I took a crash course a few weeks ago on the topic of social media marketing. I wanted to make sure I had all the current tools and skills needed to advance my online boutique and ensure this new blog format was appealing to my target audience. The presenter demonstrated the use of various lighting filters, screen overlays and color adjustments. Just a few tweaks of a filter or color depth and the photo was brilliant! The subjects were accentuated. However, it was the advanced filters, overlays and photo editing tools that caught my attention.
I’ve had an interest in photography, especially photo journaling, for several years. Watching the application of a few photo editing tools reminded me how photo journalism has evolved. No more are we capturing objects as they are and tweaking the lighting on the photo to make it clearer, we are now capturing an object at a distorted angle and completely changing true colors, backgrounds and even removing objects. In most cases the edits changed the whole story of what was captured. These past years I’ve seen photos posted on Facebook that appeared to be real, but a caption or comment revealed that the picture wasn’t at all what it appeared to be. The protrayed location wasn’t the actual location. The person really didn’t resemble in real life the image pictured.
This made me think of the childhood story The Velveteen Rabbit. In this story a little boy receives a stuffed, velveteen rabbit, along with other toys. The story then takes us through the rabbit’s transformation from a beautiful, new toy to a dirty, shabby one. With the help of one of the nursery’s oldest toys, the Skin Horse, the rabbit learns that he can become “real”, but it will be an ugly and painful process. One cannot become “real” without being loved.
“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but really loves you, then you become real.”
Therein lies the problem. We don’t truly love ourselves and barely love others. True and honest appreciation for others is a rarity. Take away the heart emojis, pretty filters, and quirky captions under fake smiles and ask yourself, “What if I’m real?” What if my true story is worth telling? What if my non-picturesque life was shown? What if my life wasn’t viewed under someone else’s filter of what beauty is supposed to be? What if I stopped trying to make every dark moment look better or more dramatic? What if I paused from capturing every photo-worthy minute of my day and simply lived through the moments, unfiltered and raw?
“Does it hurt? asked the rabbit.
“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are real you don’t mind being hurt.”
Hurt people hide. Hurt people doubt. Hurt people want positive validation. Hurt people want to be loved. In our digital society of “likes” it seems that being real is not always desired. Everything has to appear better, sound better, and look better than it really is. Quotes must sound profound. Cellphone photos must have the quality of professional photos. Poses are artistic. No unkempt backgrounds shown. No real emotions. No genuineness. Depression is masked. Aloneness is replaced. Tears become sparkles.
” … once you are real you can’t become unreal again. It lasts for always.”
But what if I were real? What if I appreciated my quirkiness? What if I expressed my griefs? What if my photos captured the kids’ daily clutter of toys on the floor? What if I voiced unpopular concerns? What if I appreciated myself and valued my own opinions? What if I loved others regardless of our differences?
If I were real, I’d be open to the hurt of those who were not real without the need to be retaliatory. I would be free to show empathy. I would be willing to see the world as it truly is. I would be inviting to those who are different from me. I would not need to hide. I would be consistently me. I would finally realize no one could duplicate me. My thoughts, my opinions, my life matters … because I’m real. “Real” born through hurt lasts forever.