I have a love/hate relationship with social media.
I could easily while away the hours, scrolling through Instagram, discovering new ‘it’ girls, fangirling over @pandorasykes and
stalking observing the likes of Jack O’Connell, Adam Driver and other celebrities I probably (definitely) shouldn’t fancy.
And then you have Facebook, an absolute photo hoarders dream, bathing in the nostalgia of year 11 prom, that regretful college haircut and the first girl gang holiday to Turkey. It is easy to become ensconced once again in your virtual past and before you know it, it is 3am and you have Doritos in your hair.
It is when your Facebook present and your significant others Facebook past collide, that shit starts to get weird.
It is inevitable that at some stage you are going to stalk your partners ex. And if you haven’t, you are a bare-faced liar, because you have.
This is when you discover “Fajita Fridays” back in 2012, and that trip to Greece they took, with countless beach shots where everyone is just having THE BEST time.
This is when you discover photographic evidence of that one super long-term relationship over the course of about a million years, from high-school to university, and you find yourself weirdly rooting for them and wondering where it all went wrong.
This is when you discover family pictures, where these days the only difference is your face replacing hers.
It is extremely dangerous territory, one that must be approached with curiosity as your only motivation and not competition, because the reality is, she may well be thinner, prettier, funnier and seemingly better than you in every single way. Her and YOUR boyfriend probably look totes adorable and it is likely you will want to be sick down yourself when you see the personalised birthday cakes they made each other every damn year.
But d’y’know what? It doesn’t matter, because boyfriend is with you, he chose you and not that other whore… lol, jk, jk…
And everybody knows, you only post the bits you want people to see.
You post the cute pic of you both holding hands on a love swing in the middle of the Indian ocean and NOT the heated argument beforehand, whilst you queued for said pic on said love swing, in the blistering heat, hungover as hell from the multiple whiskey buckets consumed the night before.
You update your twitter feed with a picture of that lavish, romantic meal. You don’t update ten minutes later while you are poking your fork into that questionable piece of chicken, as your stomach churns while you quickly pay the bill or of the preceding two hours spent on the toilet with your head in a casserole dish, doubling as your own personal puke bucket.
We want people to think we are perfect, without flaw, untouchable.
I am up there with the best of them with my #BristolLife, #FoodPorn, #Travel bullshit and it is tiring and honestly, really really boring.
We are gradually all becoming the same person… With our Snap Chat filters, our drawn on eyebrows, TopShop jeans and Kylie Jenner lip kits.
With our OOTD’s and our breakfast smoothies, the yoga retreats and the countless pictures of someone (definitely not me) doing a headstand on the beach.
What does original even look like anymore?
I am influenced so much by what I see on social media, even when I am online shopping I browse instantly to the As Seen On Me section so I can find some outfit inspo. My Facebook tells me what to buy and where from, it tells me what I like and what I want before I even know it. My life since the age of 16 is available online at the touch of a button, and that is completely normal.
So, what am I going to do about it?
Honestly, absolutely nothing.
Because if I quit Instagram I will have to start buying Closer Magazine, and nobody wants that.