Do you want to know the most interesting thing that happened to me today?
It was nothing.
It’s a Saturday. Which means late afternoon brunches, with avocado and a non-fat soy latte (and what am I doing, this tastes like dirt, and hot chocolate is ten times nicer) and girl chat with the right Snapchat filter to show the world that we are both interesting and relevant. Not Gossip Girl in bed till noon, with OJ and left over Galaxy Chocolate a guy brought you but ghosted a week later because ‘why not’? Tinder’s just a real life person ordering system like dominos or a Chinese takeaway, which may taste a little sweeter the next day warmed in the microwave but anything over 2 days old is binned. And Neil Hilborn’s poems late into the evening that make you fist-pump with your right hand only, because you broke the left one on a casual Sunday afternoon run in the yoga-pants a brand sent you.
When you don’t have anything cool to write about, or tweet, or upload, but you do anyways- and your phone is buzzing constantly not by people wanting to talk to you, but so called friends you have never met in Instagram pods you don’t really want to be in, doing anything they can to get that extra like on their photo, because that’s the way to feel loved, and be hip, and trendy- but not by people that use the words hip and trendy, because lol’ get with the times. No wonder you aren’t hitting the right stats and you feel like a failure.
Because you can’t afford that latest piece from a company that makes you feel bad about yourself for not owning, but if you were to own you couldn’t afford lunch for a week. And even when you do starve yourself on bread and beans to be the one to get their hands on the latest ‘IT’ piece, it still looks awful on you, no matter how many times you take that selfie in the right lighting. Because you are not a photoshop.
And you log on, like you do everyday- to see new stories trending, that have no right to be trending.
Yet the words that you wrote, that took hours to create, never get passed your family apart from the share by your Mum and your Father’s friend’s cousin’s co-worker that gave it a like during her lunch break.
The whole world is a Blogger.
But you’re just not blog-enough.
No matter how many cool girl pose on someone else’s steps with a white house snaps you take, how many MAC lipsticks you own, you will always feel outside the clique, because even people who created the clique, never feel like they are inside the clique.
No-one is good enough.
The people you look up too, the ones that make you laugh, and cry, and think too much you miss your stop on the bus.
They all feel the same.
They never feel blog-enough.
And let me tell you why.
We are all striving to reach the same goal, but its a goal that we have all created with no intention of reaching. Because even if you hit ten thousand views, one more wouldn’t hurt? And why to God am I not getting ten thousand and one?!
You could be a blog; hero, slaying, bomb. ass. bitch. but you would still never be blog-enough.
We, together, have created a pedestal for this word ‘blogger’ so high, and so expensive, and so original, that its unreachable, yet we push, and strive and hurt, and cry to reach it.
The term ‘influencer’ is reaching an all time high- over taking actors and singers and politicians with grey hair and a diet built from double espressos and ego.
It’s an exciting time when a career can be made from a push up on a YouTube channel- but your yolk porn boomerang still gets more likes than your face does. And we all tweet the same Ed Sheeran lyrics, and get angry at grammatically incorrect or sexist, racist or political or god forbid somebody should have an opinion tweets, but five minutes later are sharing the same dog gif and creating polls on something no-one cares about, like what Netflix show to indulge in.
We live in a world where we are told to be creative, to follow our own dreams, pave our own path, not to follow the crowd or be a sheep- but are constantly being screamed at from the inside the box they pushed us in to be a circle. But if we are all too busy trying to be a circle, why are they not screaming at us to be a box, or a triangle or a hexagon. Why can’t I be a hexagon?!
We applaud the brave, yet reprehend the quiet. Because those that scream the loudest get the final say.
We double tap, and favourite and like the good, yet scroll and shy away from the bad.
We moan at those who moan online.
We never really go offline when we log off-line , because every decision we make is based on how we can increase our online presence, from the clothes we buy, to the food we order, even god-forbid the friends we choose or the bae we bed.
No-matter how many followers you get, or how many views you hit, you will never be blog-enough.
Our bodies release those same happy endorphins we get from sexual intercourse, or exercise or something mentally, physically or emotionally rewarding when someone likes our photo, or our tweet. Its the 21st century equivalent to getting a gold star for not wetting the bed. Something we all should be doing but now feel the need to celebrate.
Now it’s not all bad. Don’t get me wrong.
I don’t hate the blog world in all its entirety.
I just hate the way it makes us feel sometimes.
How it can make us feel as irrelevant as bad SEO, or as shady as a do-follow link.
But if we are never going to be blog-enough, can we at least make a pact to fail together?