmother came over and he asked how she was feeling.

“She literally said to me, ‘I should feel better about dying,’” he said. He made a mental note to put that on the list.

He wants to last a year before revisiting topics. But next he would like to correct the record on a few points, namely deviled eggs. In his first video about them he said he sprinkled them with cracker crumbs. The backlash came quickly.

He would like to explain himself. But he also wants to remind his followers that he knows his place when it comes to a potluck.

He’s the one who brings the paper plates.