- Following 453
- Followers 236.7K
- Engagement 6.89%
- Avg likes 19K
- Avg comments 94
About Postmodern Palace
Postmodern Palace (@postmodernpalace) is an Artist creator on Instagram, also filed under Art & DIY. The account has 236,730 followers and 63 published posts. Recent posts average 18,966 likes and 94 comments, an engagement rate of 6.89%.
An audience of 236.7K puts Postmodern Palace in the mid-tier, between 100,000 and 1 million followers. Set against 453 accounts followed, the audience works out to about 523 followers per account Postmodern Palace follows. Postmodern Palace carries Instagram's verified badge and uses an Instagram professional account. Flinque files Postmodern Palace under Artist, with Art & DIY as a secondary category.
The Instagram bio for Postmodern Palace runs to 7 words across 3 lines. The latest activity Flinque has on record for Postmodern Palace dates from May 2024.
Story Highlights
Unlocking shows the title and cover image of every story highlight this creator keeps pinned to the profile.
63 Posts
Of the 10 most recent posts shown for Postmodern Palace, 7 are carousels and 3 are videos. That mix leans toward carousels. 63 published posts give Postmodern Palace a moderate archive on Instagram. Against the audience, that is roughly 3,758 followers for each post published. Postmodern Palace also keeps 1 story highlight on the profile. All 10 carry captions, averaging 232 words each. The captions are written mainly in English. Words that recur across them include nostalgia, it’s, everything, back and call. The captions tag #nostalgia, #surreal, #postmodernpalace, #nostalgic and #nostalgiacore.
Units for the unskilled. Mr. Ray’s two lanky teenaged kids were considered hopeless by his wife’s standards. Starchface was one of them, you forgot the name of the other lanky kid because he was addicted to watching toy trains on VHS copies—he was never around.
Starchface wasn’t allowed to live with his parents anymore (your dad’s boss and his wife), so they formulated plans to build a unit next to Helmut Jahn’s.
The unit was supposed to be eleven feet wide. The color itself would arrive through the vents every morning at 6 a.m. like a scheduled shipment. Starchface had a name for it. He was unskilled yet he was allowed to have naming rights.
The unbuilt second N-building (CB) reflected everything back wrong. This was known. The Turkish investors had noted it in a margin of a document and drawn a small star next to the note and the star meant acceptable in a notation system only one of them remembered and that man was now in Ankara eating a persimmon and thinking about something else entirely.
Your dad cleaned out his desk and the desk was lighter than he expected, like it had already been preparing for this, like the desk had known before he did and had quietly been returning itself to wood. He drove home on the highway past the N-building and the glass caught the afternoon and threw it somewhere he couldn’t track, and he felt, not happy exactly, but released in the way a document feels released when it is finally filed.
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#surreal #nostalgia #midwest
“We’ll teach underprivileged kids how to type and then the dessert hour, we can’t forget about the dessert hour. Syrups of all sorts for the iced creams, and then your grandpa’s old trinkets. We can make those part of the rec area. Basically everything in one simple place.”
This was a conversation that occurred about three weeks before she went to the hospital. You remember that day. A duplex unit right off a rural highway.
The kitchen smelled like the boiled-down sugar she used for everything: apple butter, plum syrup, the sticky brown crust at the bottom of the saucepan she refused to throw out. She had laid index cards across the table in a kind of grid, each one with a different room of the imagined building written across the top in her looping cursive. COMPUTER CORNER. ANTIQUES DELIGHT. DESSERT HOUR. REC AREA. She kept moving them around like she was solving a puzzle only she could see, and every so often she’d nudge one half an inch and look up at you for confirmation.
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#nostalgia #illinois #dream
“How many times do I have to tell you? Quit messing around in my garage.”
You: “I wasn’t in the garage, I was in the surplus loft.”
“That’s still my garage—“
You: “No it’s not, you said I have free play in the surplus loft as long as I use the rope ladder. The old weights were in a broken-ripped box, I didn’t see.”
“Go fix that thumb. Call up Myra so she can take you, I gotta get to work. I don’t have time for medical.”
Myra has a corduroy sweater layered on top of a long sleeve that is unraveling at the cuffs. Little messy haystacks. Myra is the child chaperone hired by the townhouse complex for after-hours medical care. She always claims she is fifty-percent Italian fifty-percent from Nebraska. A swollen thumbnail that now looks like cherry syrup swirls in root beer is out of her scope of expertise.
She drives you to the nearest PM primary care and starts a vulgar conversation about restaurant etiquette that you’re too young to understand. You feel embarrassed because you’re too shy to say your thumbnail is pulsating with sharp pain extending to your heels. To make matters worse, she leaves to the parking lot for “a second to take a peek at a constellation in the sky most people forget is up there. It’s one of those lucky ones.”
