It’s December 1990. I’ve had too much to drink again and can’t even put myself together for a photo in front of the Christmas presents just to appease my family.
My mom’s begging me to get my life together, my dad’s in the background screaming “she’s never even been to Arizona!”
I’m yelling back, “you don’t know my life!!!” And my sister’s crying because I stole her metallic heart necklace again.
It must also be noted that you can tell by my shorty short bangs that I probably had another bad run in with chewing gum- the type of gum that is lime green and shredded into little pieces so that even young children can feel the joy of chewing tobacco. Big League Chew was my kryptonite.
I use to have a lot of addictions. The early 90s were a hard time for me. Just a few weeks before this photo was captured I fell down the basement stairs on a late night rampage wearing my mom’s high heels and shattered my bottom teeth.
I know all of this because it’s well documented in our family photo albums. My mom was a photo fanatic before it was cool to be a photo fanatic. You know those beautiful families you see on Instagram these days? (i.e. blogger families.) That’s not at all what our family albums look like.
The Wolfe family photos are the good, the bad, and the ugly. Mostly the ugly. Because back in the day you had to take and develop 100 photos just to try and get one where everyone looks half way okay. And since the photos were developed already you might as well put those in a photo album according to my mom. She didn’t spend $12 for nothin!
And I’m happy she did because I like to look back at all of the bad photos. Seeing that train wreck of a toddler that I was makes me think, hey I’m not doing that bad as an adult after all, at least my skirts fit me now.
But in the world we live in today only the pretty photos exist because the messy ones get deleted.
When the Instagram kids grow up how are these supposed to feel even remotely okay about adulthood when they look back at their beautifully filtered photos from childhood and realize they were in their prime at age three?
Seems like a tough pill to swallow.
Especially the little blogger kids. Their entire life has been filtered thus far. I feel like that could be a weird conversation when the kids grow up and have to ask their parents why they were filtering their photos to make them look better at age two…
It’s nothing against you, Eloise. Your skin just pops a little more when I use Valencia.
But I digress.
I just often wonder the effect Instagram might be having on kids. Hell, it turns me into an insecure teenager more times than I’d like to admit. But maybe they’re growing up with a thicker social media skin since they’ve been around it their entire life? Maybe they’re not.
Who knows. My Instagram is basically just all dog accounts now anyway.
I guess I’ll end on this, what are your thoughts on kids growing up in this beautiful artificially filtered world? Think it might be taking a toll?