Narcissim and Facebook: a new self-study

A "University study finds that Facebook and Twitter fuel narcissism in different ways: Younger people tweet to boast while middle-aged regularly update their status" reads a relevant headline.  Since having heard of this study a few days ago, I have been conflicted with my own use of Facebook. I am conflicted for two reasons: the reality of this and what this means about myself; and, that there is an assumption that narcissism is a negative thing.

But the thing is I really don't have an answer. I currently have a few friends who regularly update their Facebook account with gorgeous pictures of themselves and this inspires me to experiment with textures and colours and materials and canvasses and frocks myself. Some of my friends have just a delightful ability to experiment with these things; some of them are perhaps just a little shallow. While I am dreaming about experimenting with textures and frocks, I am not dreaming about taking pictures of me experimenting with textures and frocks and uploading them to Fb.

But this is the second part of the dilemma, what is wrong with doing so? The thing is, I really do find myself a little bit interesting. I find myself beautiful, my hair long, my outfits feminine. I find the things I find interesting or pretty as interesting and pretty. I want to be in communication with other people about these interesting and pretty and intelligent things. I want my horizons to expand; but I want this expansion of my horizons to be active. I want to be the one expanding my horizons and to somehow have a record of this. Fb is that record. But somehow this makes me narcissistic; somehow, this means I am boasting. And if I kept a file on my computer of all the awesome outfits I wore to all those cool happening parties, who would be there to appreciate them? What would be the point?

I often think the solution to this dilemma is to do something creative or artistic with these pictures or these thoughts and ideas. This canvasses my narcissism with a piece of creative "art"; it is socially acceptable to appreciate someone's "art".

This is imperfect, however. Doing so introduces a new element which may be judged, and judged harshly; you may not like my art.

Adieu

High School Reduces you...

In a small, autumn-leaf-carpeted town, somewhere almost, but not quite, at the foot of a mountain, there was a school. That school was a small school, full of kids who would grow up and later move away and tell their friends "I grew up in the country, in a small, autumn-leaf-carpeted town...".

This school had, as most do, dynamics. Social dynamics. They say that high school gives a person their formative years. It is intended to prepare you for adult life. I call shit. High school didn't prepare me for adult life - I  had to wait it out until adult life began so I could learn how to act without snobbery and meanness. High school reduces you to judge a person based on their worth.

Let me tell you a story about this small, autumn-leaf-carpeted town. People holiday in this beautiful, old town. They love it so much that after their holiday weekend they make plans to come back. I used to live in that town and since I left I haven't been back since.

This story begins with the town, the school and a kid. I'll call him a kid 'cause I call everyone a kid. I met him the first day, the first morning, that I started high school. I can say this now - I thought he was a bit of a looker. Dark hair, nice smile. And I thought he was a really nice kid. This kid, me and two of my girlfriends were fresh out of primary school and ready to take on... High School. On this morning, I honestly don't know how it happened, my two girlfriends and I decided that we'd close the classroom window (the kid was on the other side of the window) so as to block him out. He, meeting the challenge head on, decided he'd try to force the window open. We weren't that smart as kids; as you can guess, the window broke. And then, all in one fast, very fast moment, as the window smashed and someone had to be in trouble, the dynamics changed. My friends, the girls on my side of the window, blamed him. It was his fault. He broke the window. Suddenly, the dynamics changed; they went from us four fresh-out-of-primary-school kids doing what young kids do, playing, to us four, young kids in the midst of the hard, mean, snobbish realm of high school.

Of course the meaning behind this broken window was larger than just the breaking of the window and the getting into trouble for it. It was the getting away with breaking the window and having the power dynamics to do so. I didn't understand this at the time; hind's sight brings clarity. But my friends were cool; I, by association, was temporarily cool. And he was uncool (the death of my own coolness came later, but today, the first day of cool, and of school, brought his).

