Our Girl, The Selfie

I recall her conception in the stillness of a blow-up chair set to teen angels in red leather singing hymns of hallel-oooh yeah.

The away message was set, your hair crimp on point. A few exposures left on a disposable camera would suffice in capturing this high you would continue to chase for the rest of your life.

Performance anxiety to produce a worthy ‘gram’ never once crossed your mind; the selfie was just for you and the photo attendant at Walgreens to admire.

The selfie entered her adolescence with the digital camera’s defiance of previous limitations on time(rs) and (memory) space. With the iCloud barely a molecule in the atmosphere, the only threat of humiliation hung in the chance of being caught sneaking dad’s Canon into the bathroom which, although private, still hurt the same.

You were the artist and the subject standing before a canvas of mirrors above the sink, honing the vision for your self-portrait. Would you look over your shoulder like a shy coquette, or stare into your friend’s souls with a smolder that threatened,

“I brought you into this Top Five and could just as easily take you out”?

Then, one fateful day, an unsuspecting selfologist shook out her arm after hours of manipulating flash to cultivate the formula for a vintage effect. Her hand knocked into the medicine cabinet, snapping a photo above the axis of standardized selfie-ing and accidentally discovered that tilt that would elevate society by a full forty-five degrees.

Thus, we were thrust into a period of myspace Angle Enlightenment, eyes larger than ever & forever turned skyward.

Gone were the days of double chins and passé cleavage. Our innovation peaked with the angle capable of capturing an entire outfit with room to spare for a peace sign.

But our girl became a celebutante who was gifted free trips to the moon and honorary inductance into the Oxford English Dictionary. It was not long after being spotted on Facebook that she began to lose sight of herself, sacrificing all morals to keep up with the fast life.

And we were bad friends, standing by silently as she transformed into a disease-ridden groupie who spread head lice among youth. We let her hang out with Geraldo Rivera in a towel and dangle from the likes of a selfie pole. No one even offered a wine night after the debut of an anthem degrading her worth to an intoxicated afterthought.

How can we confront our reflection in a front-facing camera without being disgusted by our blatant negligence? It’s a wonder that we have managed to maintain the facade of a selfie game 2 $TRONG when it’s clear to see that our selfie game becometh W3@K.

Why did the chicken cross the road?

To ensure that his freeway to fame was visible in the background of a selfie.

Originally published at www.theoliveeye.com.

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