The Problem with Selfie-Sunday

  I don’t really get into the themed days of Instagram, like #MCM and #WCW and #SelfieSunday for the sole reason that it seems like an attention seeking device. Like “Hey, look at me, I have this person who I have claimed as my own.” People use photos of their S/O, their children, the celebrities they adore and even themselves.

I’m not saying you shouldn’t love yourself. I vote that you love yourself first and foremost of all the people you’ll ever know. And really, I mean that with my whole heart, even if my words are sometimes less heeded by myself than they should be. 

Have you noticed the evolution of a “selfie”? I was part of the “emo” group in high school, followed abruptly by the “I have to dress like this because I am an adult” phase. (Don’t worry, I still dye my hair and I got an undercut shave last summer!) But back when MySpace was big, you saw the “emo selfie”, the predecessor, if you will, of the modern selfie. It was meant to show angst and depth.  

   

As you can see above, with these two beautiful models I plucked from online, “MySpace selfies” used to be either A: a downward shot where you can see your face and chest and arms or B: physically impossible to take the picture without help, or without a timer.

But what happened? These photos were the stereotypical MySpace shots, from just a decade or so ago. And now, in just a quick Google search, we find photos like this instead:

   
 
I know, I know, the first one is a parody of Mona Lisa, but the point still stands. We see fully “made up” women with puckered duck lips and acrylics and well, you can see. But what I don’t see are individuals. I see people who are conforming, who are trying to get others to notice them as sexual objects. Now, they may feel powerful, or dominating in these poses, and that is something altogether different. What I’m saying is that we as a society should not be willing to fall down into the pits of objectivity just because a few people thing that it’s the new standard. I mean, there is nothing “hawt” about a duck face unless you are a duck.

You are a woman, you are beautiful. And if you have flaws, you are blessed by not being a cookie cutter individual. We don’t need to hide our flaws with pounds of make-up or fake nails or Instagram filters. We should be looking at making ourselves better human beings, kinder, more loving, more beautiful on the inside. We should care about the earth instead of what size clothes someone wears, or about things like science, government and math instead of who has fake body parts. Maybe if we cared a little more about the quality of life instead of the number of likes, the world wouldn’t be so quick to see women oppressed.

Just my two cents. 

And for the record, I sure did have a MySpace with MySpace selfies. But I’m currently unaware of the log in details and have requested they reset my information so I can share all the chaos with you folks.

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I wish to be a duck

I had this thought on the way to work today and I tried to reason it out. I could not, were I a water fowl, live in safety. There are humans who bring their guns to kill me, there are animals who bring their teeth and claws for the sole purpose to eat me or my children, there are humans who fill my home with waste and sewage, making it impossible for me to live a healthy life.

But.

There is a layer of fat, which causes me to be warm. There are always other birds with which to herald out the news. There are feathers, which would, at a moment’s notice, carry me off to anywhere I please, without so much as a thought about money, security or planning. There is no lack of colors with which I am covered, some changing hue in the irridescence of the sun. There are ponds, like the one at which I currently perch, that I may bathe freely. There are trees to shelter me, to feed me. 

I could be free.

  
But then my thoughts return to the present, and I am caught with two legs and a heart filled with hope. I would give it all up, everything I hold dear, to free my heart, to free myself from these constraints of gravity. I would soar above the clouds and straight into bliss, for that is where I truly belong, not stuck here with my shoes in the earth, smelling the decay of the leaves and whispering to the squirrels that come to me for sustinance. But here I am, smiling as they sing the song of my people, trumpeting like downy angels. One day, my fellow travelers, I shall join you in the sky. But until then, perhaps I will find contentment in just breathing the same air.

I’m not suffering from delusions, but as Alice herself once said, “I believe as many as six impossible things before breakfast.” Truly though, would it not be fantastic to be a thing with cares so few and the power of wings?

In other news, I would also like to be a mermaid, but I seem to lack fins and that rant is for another day to come.