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Selfie Games
I watched them flirt in this 21st century way.
My friend Jason has been exchanging selfies with a girl named Nora for the better part of a year. Jason often leans into me, showing off the latest prize he’s won from Nora — a cheeky picture of her smiling, her grin luminescent, as her floral blouse dips low to show a hint of cleavage — while I look over and pretend to be interested.
The truth is that, even as a guy, I’ve never gotten the allure of these selfie games. Sure, I’ve sent a few snapshots of my own — always at request, though, since I don’t like to play the narcissist — but it always seemed a little immature to me. We’re always showing ourselves at our best, aren’t we? I’m not showing you a picture of me hungover, hoodie drawn up over my head and dark circles under my eyes from a sleepless night. A girl wouldn’t be showing me a picture of herself just woken up, dried drool at the edge of her mouth, cued to imperfection with bedhead and no make-up.
No, we always show the hot pictures. Or the cute ones. Or the ones that make us feel a bit better about ourselves.
I get it, I do, but it all feels a little fake to me.
A part of me longs for realness, spirited away from this sense that we always have to be picture-ready for a world that would judge us just for stray hairs being out of…
