Staged Lives
Do you ever feel you know too much about strangers? Maybe you feel you know too much about me. Instagram can be a nice way to learn how other people live. I especially enjoy seeing what other women are knitting. Some of their knits are gorgeous and I aspire to that. But what about the people who have massive followings and seemingly flawless lives? The outfits, the sunny family portraits among the colorful fallen leaves wearing the most perfect tartan scarf and the boots of your dreams, announcing the new baby on the way. Should we care about them? And how much of it is real?
I prefer to follow people who have quirks…faults. I like those that have a little something “off” in their posts. Is that linoleum on that kitchen floor??? From the 80’s??? I shall love them even more. Or, what about the kids’ birthday parties that don’t have designer decorations and designer cakes? I prefer the parties with a homemade cake front and center in all its lopsided, glorious splendor. Don’t you?
Recently, I ended my following of some vapid types. It seemed the more “groupies” they accumulated the more staged their lives became. I’m not sure if its the sponsorships they were granted which allowed for designer clothes and stylists or if they simply believed that they were super-important to their followers and always had to post a performance of some kind with each and every shot. I ask you, and not unkindly but realistically – should I care about a young wife with oodles of money and clothes, an angelic face, beatific children, and an incredibly handsome husband, not to mention the center-chimney farmhouse designer home and all its accouterments who lives several thousand miles from me?
Could I be jealous? Maybe a little. But I’m amused too. Because I know that underneath that veneer are in-law problems and dirty diaper pails and someone has to get out of that photo frame to pick up the fried chicken for supper. I’m not sure they really have time to cook. But mostly I’m sad. Sad for the followers who then look at their own lives and think they must be truly pathetic. Yet like a car-wreck that they can’t turn away from, they tune in every day, day in and day out, for more of “Look how great my life is”!
In a way, I think Instagram is the modern version of the old computer-printed Christmas letter of the 90’s. You know the ones – sister Celia is off on her 3rd trip to South Africa and we feel so blessed that Jimmy got into all of the Ivy League schools on scholarships. Way to go Jimmy. Woohoo.
I think Instagram has a great place in our lives if you’re so moved to join. Besides the knitted garments, I made a scrumptious cheese tart, bought some awesome storage bins, found the perfect neutral nail color last summer and learned a new thing or two. But I won’t make any “insta-friends” the center of my world. And I won’t mistake them for the real pals who come over for tea on winter afternoons when I have a cold and need company. I know my insta-friends belong right inside my cell phone where I can click “unfollow” anytime I want.
So that brings me to you, Dear Readers. Don’t believe that my life is perfect just because you come here to read pretty things. I may take poetic license but I won’t ever lie to you. I really do try to focus on all the good stuff in my world but know that I have more bad hair days than good. And I may not have any linoleum lying around but I do have a carpet that needs replacing. Bad.
PS: Regularly scheduled postings including Feminine Christmas series soon.
19 Comments
Carol Trotta
Never had any "perfect" life and never intend to, sometimes simplicity is more rewarding and endearing!! Love you, Donna ❤️
Donna Macdonald
Thank you Carol.
galant
I have only just started an Instagram account, and find it fun, but my pix are realistic (well, I don't show piles of dirty laundry or washing up to be done, but be sure, they're there like everyone else's!) There are some wonderful homes on the 'Gram, but I as the French say, I'm happy in my skin, and love my little home and I wouldn't swap it for all the Lapsang in China. What I like seeing are things which we also have but which others also have and love – for example, an old ironstone bowl often features in one 'Gram I follow and we have one just like it – and love it.
Margaret P
http://www.margaretpowling.com
Donna Macdonald
I love your home, Margaret! Every inch of it.
annette
Love this! Thanks for your honesty.xo
Ann
Thank you – real life is messy, and wonderful. Thanks for reminding us that it does not have to be perfect to be PERFECT for us!
Donna Macdonald
Thank you Ann!
Unknown
This is the reason that I read your blog…I have never commented before, but felt that I had to this time.
Ali
Donna Macdonald
Thank you Ali.
Karen
Thank you for this thoughtful and compassionate post. I agree that much of what we see in blogland, on instagram and other social media platforms are staged facades and that there could be a price being paid in the home for all the "happiness" and beauty being photographed. I love your real-ness and read everything you write. I look forward to your Christmas series soon to come.
Donna Macdonald
A price to be paid…indeed. Thank you!
Laura Jeanne
Well, if you like the people on Instagram with 80's lino in their kitchens, you'd *love* me…I have 80's lino with 50's asbestos tile beneath! And 60s kitchen cabinets. And that's just for starters. In fact my house is hideous on the inside. I sometimes feel really embarrassed and inadequate looking at the photos other women share of the inside of their picture-perfect homes. It would be nice if more of us who are not wealthy had the courage to keep it real and post photos of our very imperfect homes. I admit I do not have the courage to post photos anywhere of my home, but if I did I bet I would make everyone who saw them feel better about themselves! Oh dear.
Donna Macdonald
I suspect you have a warm, loving home Laura Jeanne!
Dana L.
I actually do have linoleum floor in my kitchen- probably from the 60s and I love it!! This post sings to me. I am not on any social media sites simply because I like keeping my private life- private. I follow a few blogs that I find inspiring, real, and truthful. It was challenging at times to raise daughters in the internet age where they are constantly surrounded by images of the peers with the so-called perfect life, perfect body, perfect hair, etc… And yes I clearly remember those holiday letters from relatives/friends listing all the achievements throughout the year. I truly love your writing and am so looking forward to you Feminine Christmas series. Something so old-fashioned and genuine about all of your posts- which is quite rare in todays world.
Donna Macdonald
Thank you Dana!
Carol W
Oh, heavens Donna. Your blog is never boring! I love your gentle writing and references to your teen years. I think we are close in age. I have almost identical memories.
My daughter works in a job in which she has the opportunity to meet celebrities. They like her because she treats them just like all the others who visit her workplace. She was a successful and popular actress in high school so she understands that celebrity is a label that others put on individuals that are admired. We raised her to believe that everyone burps and farts, has relatives who may be embarrassing, and puts on their pants the same way she does. Respect and admiration must be earned to be kept and that all have the opportunity to be extraordinary. It's all about choice and authenticity. You've said it so much better than I. Thank you again for your insights.
Donna Macdonald
Thank you Carol!
Donna Macdonald
No Amy…I want my blog to be a place of refuge. I know sometimes that I may be boring but I don't care. I'm old-fashioned and I'm not ashamed. Thank you so much for your faithful readership.
Amy
One of the things I most love about your blog is that it's old-school – you're not trying to sell us anything. I had to unsubscribe to a couple of blogs when it became apparent that every link was an affiliate link and that I was just a customer. I'm just immensely grateful you're not pushing, for instance, Grove Collaborative.