I am sick of Instagram pics of barely clad so-called celebrities showing off their bods. I'm tired of Twitter trolls given air as social commentary. I'm over pop stars thrusting their big booties in G-strings that could double as dental floss, and seemingly climaxing every time they hit a high note. If I see another emaciated woman in a designer frock on a red carpet I will vomit.
It's like the world is full of preening and posing would-bes and shouldn't-bes screaming "look at me". Turn away and there's another on a Facebook feed, another airbrushed smug siren scowling from billboards, more people who should know better allowing themselves to be degraded on tacky reality shows.
It is as if a large slap of the population is too busy looking at their reflections to see what's happening away from the mirror or the smartphone lens; that everyone is so busy recording their every bowel motion they can't see the rubbish that's going on in the real world.
Last week, as I searched news sites for updates on the latest IS beheadings, or whether more elements of the federal budget have been passed, I had to wade through feeds full of celebrity selfies posing as news (a supermodel eating a slice of pizza a case in point), news of attractive types (who all seem to blend in to one) promoting another beauty or diet product they don't actually use or need, or other attractive types and their maybe relationships with other good looking and/or wealthy types.
If we weighed up the amount of news space given to the 101 Hollywood actresses who had their phones and computers hacked and nude photos leaked on the internet last week compared to, say, the starving in south Sudan, the crisis in Crimea, the impending unravelling of our education and medical systems here in Australia, you'd find the results a very humourless joke.
I could count the number of selfies I've taken on one hand. Minus dog, one digit. Apart from a few shots at Mole Check, there are no nude pictures of myself in existence that I am aware of, and I can't see any need to change that situation in a hurry. I know what I look like naked. I don't need to carry that image with me to check, admire or reveal to others. Call me old fashioned.
About now, many of you are rolling your eyes and assuming that I am old. And you are right, I am at the pointy end of Gen X and deliriously happy to be so. Because if being old means having a modicum of modesty and humility, then seal me in amber. I am a happy fossil.
I have long wondered why and how this obsession with our own reflection has got so out of hand (don't people know Narcissus drowned in his own reflection?) until I read a piece by an anonymous writer on women's website mamamia.com.au last week answering my question.
"Why? Because taking naked photos is fun," Anon wrote, admitting that if her phone was hacked today photos of her thighs, breasts, friends' breasts, and her partner's penis in a jar would be found. "When you're alone, or with someone you trust, there's a crackle of taboo that makes it feel sexy, and exciting."
While I find Anon's pastime seriously sad, I also wonder why a USB stick and a safe isn't an option, rather than carrying such pics on vulnerable technology devices. Not saying I condone hacking in any way – it is reprehensible and dangerous. However, there are ways to limit risk.
"A photograph can also be manipulated," Anon continued. "I might feel fat one day, but if I arch my back just-so, and tilt my camera over my shoulder, I can make my booty look like Iggy Azalea's and feel immediately better about myself."
But perhaps Anon best sums up the level of maturity at play in all this navel gazing when she writes: "Think about a baby in front of a mirror – think about the pleasure they get from watching themselves. Well, taking a photograph can accomplish much the same thing."
columnist --Wendy_Squires
source:smh.com.au
I am sick of Instagram pics of barely clad so-called celebrities showing off their bods. I'm tired of Twitter trolls given air as social commentary. I'm over pop stars thrusting their big booties in G-strings that could double as dental floss, and seemingly climaxing every time they hit a high note. If I see another emaciated woman in a designer frock on a red carpet I will vomit.
It's like the world is full of preening and posing would-bes and shouldn't-bes screaming "look at me". Turn away and there's another on a Facebook feed, another airbrushed smug siren scowling from billboards, more people who should know better allowing themselves to be degraded on tacky reality shows.
It is as if a large slap of the population is too busy looking at their reflections to see what's happening away from the mirror or the smartphone lens; that everyone is so busy recording their every bowel motion they can't see the rubbish that's going on in the real world.
Last week, as I searched news sites for updates on the latest IS beheadings, or whether more elements of the federal budget have been passed, I had to wade through feeds full of celebrity selfies posing as news (a supermodel eating a slice of pizza a case in point), news of attractive types (who all seem to blend in to one) promoting another beauty or diet product they don't actually use or need, or other attractive types and their maybe relationships with other good looking and/or wealthy types.
If we weighed up the amount of news space given to the 101 Hollywood actresses who had their phones and computers hacked and nude photos leaked on the internet last week compared to, say, the starving in south Sudan, the crisis in Crimea, the impending unravelling of our education and medical systems here in Australia, you'd find the results a very humourless joke.
I could count the number of selfies I've taken on one hand. Minus dog, one digit. Apart from a few shots at Mole Check, there are no nude pictures of myself in existence that I am aware of, and I can't see any need to change that situation in a hurry. I know what I look like naked. I don't need to carry that image with me to check, admire or reveal to others. Call me old fashioned.
About now, many of you are rolling your eyes and assuming that I am old. And you are right, I am at the pointy end of Gen X and deliriously happy to be so. Because if being old means having a modicum of modesty and humility, then seal me in amber. I am a happy fossil.
I have long wondered why and how this obsession with our own reflection has got so out of hand (don't people know Narcissus drowned in his own reflection?) until I read a piece by an anonymous writer on women's website mamamia.com.au last week answering my question.
"Why? Because taking naked photos is fun," Anon wrote, admitting that if her phone was hacked today photos of her thighs, breasts, friends' breasts, and her partner's penis in a jar would be found. "When you're alone, or with someone you trust, there's a crackle of taboo that makes it feel sexy, and exciting."
While I find Anon's pastime seriously sad, I also wonder why a USB stick and a safe isn't an option, rather than carrying such pics on vulnerable technology devices. Not saying I condone hacking in any way – it is reprehensible and dangerous. However, there are ways to limit risk.
"A photograph can also be manipulated," Anon continued. "I might feel fat one day, but if I arch my back just-so, and tilt my camera over my shoulder, I can make my booty look like Iggy Azalea's and feel immediately better about myself."
But perhaps Anon best sums up the level of maturity at play in all this navel gazing when she writes: "Think about a baby in front of a mirror – think about the pleasure they get from watching themselves. Well, taking a photograph can accomplish much the same thing."
columnist --Wendy_Squires
- See more at: http://www.howwe.biz/2280/nude-selfies-are-symptoms-of-self-obsessed..html#sthash.18woC5TZ.dpuf
