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In a world where social media reigns supreme, it’s not surprising that the focus of all it is the individual. Sure, some people take a more poetic approach to Twitter or Instagram, but for the most part, tweets and posts and pictures start with “I” or are of the individual themselves. Being the “me” generation that we are, this isn’t surprising. But you know what? I’m throwing the bullshit flag. Yeah, I said it. None of us are being honest. With the seven filters everyone applies before posting anything or the three drafts a tweet goes through before publication, it’s pretty clear we’re fudging a little. Can’t say I don’t do it, I don’t need to be reminded how thoroughly of a six I am on a regular basis.
You know what though? It’s time to be a little more honest, folks. Yeah, I’m talking about #TBT. Even our throwbacks to a time of (presumed) purity aren’t safe from our selective filtering. Besides the fact that NO ONE cares about the seventh picture of you in ribbons, sporting a 2-inch inseam, people keep throwing ‘em up. If the trend must go on, I say show me the truth. You want us to travel on the magic school bas back to your very waspy, comfortable childhood? Okay, give me the real goods. I’m talking about what #TBT should REALLY look like.
Come on, let’s see some pre-braces but post-losing-baby-teeth grins. Lay it on me. I want to see truly how awkward you were for a good couple of years. Then I’ll be able to connect with you on a truly spiritual level. Stop ignoring the very real and very lengthy years you spent looking like a horse. Missing teeth? Even better. Two thirds of the bros and I lost permanent teeth in some overzealous street hockey games. That’s the golden stuff.
Fucking Awful Haircut
Bowl cuts for everyone! Plus one million points if you had one as a girl. I certainly did, because why treat me like a girl before puberty? My (saint of a) mother called it the Dorothy Hamill. Google her, I dare you. When I finally came to and decided I looked offensive, I told the hairdresser I wanted layers. Thirty minutes later, I had layers–but I’m talking about the kind half of One Direction has. One day when I went outside to gather my eldest brother and his friend for dinner, all I heard was “Samsonite, I didn’t know you had another brother.” I would totally #TBT those, except no pictures actually exist. Don’t be coy. I know we all have those awkward haircuts, and they need to be shared.
Unless you had some “sun insensitivity,” you spent the majority of your childhood outside somehow NOT getting nabbed by baby killers. Good for you. If #TBT is supposed to really reflect on the golden days, you can’t leave out the repercussions of outdoor play. I’m talking being covered in fire ants or having sap all over your hands. Perhaps the most obvious would be poison ivy. All over your face. You know you’ve been there. In every single buck-toothed, youth soccer picture I took, I had poison ivy all over my face. I had it on the roof of my mouth and my eyelids once. I can’t make this shit up. Who wouldn’t want to see that?
Report Card Day Face
It doesn’t matter if you graduated cum laude or Phi Beta Kappa (I doubt, like, any of us did, but play along). At one time or another, you were sent home with a strongly worded comments section on your report card. Maybe it was because you got stuck next to the poker during reading hour or maybe it’s because someone made fun of your buck teeth. Either way, something boiled over and your inner Tasmanian devil came out. Oops, Sally is missing a giant chunk of hair. If ONLY someone could have snapped a picture of our faces the second we got off the bus on report card day. Doom. Utter doom.