Your fickle chaperone promises to quickly return. A large metal trap door swings up from the waiting room floor. You smell alcohol and bad perfume. A ray of light bounces off the ceiling. This newly opened space leads back to the housing complex. You want to cheat and just leave—everything makes you feel scared and it’s the one piece of optimism you’ve had all night.
You ignore it and decide to search around for a doctor. Everyone comes back inside. Parking lot stars and an air of booze reassure that now you can be seen. Your name is called and they’re ready to patch you up.
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#nostalgia #dream #memory
You wrongly thought that a bay in this context was a large expanse of water under wooden panels. Horns and sailboat thread wrapping wooden clocks with aquatic power sources. You’re a kid and kids think in terms of water-or-land before the other descriptors ruin imaginative simplicity.
“It’s a place the shipping commerce workers, the lite transport guys, can buy their formal wear before the front end corporate heads chew their heads off.” Your dad said this like he’s seen it a hundred times.
Gilda Borros-Han, your dad’s fiancée, was the one who told you that CC Jade intentionally burned an item “that wasn’t such a big deal cause of her depressive state of mind. They used to call it melancholy back in the old days, but now it’s all clinical for television audiences to poke fun at on talk shows.”
“Gilda, did you know that talk shows aren’t real? One hard pull of the camera lens off its mark and you’ll see rusty bars, black paint chipped bars for the audio and lights betraying the whole fake-ness of it all. Everything is all propped up.” Not sure if Gilda knows (or cares) about it all being propped up—her retinas certainly could care less.
You’re too young to buy collared long sleeves for presentation purposes. But the inside of this industrial retail strip cradles you in a way that keeps your mind occupied and off the medium arson that’s not too far away.
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#nostalgia #surreal #texas
The buildings on this side of the city are slightly curved in a way that makes you nauseous. In your head, you try to anchor upside down T’s as a way to measure perfect angles. It’s just not perpendicular. and it makes you feel a nautical green. This light queasiness takes the form of a piece of fabric flat across your subarachnoid space—an opposing force (what you’d call a bad thing) continuously yanks this piece of fabric like a tablecloth pull trick, back and forth the waves of your puny nausea follow the rules of this annoying parlor trick.
“Don’t touch the Rain Towers, you can’t even get close.”
The Jordanian Rain Towers are extracted towers, posthumously transferred from Transjordan. Your dad said the whole family can be sued because the liability is astronomical if they are disturbed by third parties. The bright screens tucked in the vaulted ceilings of the tiny towers, beveled recesses that fascinate you. They’re not failed geometry like the cemented lines outside.
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#future #absurd #childhood #surreal
Marv: “Ya know, it’s not really polite to turn down nice gestures when you’re a guest in this apartment complex.”
I forgot how I responded to Marv, but I’m sure it didn’t veer too far from, “OK sure, I’ll eat some snacks then.” After that, I hated Marv. I directed performances in my head where Marv was pushed out of an airplane against his will.
I remember Zach building a coat rack from scratch. Marv recently taught Zach how to use a hammer on small wooden projects. Throughout my childhood, I always thought Mormons made things from scratch—important daily-items. If someone spoke of Midwest Mormons, I pictured them at home wearing khaki pants, making something with wood from scratch.
The part I’ll never forget: Zach let me watch suburban coming-of-age movies in carpeted hard-to-reach spots located in the vacant unit with vaulted ceilings above his. Marv forbade us from exploring it, but I lied to Zach and said Marv secretly gave me permission beforehand. We also waited until Marv was on the phone with a family member. A kitchen phone call—long distance. Zach stole the vacant apartment key from Marv’s bathroom cabinet. I’m not sure why Marv had a key to a unit he didn’t live in.
In the vacant unit with vaulted ceilings, Zach hooked up a small TV to the wall in what I can only describe now as: a carpeted body-slot. We could hear Marv downstairs, “Oh is that right? Well, wow, I don’t even remember the last time—“
I think Marv discovered what we did that day because Zach never spoke to me again. After that, I only saw these hard-to-reachers in my dreams.
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#postmodernpalace #nostalgia #nostalgic #nostalgiacore #2000s
Mom is a good cook. Mom does this thing at night where she puts on an old red/black long sleeve flannel, carefully steps over your PS2 wires, and quietly opens the sliding door to smoke a Newport on the balcony.
