Disgraceful Confession: My Big Fat Internet Life
I do solemnly and sincerely and truly declare that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. So, help me, Kris Jenner.
Hi. Let me introduce myself. Again. My name is Mel, aka Gracefully Mel, and I am part of the problem. I feel like I am writing my introduction for an AA meeting but despite the occasional glass (bottle) of rosé, that’s not why I am here. But I guess this is a confession of some sort.
Looking back on the one-filtered snapshots of the “life” (note the speech marks) I’ve portrayed on social media, I am very aware of the problem - not that I talk about the problem or until recently, tried to change the problem. And FYI I’m not talking about the size of my jeans, the colour of my hair, my big nose or small forehead, I am referring to the very obvious fact that the “life” (note the speech marks again) I’ve shown on Instagram is. not. my. life.
Yes, I just smashed that home workout, but you did not see the aftermath of me and my sweaty rolls lying on the floor of my bedroom, puffing away like a steam train trying to catch my breath.
Yes, I just ate a healthy breakfast, but I definitely left out the MASSIVE binge trip to Tesco I went on straight after. Two for one on sharer bags of minstrels?! Don’t mind if I do, and more fool you (well more for me) if you think I am sharing.
Yes, I took a picture of my laptop and a studious looking book with the caption ‘Hard at work’ or ‘Productive Day,’ when I know full well I will never read the book and I just spent the last hour playing sims and online shopping with money I don’t have #DoesNewlookAcceptSimoleons?
And Yes. That is a nice selfie. A special thank you to Facetune for really sorting me out. (Not in any way affiliated with Facetune)
During lockdown, I got fixated on showing how “productive” my “life” (note double speech marks, clearly a bit of a habit now) “should be” (ooh triple threat). When in actual fact, I’ve spent half the time either staring at my ceiling or scrolling through Instagram wishing I looked, lived, worked, and drew my eyebrows on just like everyone else. It’s been nearly three months of harsh comparison and ridiculous expectations of myself – Did I seriously think I could work out by 6am, have conquered the world by lunchtime, and still have time for a virtual tour of the Louvre in the evening. Piss. Off.
I think what I am trying to say is that, if I don’t want to work out, I don’t have to; if I don’t want to shop from Molly Mae’s Pretty Little Thing collection, that is ok; and if we don’t want to listen to every influencer, every celeb, every brand that says we must live laugh and breathe a certain way, we can tell them to go fuck themselves.
I was becoming part of the problem, but this is my confession, and I promise to do better.
Welcome to chapter two of Gracefully Mel. Glam is banned, making a fool of yourself is encouraged and it’s time to defy the one size fits all (because one size NEVER fits all) approach to living your best life.