When my friends started to blame him for breaking the window I took a moment and made a choice. I didn't understand the social dynamics that said, then, that he could and he would be blamed for breaking the window. I didn't understand that this would mean in class later that day my girlfriends wouldn't talk to him, or sit near him, or look at him. I didn't understand then that their girlfriends would follow and that eventually the other boys would also ignore him. Whatever I understood of the dynamics, the social conditions that would dicatate my life for the next 6 years, changed. There, then, in that moment. And I chose not to do the right thing and admit I had been involved in the breaking of the window, too, although I was painfully aware of this. Despite my conscience, I chose to deny responsibility - I didn't want to get into trouble! And he was uncool, I had to stop being friends with him or else I'd be uncool. I made an investment in my future, futile, "coolness" and dropped a friendship. I still feel guilty about that.

What makes my guilt kick was that I'd originally liked him - he was a looker. He was a sweet kid. I could see that in him. I could see that he'd probably stick up for me if I were in his situation. I chose to side with my girlfriends, which was, of course, a mistake. The girls I was friends with at the time were mean and turned out to be the main two girls who religiously ostracised me from their friendship groups for the next 6 years. I'm not too guilty about not liking them. But I am guilty about how I treated him.

I can see now that I couldn't have been his friend. I was new to the area and needed a group of friends to support me, to sit with, to talk with. And besides, he was a boy and I was a girl. That mattered. I understand now that I would have had a much harder time at high school had I had him as my only friend. But I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for being so low, for putting a person's worth below my social interests. It is the very thing I loath of the girls in my high school - that they judged everyone according to the worth of that person. Frustatingly for me, who scored low on their social hierarchies, they also dictated what that "worth" was.

This is but one reason why that sleepy, autumn-leaf-carpeted town is not a destination I holiday to.

Halloween

So, I am using the title of this blog, "Halloween", to both tap into my friends' interests and hopefully dress in costume what I am about to say.

Halloween - time to check I am spelling that right - is an American thing that Americans do and because they do it, and simultaneously (though not consequently) made movies, that Halloween thing came out in the movies and then we (the non-Americans) would watch those movies, TV shows, and learn about Halloween and then at one point someone of us (by "us" I mean the non-Americans and by someone I mean an American spy sent to spread her Americanism throughout the world in white-man's-burden style) suggested that we should do that too.

Subsequently, I have spent the past week dressing up in multiple ghoulish, skimpy, scary, nice, painted and ignorant forms, as you do.

At this point,  an anecdote is necessary and provided for your entertainment.

Think costumes and Bridget Jones' Diary

This is Bridget 

 She dressed as a bunny.

This is her dressed as a bunny.

 And old men touched her bum... oops, I mean tail.

Well, I was stupid enough to believe that this is movie life and things that happen in movies do not happen in real life.

Needless to say - or perhaps it is necessary to say this -  this belief was wrong.

You can tell who I am by the ears.

 You know the bum/ bunny tail thing? It happens in real life. 3 Halloweens ago, I learnt about this shit, but shared, part of real and movie life.

Let me remind you what I said before this anecdote:

"Subsequently, I have spent the past week dressing up in multiple ghoulish, skimpy, scary, nice, painted and ignorant forms, as you do", desperately trying not to dress sexily.

So I went as the joker ... when the joker was dressed as a nurse.  I can't tell you that my logic wasn't flawed, but I can tell you that it is nice to hide behind the use of double negatives. And I can also say the only dress that I found that kind of looked like a nurse was more of a shirt on poor ol' 5 foot 8 little ol' me.

You can tell this is me from the might-as-well-be-bunny-ears-for-all-I've-learnt

And this brings me to what I really want to talk about: the way that people change when you dress in costume. By my experience, most people mention your costume and then you talk about it a little.

And some people, by some people I mean some boys, use it as an excuse to tell you to take it off, or to touch your bum. 

We can all see that this is a mean thing to say/ do. The reasons for why it is mean may be debated: it pisses me off for example that such a thing would never be said to a boy if he also accidentally dressed a little too sexy. That might be a bit too gender focused (or, brace yourselves, feminist!) for some. But, regardless of why we think it is mean, being told to take one's clothes off can nonetheless be universally recognised as a mean, not-very-nice-thing to say.

And, questionably, was it said because I was in costume or was it said because I am a girl and that is just one of those things that girls are meant to put up with in this grand old society that you will bring your daughter up in?

Do you see this from my point of view?

I can only thank my lucky stars that I have such amazing and good people in my life so I don't need to worry about the shit-real-life thing too much. Indeed these people are my lucky stars. You know who you all are.