Somewhere, an overzealous mother in her mid-thirties calls out: “Smile!”
Her daughter, 5, stops mid-backyard-play, constructs her lips just so and freezes for the camera.
“Look happy,” the mother says. The little girl stretches her mouth to the point her cheeks twinge.
“Yay! Good girl!”
“Oh, wait! No! You’re squinting. Let me take one more.”
In a world where social media’s influence grows by the second, just smiling isn’t enough anymore. Users of Instagram and other social media find validation not in the quality of pictures, but in pursuit of the perfect moment. With so many competing for followers and constructing their personal brand, social media has turned into a digital race of materialism and looks-obsession.
Soccer moms go click-happy with their kids, basking in the compliments of friends and colleagues. Some people want their arms to look skinny, so they pose to create the illusion. Others long for tanner skin and find a filter. But the tragedy of manufacturing moments instead of capturing memories means something more important: People forget the true beauty of being candid.
This week, during my 17th birthday, I attended a journalism camp at the Gaylord College at the University of Oklahoma. Although it felt strange to be away from my family, I enjoyed a trip with other students and mentors to a local pizza joint on campus. As dinner wrapped up, to my surprise, a waitress brought a dessert to the table. I’d never experienced that many people singing “Happy Birthday” to me before.
I blushed, ducked my head and smiled to the point my Miss-Piggy-squint made an appearance.
Then, cameras came out.
I cringed. In my spare time I compete in scholarship pageants. No stranger to being in the spotlight, I recognize the power of others’ perception. I knew I did not look my best. The thought of pictures made me uncomfortable.
Later that evening, a friend near campus visited and brought me a cupcake.
“Let’s take pictures,” I said. “Cute, Sixteen-Candles-style, hipster birthday pictures.”
We found the most scenic view on the grounds, and I posed just so for the shot. He talked me through how to turn my face, and when I lit the candle, the phone flashed.
“Do you have it?” I asked him.
“Nope. Give me another second to get it,” he said.
By the time I actually blew out my candle, wax covered my cupcake. I forgot to make a wish.
The picture was good, though.
