My cousin Isa and I have been having this discussion on and off for the past couple of weeks. She's here in Australia doing research for her MA in Social Anthropology and she has been taking photos of what she/we have been up to, some of which are posted below. People have have been critiquing her photos on Facebook, ribbing because her "fieldwork in Australia" looks so, so incredibly arduous- what with the brunches at Balmoral Beach and parties and drinks at The Commons avec moi. So, okay, fair point. But that's kind of the point, isn't it?
You document what you want to share, the fun stuff, the stuff that shows you looking semi-attractive rather than hawing like a donkey mid-laugh (uh, wanna see those ones of me? Just try not to be too jealz of my abundant poise) so other people may look at your photos or visual essay or blog and think that your life is pretty glamorous. There are no photos of me hunching over my laptop with grease hair, in my pajamas (o wait... there are. Thanks Is!), no photos of my bleary-eyed mornings rereading notes nor photos of me at work selling magazines and trying not to get crazy eyes when people mess up the carefully arranged Keep Cups (don't pull the lids off! -UGH.) nor the ultra-chic hours I spend reading at my desk and in the library and on my bed and on the bus.
This is something I touched on in my departmental presentation last week- what we see on style blogs is carefully selected. They're not representative of the totality of someone's life but are a specific prism through which we glimpse what they want to share with us, their readers. The reason I bring this up is because I just happened upon a thought-provoking post by Elissa at Dress With Courage in which she documents reading other people's blogs and comparing her life to theirs. It instantly made me reflect on my own blog and how my own life might come across.
If you could see me now- lying in bed with a half-drunk skim flat white on the floor beside me, surrounded by tea-soaked tissues because my green tea had a run-in with my beside stack of Vogues, hair straggled up and in the loosest clothes I own because I'm sick, darn it, and can't be bothered. Well. Let's just say that a lot of work goes into blogging and that sometimes the images are just that- images.
If this ramble doesn't make much sense, you'll have to blame my woolly-headedness. And perhaps surmise that like a superhero without my proper costume I am zapped of my powers. Let's pick that up next time.
For now, glamourously yours