Jessica Wilde's Blog - Posts Tagged "instagram"
Muting the Beast
Social media has become this great big all-encompassing force in our lives. It’s like the weather or taxes—so much a part of day-to-day living that we just assume it is the way it is and there’s no changing it. We should back that truck up.
The problem is that social media is opinion driven. Which, hey, is another way of saying it is not fact driven. It’s no accident that the Kardashians have way, way, way more followers than the National Institutes for Health or the CDC. That’s the dark side of the force; social media companies work their butts off to feed us opinions that reinforce our own narrow perceptions. Then we get all fired up, log on more, engage more, and click more ads. That’s the equation. Titillation pays off a lot more than information does.
It can all seem pretty harmless. After all, it’s just vacation pictures or one person’s stand on this topic or that. No big deal, right?
Wrong.
It’s a really big deal. Social media is designed to echo chamber the holy heck out of us. Wrongheaded (read: “batshit crazy”) “opinions” turn into flat-out misinformation and lies. Round and round it goes. The propaganda gets embraced and taken for gospel … no matter how crazy it is. And that, my friends, is how you get millions of people who don’t believe science, but are positive that space lasers are zapping voting boxes and that there are nanobots in vaccine shots. After all, it must be true; they read it on Facebook.
That’s the great big macro issue. But it doesn’t stop there.
Because opinion—any opinion—is given space and validity on social media, people feel free to spout off any nasty, baseless, disgusting idea they have about anything. Including you and me. That, there, is the micro part of the equation. Big picture, the “opinions” hurt public health; writ small, they screw with self-esteem.
I’ve learned early on how to deal with, respond, or block people who want to pass judgment on me. It’s part of being a social media influencer.
More casual users, though, aren’t quite as savvy. I’ve seen some shocking and appalling comments on personal accounts, nasty stuff that is just out of bounds. Judgy comments about people’s kids, jobs, houses—whatever. It reminds of a saying I once heard: “You don’t make yourself taller by stepping on somebody else.”
If I had my wish wand (shout out to all my fellow Harry Potter fans!), I’d wish everyone had to run their social media commentary through a kindness filter before posting. You never go wrong when you’re coming from a place of compassion. Wouldn’t that be a helluva thing, a social media world where courtesy and compassion ruled the day?
The problem is that social media is opinion driven. Which, hey, is another way of saying it is not fact driven. It’s no accident that the Kardashians have way, way, way more followers than the National Institutes for Health or the CDC. That’s the dark side of the force; social media companies work their butts off to feed us opinions that reinforce our own narrow perceptions. Then we get all fired up, log on more, engage more, and click more ads. That’s the equation. Titillation pays off a lot more than information does.
It can all seem pretty harmless. After all, it’s just vacation pictures or one person’s stand on this topic or that. No big deal, right?
Wrong.
It’s a really big deal. Social media is designed to echo chamber the holy heck out of us. Wrongheaded (read: “batshit crazy”) “opinions” turn into flat-out misinformation and lies. Round and round it goes. The propaganda gets embraced and taken for gospel … no matter how crazy it is. And that, my friends, is how you get millions of people who don’t believe science, but are positive that space lasers are zapping voting boxes and that there are nanobots in vaccine shots. After all, it must be true; they read it on Facebook.
That’s the great big macro issue. But it doesn’t stop there.
Because opinion—any opinion—is given space and validity on social media, people feel free to spout off any nasty, baseless, disgusting idea they have about anything. Including you and me. That, there, is the micro part of the equation. Big picture, the “opinions” hurt public health; writ small, they screw with self-esteem.
I’ve learned early on how to deal with, respond, or block people who want to pass judgment on me. It’s part of being a social media influencer.
More casual users, though, aren’t quite as savvy. I’ve seen some shocking and appalling comments on personal accounts, nasty stuff that is just out of bounds. Judgy comments about people’s kids, jobs, houses—whatever. It reminds of a saying I once heard: “You don’t make yourself taller by stepping on somebody else.”
If I had my wish wand (shout out to all my fellow Harry Potter fans!), I’d wish everyone had to run their social media commentary through a kindness filter before posting. You never go wrong when you’re coming from a place of compassion. Wouldn’t that be a helluva thing, a social media world where courtesy and compassion ruled the day?
Life as an Illustrated Woman
For such a simple thing, tattoos inspire some heavy duty opinions. I’ve never met anyone who was like, “Meh, I could take ‘em or leave ’em.” Most people pass judgment at first glance. Especially older women I come across in airports and grocery stores. They either sneak peeks full of surreptitious curiosity, or fail to hide their shock and horror at what I’m sure they view as a walking, breathing wall of graffiti. It’s a throwback perception, to when the only inked-up characters were dicey outlaw bikers and violent longshoremen.
Other people find my illustrated bits the height of coolness, as if putting ink on skin somehow makes a person inherently edgy and interesting. I think tattoos endlessly fascinate people because they are a near-permanent commitment, and so many people fear committing to anything.
Truth is, things have changed like they always do. Nowadays? The soccer mom watching her daughter play on some Saturday in suburbia is as likely as not to have a butterfly on her ankle or a rainbow on her shoulder. College kids graduate with degrees in finance and biology, and half sleeves of Japanese koi or scenes from the Simpsons on their backs.
