I feel a lot of pressure to be perfect, not in real life, but on social media. Take Facebook, is it just me or somewhere in the new Terms & Agreement does it state your profile pic has to be professionally done and get 60 likes in the first hour (that’s a like per minute). Does everyone have a friend with a Canon EOS to capture all these magical, candid, care-free moments for you to choose from? Your photos are incredible, and then there’s me, a blurry picture where I hammer a pen into a cork because desperate times call for desperate measures. I love my picture, but I have to stay competitive with my super-fit and super photogenic sorority sisters… and those bitches from high school. So now I get stressed because not only does my profile picture not seem “care-free” and “jealousy-enducing”, but as a college grad, it needs some semblance of professionalism so my boss doesn’t ask me “what kind of message” I want to send to my co-workers. Sidenote: I blocked her. I still need to post everything I’m doing to prove I have the lifestyle of the Jenners girls, the work ethic of Frank Underwood and Bad Girl Riri’s attitude. The icing on the cake is another girl got engaged and I really can’t deal with another 4,000 posts detailing every second of it. There should be some sort of engagement-ettiquate class so your single friends don’t fantasize about breaking your ring with an ice pick.
Then there’s LinkedIn, which in all honesty, does anyone even care about your LinkedIn? I bet I could put “assistant to cat and professional poop thrower” and no one would bat an eye. It’s all fun and games until I get requests from old acquaints who apparently run Goldman Sachs at 25 and didn’t need 4 google searches to correctly spell “acquaints”. As I update my LinkedIn, which looks nicer than my actual resume, I add every highlight in my work career. I’m talking babysitting in the 7th grade, for not just any family of 4, but the Vice President of the United States. I mean no one is actually going to read this right? They’re just going to look at the heading, find someone way to re-evaluate their self-worth and then move on. It’s fine if I “babysat” Joe Biden’s kids, who are actually many years my senior. What are you, some sort of fact-checking historian?
No you’re not.
I know this from reading your LinkedIn and then googling you to make sure you weren’t lying. So in addition to adding details like, “worked with the entire cast of How I Met Your Mother“, which really means I saw them once on set, or currently dating Joseph Gordon Levitt, which translates to “held the door open”, I have become a professional bragger. It is really #stressful to exasperate career highlights like this! I need a #vacation.
Speaking of #vacation, I see that you recently traveled to St. Kitts/ St. Barts/ St. Croix/ any beautiful island with “Saint” in the title, via your Instagram. I thought the more followers I had, the more likes would come but that has proven to be the opposite. I get like no likes, ok like 15, and then stress out whether or not I should delete the photo because it’s embarrassing. How stupid is that?! On a serious note, my blog’s instagram whose following consists of spammers and porn stars, gets more likes than most of my photos. I am stressing out over my “popularity” on social media, which in no way is in direct correlation with my relationships in real life. Rather, it’s a test to see how well my family, friends and co-workers can operate their smart phones. Never mind that I’m probably the only person who looks at my own Instagram with any sort of critic, but who knows, I could have hidden enemies out there that thrive on the fact that I got 15 likes and they got 123. It’s quality not quantity! Right?
Also when did everyone become a model? I recently discovered you had a professional photographer around you at all times, but seriously, have you always had Kate Upton’s boobs and Britney’s abs circa 2003? I was not aware that Victoria’s Secret could call you at any second and you’d be runway ready. When did I become more Lena Dunham and less Brooklyn Decker? The answer is birth.
So here I am stressing about my Facebook/ LinkedIn/ Instagram when I get a notification that my phone is almost out of memory and I can’t save this super artsy pic of me next to some Venice graffiti, which would have gotten at least 40 likes. Stupid iPhone! I have no memory because I have 6, yes SIX, different Photoshop apps! It’s not just about taking a picture, it’s the ability to turn that picture of a piece of trash on the Venice boardwalk, add a fish eye, sharpen and filter it until it has the bright colors of the tropical island you were just traveling on and becomes something Francesca Eastwood would set on fire.
Annoyed, and trying to figure out how to take the perfect picture, I stumble onto Pintrest which apparently is not the same thing as Tumblr.
Pinterest confuses me the most because it consists of beautiful models, cake and relationships advice. It’s like how basic can you bitches get? I already see enough couples making out on the beach in real life so seeing well dressed girls aimlessly walking on streets eating cronuts just annoys me. Attention world, if you are going to make the cronut recipe you saw on Pinterest, you are probably not going to look like the white girls in ridiculously skimpy bikinis next to it.
So now I’m back to Instagram because this super sunset with an Ernest Hemmingway quote might be the photo I’ve been looking for. UPDATE: it’s not and everyone still looks like a model and averages 100 likes per photo.
Needing a laugh and a lot of wine, I turn to Vine. Apparently EVERYONE is a professional comedian in addition to being a model, with a ridiculous resume, and a metabolism 4x faster than the normal rate.
I try to find some solace in Twitter, because I only use that for the news, but nothing is getting Favorited or Retweeted. Then I realize the only things on my twitter account are retweets of @whitegrlproblems and me being drunk. Did I mention I’m a basic bitch?
Now I’m back to Facebook to post a photo I not only Photoshopped, picstiched and Instagramed, but also emailed to myself due to the lack of memory on my phone. My Instagram didn’t get enough likes, I’m not funny, my twitter is unoriginal, my Facebook picture don’t get the like per minute guarenteed in the new Terms & Agreement. My phone is running out of battery in addition to memory because running all these stupid apps is a complete waste of energy, but, oh wait now I’m up to 30 likes so I am validated.
So forget having a successful career, making lots of money, financial independence, having a boyfriend, eating and exercising, having hobbies, playing sports, talking to people or anything interactive because my life is completely validated through my social media interactions or lack there of. You can Google me and I come up. Take that insta-slut!
Let me know if you find a good therapy app because I now lack the communication skills to tell a doctor of my growing anxiety. I can only text ,and honestly, I’m not getting a great wi-fi connection in here so it looks like I’ll be using SMS, which is #totes going to drag this conversation on by a good 10 minutes. Ugh. #FML