By Kaylee Johnson
Campus News
On social media I appear deeply pompous and disingenuous; no matter how hard I try to be self-actualized, I flippantly fixate on lousy photo angles and corny captions, as if any of it actually matters. Look at my Instagram and you will see pictures of me smiling on exoctic beaches in Mexico, petting stray dogs, and swimming in breathtaking cenotes, but you will not see the stories attached to them; none of them are candid or authentic. I was in a constant state of apathy throughout the entire trip, so those photos of me laughing on the beach were painstakingly staged. Looking at the photos now, I see dread and pressure in my eyes. It is the pressure that leaves me perplexed, not the dread. All talented artists have deep dread embedded in their eyes; they see the world for the sick, soulless place that it truly is. But why do I feel pressure to smile and put on a carefree bimbo facade for my meaningless social media followers?
Time is blurry in general, but on social media it is nonexistent and everybody seems to be drunk off of the power of floating through society without being affected by the illusion of time, when in reality the clockmaster is just momentarily humoring them; he is sadistic and they are pathetically gullible. Two subgroups of people viewed my Instagram stories while I was in Mexico, in a flimsy red bathing suit that exposed my perky breasts and untamed blond wavy hair: men that I had once had feelings for, exes or almost lovers that maddened me with their artistic mania and manipulation. Months of mind games left me staring at my bathroom ceiling while I lay nakedly in rose water baths trying to reconfigure my identity time and time again; soaking in their resonating lines like X-rated alphabet soup with traces of hallucinogenic drugs, the secret ingredient, courtesy of the chefs who were constantly pouring bleach into my porridge; pruney fingers exhausted from stroking egos of broken men.
The other subgroup of viewers were shameless men that had bullied me ruthlessly in high school, yet feel no guilt gawking at pictures of me as a bold adult. They are stuck in time; homecoming junior year. They are eternally seventeen, and I am twisted in their warped schema of their glory days; a timid teenager with a flower in my hair and a leather journal in my hand; an archetype.
I visited Chichen Itza (pictured), one of the seven wonders of the world, while in Mexico, hoping to feel some arousal of splendor, like the family wearing matching plaid outfits with mouths agape on the tour brochure. In reality, the parking lot of the historic Mayan ruins archaeological site was filled with tour buses of grotesque, greedy tourists carrying electric fans and smartphones; completely out of touch with their surroundings. The beautiful site with history oozing out of it has been bastardized by “influencers” and social media addicts wearing Coachella-esque outfits, trying to take the perfect selfie for their robo followers. They too feel that heavy, toxic pressure to prove that they are well-traveled and enjoying their lives and not crying about an ex, drowning in student loan debt, or dealing with mental health problems; raw reality is just too much to handle on the internet, a place that thrives off of lies, sexuality, and escapism. If I post a picture of myself in a sheer shirt, it will get twice as many likes as a picture of me reading a newspaper. And the man that messages me at three o’clock in the morning to tell me that I am a fantastic writer and a “wild soul,” is not looking to talk about politics and literature; everything has soft, but sexual undertones on the internet after midnight. Lust with caution.
If you want to really enjoy your travels, turn off your phone. Social media and narcissistic societal traditions have conditioned you to believe that you are going to want to look back at pictures of yourself years from now, and maybe you will, but everything is done in excess now, and it is not only unnecessary, it is unhealthy. Think about the purpose of the photos before you take them: are they for you to remember your experience, or to gain silicone validation from strangers on the internet? And if you see confusion and hollowness in your eyes while taking selfies, stop.
Kaylee Johnson is a senior education major concentrating in English.
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