"Is that your girlfriend?"
"What?"
"In your facebook profile picture. The one you're dancing with. Are you a lesbian?"
"No. That's MY TWIN SISTER."
-Not a real life conversation. Oh wait, this actually happened. *facepalm*
I've been thinking recently (and not so recently) about the relationship between my real life and my social media life. I've been thinking about how we "write" our lives--both online and off.
When it comes to social media, it seems that not only do we need to lead a happy, fulfilling, sparkly life, we have to prove that we are living a happy, fulfilling, sparkly life. Having lemonade on the porch with a good friend and a weighty philosophical tome? Instagram it. Convinced you have the best boyfriend everrrr? Tag him in a post on facebook. Losing weight on an awesome new diet/exercise plan? Tweet daily updates of your progress.
Of course these things aren't wrong or bad. It just sometimes feels like the equivalent of grabbing the world by the shoulders and screaming, "Look at me. I'M HAVING FUN AND LIVING LIFE!! DO YOU BELIEVE I'M HAVING FUN YET??!!"
There's something about expectations and being in your 20s. Or expectations and being in your 30s. Or expectations and being in college. Or expectations period. These are the best years of your life, after all. Shouldn't you be out there enjoying them?
And so we post pictures. And we tell a story. A story about our lives and how much fun we're having. Whether we mean to or not, we tell a story of one kind or another.
Facebook, of all things, understands this. I remember joking about the ads I would get when my relationship status was listed as "single."
"__ years old and still single?" (obviously, you're a freak). "Lose weight with this awesome new diet!" (and then you will feel lovely and desirable). "Revolutionary treatment for herpes!" (no wonder I'm single: I weigh 250 pounds and my body is ridden with STDs).
And what could concern me about these ads is their emphasis on controlling women's bodies. My body. My other body. (You're female. Clearly you're unhappy with your body and you want to lose weight.)
But facebook is not the only one telling me stories about myself, repeating back to me the stories I have consciously or unconsciously told.
And it's not all negative, either. I enjoy the stories that my friends tell. I realize that they're not the whole picture, however--not even close.
Have you ever tried talking to someone whose entire picture of your life is based on social media? It's very confusing.
Recently, a (former) facebook friend summed up my life in one damning question: "Still having trouble finding a man?" (Yes. Haven't you been paying attention? Lesbian. 250 pounds. Herpes. 'Nuff said.)
I found this confusing for several reasons. For example, if I'm looking for "a man," will any man do? Why am I trying to find him? Is he lost? I did not remember having a face-to-face, heart-to-heart with this person about my attempts at finding this poor man. And yet, to him, this was my story.
I can't find a man. Done. Finished. Written in bold.
Nevermind that the phrasing is insulting. Nevermind the "still," implying a lengthy search over an extended period of time (It's all I ever do, actually. Really. I'm exhausted.) Nevermind the implication that not having found a man, I am incomplete. Nevermind that this narrative has little to do with what I want and everything to do with being wanted. Nevermind how much it pisses me off that a woman can be belittled so easily with so little.
Most of all, that this was the story I'm telling, via facebook, via blogging. We tell stories. Other people tell them back to us, adding their own spin. I write about dating. I must be beyond desperate to find a man (any man) who will date me.
Bullsh**.
This is my story. I get to write it. Better yet, I get to live it. Granted, I can't completely control the hermeneutic by which other people choose to interpret my story, and that's frustrating. I can't even, on my own, eradicate the harmful stories that advertisers continue to tell women about their bodies, their lives, their worth.
But I will continue to write. And, reader, what you choose to believe is up to you.
Sincerely,
A 250 Pound Lesbian with Herpes