You’re playing video games. You glance over at Mom on the balcony. Her crow’s feet are noticeable when she takes a drag. She’s a tiny blue collar woman in lumberjack flannel. Her crow’s feet make you feel safe. Each wrinkle represents 10 life-changing events.
She sits in a plastic chair on the balcony. The tail lights in the parking lot are like camera flashes on Mom’s face. Smoke, lights, brick, rust, and apartment carpet. It’s the apartment carpet in the hallway that brings everything full circle.
Mom: “Honey, when my time comes, I want my casket to have this exact carpet on the inside.”
You chuckle. It’ll be decades before that time. Pennsylvania moms outlive most people in America—you read this fact in a magazine titled PA Apartment Living: The Blue Collar Moms Who Give Us Life—We Never Pay Them Back.
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#postmodernpalace #pennsylvania #nostalgia #nostalgiacore #nostalgic
It’s been two years since you had a day to yourself, so you figure you’ll go shopping. Maybe the mall and some retail plazas.
For a reason you cannot explain, the retail store you visit this morning has an odd vibe. This happens b/c you think you just unmasked a secret. You discover what a retail store is. It’s a carpet-drywall-box of plastic items and patterned fabric you don’t actually need. To a degree, you can explain the need for grocery stores, but you can’t go up to bat for these other non-grocery retail stores.
You think to yourself, “I am on this point of the human timeline where people ‘drive’ inside of a moving metal box with four wheels for the sole purpose of: entering a non-moving box with plastic items to: obtain those plastic items, put them in the same moving box with glass windows, and then store the items inside of my shared tall box (townhouse) so then: I can repeat this over and over until my final days.
In 1789 they stormed the Bastille. Women and men fought side-by-side putting aristocratic heads on pikes. Now you are here putting plastic things in boxes so you can enter inside of a large tall box and evaluate how much or how less you have of small/medium-sized non-edible items. You think, “But there’s so much I’m missing that exists in between these box transfers—what about love, vacations, and faith-based experiences?”
Right when you get home, your daughters call the townhouse landline. It’s time to pick them up from Morgan D.’s.
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#postmodernpalace #nostalgia #nostalgiacore #nostalgic #nostalgicmoments
Postmodern Palace's engagement
Postmodern Palace's engagement rate on Instagram is 6.89%, over 6%, more than 6 likes and comments per 100 followers. On a typical post that comes to about 1 like or comment for every 15 followers. Likes outnumber comments by roughly 202 to 1, with 18,966 likes and 94 comments on an average post, so most reactions are taps rather than replies.
Engagement rate
6.89%
- Avg likes
- 19K
- Avg comments
- 94
- Interactions : followers
- 1 : 15
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Frequently asked questions
These answers about Postmodern Palace are generated from the Instagram profile data Flinque holds for the account.
Who is Postmodern Palace?
Postmodern Palace (@postmodernpalace) is an Artist creator on Instagram, also filed under Art & DIY. Postmodern Palace carries Instagram's verified badge and uses an Instagram professional account. The Instagram bio for Postmodern Palace runs to 7 words across 3 lines.
How many followers does Postmodern Palace have?
Postmodern Palace has 236,730 followers on Instagram (236.7K). Set against 453 accounts followed, the audience works out to about 523 followers per account Postmodern Palace follows. 63 published posts give Postmodern Palace a moderate archive on Instagram.
What is Postmodern Palace's engagement rate?
Postmodern Palace's engagement rate on Instagram is 6.89%, over 6%, more than 6 likes and comments per 100 followers. On a typical post that comes to about 1 like or comment for every 15 followers. Likes outnumber comments by roughly 202 to 1, with 18,966 likes and 94 comments on an average post, so most reactions are taps rather than replies.
What does Postmodern Palace post about on Instagram?
Flinque files Postmodern Palace under Artist, with Art & DIY as a secondary category. Of the 10 most recent posts shown for Postmodern Palace, 7 are carousels and 3 are videos. The 10 recent Instagram captions Flinque holds for Postmodern Palace repeatedly use the words nostalgia, it’s, everything, back and call. Postmodern Palace's captions carry hashtags such as #nostalgia, #surreal and #postmodernpalace. Postmodern Palace writes those captions mainly in English. Postmodern Palace keeps 1 story highlight, which open with a free Flinque account.
How do I contact Postmodern Palace for a collaboration?
Postmodern Palace's contact details are not published on Flinque's public profile. The Instagram bio links to 1 external site, and a free Flinque account opens that link. Brands with a free Flinque account can shortlist Postmodern Palace and use Flinque's outreach tools wherever a contact route is on file.
Links
Postmodern Palace's own Instagram profile is the one outbound link Flinque publishes for the account, and the bio link opens after signing up.
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