I’m writing this from my kitchen. It’s been freshly Lysol wiped from a few days of kids with a stomach bug, yet I still sit in the midst of plastic trucks, a few rollie pollies smuggled in on those trucks, an abandoned Popsicle, and a diaper with no baby in it (we’re entering into that stage). I’m simultaneously contemplating what to make for dinner and if the health department can shut down residential establishments.
I just hopped on my phone to scroll through recipes, and inevitably ended up on social media.
Those icons are like finger magnets.
Messy-house moments like this either make me appreciate glancing at social media and scroll through friends’ beautiful vacation photos (Kendyl is in Europe right now, and I love all her posts), or they make me grimace; namely, the pumpkin spice lattes with a Snapchat filter.
Or, no, wait: the socks in bed drinking pumpkin spice lattes.
I can’t decide which makes my face crinkle more, which I can’t be doing since I’m pregnant and my Botox is already wearing off as is.
So goes my fickle relationship with social media. It’s been a wildly successful marketing tool for my career as a hair stylist, and it’s provided me with fun opportunities for freelance writing that would otherwise have gone unknown.
Obviously, I’ve enjoyed much closer bonding with out-of-state friends and family. I am indebted to Instagram, in particular, for giving this tired mom a welcomed window to the outside world on exhausting days. Communication with my best friends, and watching them experience similar (or very different!) days has often brought me smiles as I’ve figured out motherhood.
But the other stuff?
I’ve seen advertisements for the new iPhone technology marketing their augmented reality technology.
Aren’t we already there? Is that not what half my (specifically) Instagram feed already is? An augmented reality?
Tiny squares of perfect photos. Aesthetically pleasing lives.
(For the record, I’d call it more “altered” than “augmented,” but I’ll stick with Apple’s marketing verbage.)
From having dipped into blog-land, I get it. I understand the business, campaigns, collaborations, and deals that fuel it. I really do understand. It’s incredible, actually.
At what point is that photo not just an ad, or a business, but false expectations and pressures on both ends? Is this an altered reality that society is beginning to accept as, in fact, a reality?
You know I could go on and on about it, but I have a melting Popsicle and dinner to make.
This is how I enjoy the benefits of social media with minimal eyerolls:
A. Being the least competitive person you’ve ever met. Competition brings out that girl Corinne (you know, from The Bachelor?) in me. I’ll tap out and take a nap, but good luck, guys.
B. Unfollowing everyone. That’s the REAL way to make your life great again.
C. Already knowing I’m not the best.
Letter C. That’s the big one. I already know, you fools. I already know I’m not the -est, anything.
I’m not the best, the wealthiest, the fittest, the prettiest, the healthiest, the most well-traveled, the most fun, the most domestic, the most interesting, the fastest marathon runner, the cleanest, the most spiritual, or the Pinterest-est. (I may be a contestant for hungriest, though.)
And that’s okay.
Your beautiful car? Love it.
Your beautiful home? Love it.
Your body? You obviously work hard and I love cheese so much right now.
I love your well-mannered, ambidextrous kids spearheading holiday crafts. You’re sure daring for using all that glitter.
Your PDA videos with your husband? Goals. His breath must be so fresh even though you’re selfie kissing eating oysters. Double goals.
Some other visuals are a stretch to just…appreciate. I’ve made an effort to try, though:
Your weekly “squeaky car with the logo always shown with a bouquet” shot? Impressive. If the rest of your car is that clean, though, I don’t know how you’ll survive an emergency without seven partially used water bottles and fruit snack/French fry remnants covering the backseat.
I love so much that you are wearing Louboutins in Costco. Did I mention I’m also not the Louboutin-est, sadly? I would never sport my one pair there, personally, because I have safety concerns when buying my toilet paper in bulk, but you look good, girl. No food court hot dog for this stunner right here!
I see you’ve tagged Restoration Hardware in everything, even though it’s a photo of your pregnant belly (but I won’t assume you didn’t conceive there)…but this room is gorgeous. Absolutely jaw dropping. Those white upholstered chairs in your kitchen are so beautiful, I bet they’ll even look great when they’re tie dyed with pea puree and apple juice in a two years.
And the awkward-stage-of-pregnancy girl in the photo above? She doesn’t get dressed all the time, has a talent for picking mushed string cheese out of the carpet, and she’s currently treating that melting Popsicle on the floor like a sand timer, which is about out. It’s confirmed she cannot type faster than the speed of…melting.
I may not have a total Snapchat Flower Crown Filtered perspective on social media, but throwing in the towel on being the -est is the best way that I best enjoy posts I like while procrastinating dinner.
I’m posting this, then wiping the Popsicle before my diaperless child runs back in. Don’t worry.
Except the rollie pollies. You can worry about those, because they’re gone.