Let me open with a confession: I was a selfie hater. Back in the MySpace days, and the early Facebook days (or, at least, the early days for my age group, the members of which were commanded not to join until college), selfies were first being snapped at a dizzying pace. I became well-acquainted with the various facial expressions of people I barely knew--or, in some cases, a severe lack of expressions. There were a few standbys, of course. The Duck Face. The Serious Face. The Staring-Off-Into-The-Distance Face. The I'm-Craning-My-Neck-at-an-Unnatural-Angle-and-it-Kind-of-Hurts Face. I missed when people just smiled, or were caught in candid pictures by their friends, or awkward pictures with their family. Selfies were staged, so it followed--at least to me--that people who took selfies were fake. My perception of selfies was colored by several important facts. One: I rode a high horse throughout middle school and high school. I was such a teacher's pet that my freshman year, when our teacher didn't show up to class, I demanded we go to the office and report it. My fellow classmates threatened to tie me up with the projector extension cord. I was the Piggy in our scholastic Lord of the Flies, if Piggy had also happened to be kind of a pretentious snob. My sense of moral superiority kept me away from several things that I honestly didn't need--no drinking! no sex! no drugs!--but also made me look down on more trivial things, like selfies, and enjoying a 50-minute World History class without adult supervision. Two: as we've covered in past posts, I suffered from an utter lack of self-esteem (still an issue, but instead of "utter," it's now at least leveled-up [or down, I guess] to "extreme.") Scrolling through MySpace, I thought that the majority of selfie-takers were the blonde, thin, gorgeous girls at school who I outwardly scorned and secretly envied. Just because I was an outsider didn't mean I always wanted to be. I desperately wanted to be more blonde and gorgeous, less mousey and Drama Club president. Every morning when I first woke up, I would keep my eyes shut and think, When I open my eyes, I'm going to have long black hair and piercing blue eyes and weigh 90 pounds and be an aristocrat in the 19th century and be anywhere but here and anyone but me. I would repeat it over and over, like a prayer, until I almost believed it. And then I would open my eyes, and my reality rudely remained. I hated my face. I hated my body. Why would I want to document these things for the world to see? What more fuel did I need to give the guys who followed me in the halls and laughed at me? Selfies were for pretty, fun people, and in my mind, I was neither. Three: I honestly never really had a good phone camera. If you've been on the Internet lately, you've probably noticed that selfies have resurfaced with a vengeance. There are still some duck faces and uncomfortable-looking head tilts (and like if that's your thing you go ahead and make the BEST DAMN DUCK FACE EVER), but many selfies also dazzle with genuine smiles and palpable confidence. So, my friends, let's explore: can selfies be self-care? My friend Alicia thinks so. Alicia, as you can see, takes a damn good selfie. Alicia also approached me about writing this post. She wrote, "I'd love to get your take on selfie culture and being able to publicly acknowledge that you like your own appearance. I'm happy that people (especially young women) are starting to break free from the mandate that they have to deny compliments about their appearance. Not without backlash, though, of course. And songs with lyrics like, 'You don't know you're beautiful, and that's what makes you beautiful.'" That seems to be the major argument for selfies as self-care: they allow one to recognize the beauty of their own appearance, and to invite others to notice it, as well. High school me would have found that concept selfish. Present me loves the idea of people celebrating themselves--both internally and externally. Publicly posting a picture of oneself looking fly as hell isn't a scarlet A for Arrogance; it's a declaration of self-love, self-appreciation, and, often, mind-boggling makeup skills. (For real, someone please teach me how to do winged liner on my squinty-squishy eyelids.) Conversely, I do believe that selfie-taking can be just as destructive to one's ego as it is empowering. The notion that a selfie has to be perfect remains pervasive, thanks to the Kim Kardashian West's and 15-year-old Instagram model/singer-songwriter/Internet celebrities of the world. I don't want to judge these women--I hope that their selfie-taking makes them feel confident and empowered, too. However, I can imagine that the pressure to look perfect is just as devastating for them as it is for the rest of us. As I've started taking selfies, I've sometimes spent 20 minutes in my bathroom holding the phone at various angles and smiling less and less to reduce the wrinkles around my eyes. Instead of celebrating my appearance, I instead am given free reign to note my every flaw, taking photo after photo and using filter after filter to alter my face. Just as makeup can be used for self-harm--as a way to disguise and diminish, rather than enhance and embolden--taking selfies can also morph into a self-deprecating act. But I've started taking more selfies. I've love-emoji'd so many of my friends's that it felt weird to not take some myself. I've taken them to show off new hairstyles and makeup application, sure, but sometimes, I take them just because I want to look at my face, and want others to look at it, too. I like how long my eyelashes are. I like my freckles, especially when they pop out in the sun. I like how expressive my face is, and how many expressions I can achieve with just my eyebrows. Sometimes, yes, I get wrapped up in the pursuit of perfection, and can only notice how much weight I've gained and how weird my nose is and why can't I ever make my eyebrows look #onfleek... But I figure if I love so many other bodies and faces, I suppose there is something to be loved about my own. Especially since I'm going to be looking at it for literally the rest of my life. In conclusion, I guess, you should love your face and take pictures of it because you're stuck with it for eternity. *~SOUNDOFF, Y'ALL~*
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