I went to a wedding on Saturday. It was quite fun so I posted a picture of myself on Facebook. Yes, yes, I did it because I thought I looked quite nice. My kid was a cute bridesmaid but it was all about me and my blow dry and my general feeling that my ‘friends’ needed to see my happy, faintly glamorous family shot. And my fake tan.
Turns out Facebook disagreed. Facebook hated my dress. Facebook decided to shame me. Facebook – helpfully – informed me that I had worn the same dress to a wedding five years ago. Just in case there was any doubt about the fact that I don’t buy clothes because I don’t have the money for good things and I won’t wear Boden. Yet.
If the social media engines themselves are this unforgiving then what hope does our self-esteem have in a cyber world of nightmare mother-in-law observations? Instagram will be weighing me next. Twitter will be assessing my sun damage while Pinterest calculates how many times a week I don’t have sex.
It’s like Facebook has gifted me the worst bit of being Kate Middleton without the power or the global fascination. It’s like when the Daily Mail points out that Princess Anne is wearing something she wore in 1963 and 1987 except I don’t have a Balmoral to go and hide in or some Olympic ponies to drown my sorrows with.
Maybe Facebook was applauding my stylish frugality; my evergreen style, my timeless look. But I think social media just hates me. I could hate it back and send it to Coventry but it’s the popular girl in the playground and I’m no fool. So I suppose I’d better go shopping.