Maybe I was just ahead of the curve. I’ve considered my body a canvas for as long as I can remember. I personalize and decorate my home with art that means something to me and embodies my style. I do the same with my body. I don’t take my tattoos too seriously, but other people sometimes do.
That said, one of the weirdest tattoo experiences I ever went through had nothing to do with judgment. I was at the London Tattoo Convention, greeting fans in a booth. A guy came over to the booth, pulled up his shirt sleeve, and showed me his arm. He had copied my Alice in Wonderland arm sleeve tattoo down to a T. I mean, he really had to study photos of me to get the details right. Aside from just plain creeping me the hell out, he had committed a major tattoo-world faux pas: you never, ever copy someone’s tattoos.
That’s just the one off, though. Most of the time in my day-to-day world, the tattoos fade into the background. They’re no more relevant or attention-grabbing than my hair color or the jeans I’m wearing. Yeah, every once in awhile I step out of the shower, catch myself in the mirror, and think, “Holy fuck, I have a lot of tattoos!” Then I towel off, feed Sophie, and get on with my day. The not-sexy reality? Tattoos decorate your body; they don’t define anyone.
Other people find my illustrated bits the height of coolness, as if putting ink on skin somehow makes a person inherently edgy and interesting. I think tattoos endlessly fascinate people because they are a near-permanent commitment, and so many people fear committing to anything.
Truth is, things have changed like they always do. Nowadays? The soccer mom watching her daughter play on some Saturday in suburbia is as likely as not to have a butterfly on her ankle or a rainbow on her shoulder. College kids graduate with degrees in finance and biology, and half sleeves of Japanese koi or scenes from the Simpsons on their backs.
Maybe I was just ahead of the curve. I’ve considered my body a canvas for as long as I can remember. I personalize and decorate my home with art that means something to me and embodies my style. I do the same with my body. I don’t take my tattoos too seriously, but other people sometimes do.
That said, one of the weirdest tattoo experiences I ever went through had nothing to do with judgment. I was at the London Tattoo Convention, greeting fans in a booth. A guy came over to the booth, pulled up his shirt sleeve, and showed me his arm. He had copied my Alice in Wonderland arm sleeve tattoo down to a T. I mean, he really had to study photos of me to get the details right. Aside from just plain creeping me the hell out, he had committed a major tattoo-world faux pas: you never, ever copy someone’s tattoos.
That’s just the one off, though. Most of the time in my day-to-day world, the tattoos fade into the background. They’re no more relevant or attention-grabbing than my hair color or the jeans I’m wearing. Yeah, every once in awhile I step out of the shower, catch myself in the mirror, and think, “Holy fuck, I have a lot of tattoos!” Then I towel off, feed Sophie, and get on with my day. The not-sexy reality? Tattoos decorate your body; they don’t define anyone.
Stranger in the Mirror
“Imposter Syndrome” is a psychological term used to describe a persistent, deep belief that nothing you do is real, and that you’re at risk of being exposed as a total phony at any moment.
It ain’t fun.
I imagine I’m more susceptible because I work for myself and spend a lot of time alone, so it’s easy to get something in my head and let it build. Also, identity has been a confusing thread throughout my life, which doesn’t help.
Some days it feels like this whole social media thing is a big joke that went way too far, and now it’s my life. The lines between the Tiffany I was, the Jessica I am, and the Jessica I’m creating get blurry. I’m certainly not who I used to be, but I’m definitely not who the Internet thinks I am.
I’ll meet people at events or conventions and my face will hurt from fake smiling so hard because I don’t know what else to do. I get tension headaches, Some days, I wish I was 100 percent Jessica Wilde, but. . . she’s just this “thing” I’ve created. She’s a project. She’s confident, witty, sarcastic, and always beautiful. She’s motivated and never doubts herself. She is a badass bitch.
I, on the other hand, am trying really hard not to eat an oversized cookie right now, and I just want somebody to love me for who I am.
I’ve had women message me on Instagram, and tell me they wish they were Jessica. I can relate; I wish I were her, too.
It ain’t fun.
I imagine I’m more susceptible because I work for myself and spend a lot of time alone, so it’s easy to get something in my head and let it build. Also, identity has been a confusing thread throughout my life, which doesn’t help.
Some days it feels like this whole social media thing is a big joke that went way too far, and now it’s my life. The lines between the Tiffany I was, the Jessica I am, and the Jessica I’m creating get blurry. I’m certainly not who I used to be, but I’m definitely not who the Internet thinks I am.
I’ll meet people at events or conventions and my face will hurt from fake smiling so hard because I don’t know what else to do. I get tension headaches, Some days, I wish I was 100 percent Jessica Wilde, but. . . she’s just this “thing” I’ve created. She’s a project. She’s confident, witty, sarcastic, and always beautiful. She’s motivated and never doubts herself. She is a badass bitch.
I, on the other hand, am trying really hard not to eat an oversized cookie right now, and I just want somebody to love me for who I am.
I’ve had women message me on Instagram, and tell me they wish they were Jessica. I can relate; I wish I were her, too.
