Selflesslies

 I live quite an isolated life in the city because I rarely meet people in packs and when I do, they are not obsessed with crooked mouths, squinty eyes, deflated nostrils,  side boob, the dustbin in the background nor the sucking in of the cheeks. So when I’m unleashed onto the world, like I was, on a recent holiday, I'm agape! My eyes widen and my nostrils inflate with something between mirth and disgust. I’m au courant with the idea of taking control of your image - literally and figuratively but a-selfie-a-second  drives me mad. With cameras on their laps to take staring down mug shots whilst dining with eighteen other selfie perpetrators everyone  thinks they're Alice in Wonderland and that each morsel they consume somehow has changed their looks and worse? That it needs to be documented for posterity. 

At first, I assumed that I was jealous of all the peacocks strutting about and then when the disgust didn’t wear off, I knew there was more. More, but what? And then as most answers tend to be, this one was just as simple. Narcissism.  I’m guilty of doing the dress up and strut thingy. Also guilty of trying to create glam shots (trying not succeeding). I guess we’ve all made the effort and continue to do so in preserving, documenting, collecting memories of our beautiful selves. So how are we different from the above mentioned Alices?

It’s the same difference as picking your nose on a bus completely unawares of your surroundings instead of  consciously searching for snotty treasures in the solitude of your own bedroom. It’s narcissism that’s not deliberate.  The new millennia was all about being present, being conscious in the moment, mindfulness, zen, the power of now, showing up, and every catch phrase that says focus on your thoughts and inner self. They’ve remained catchphrases. We’re not just focusing on our external selves, we are doing it mindlessly. With our tongues out.

A selfie is a microwaveable instant meal whereas a photo is a dish being prepared with pots, pans and spatulas. There are those, that inspire and make an earning and have a following. Some are functional. You’re alone and you need picture with a tree stump or a friend. Fair enough. But not every selfie is a work of art nor an attempt at creativity.  Self portraits by artists have always been the rage. Caravaggio  as Goliath in ‘David with the head of Goliath’, Paul Gauguin  as a jester doll in his 'The little one is dreaming. Etude’ weren’t mindless snapshots of their visages. When Michelangelo painted himself on the Sistine Chapel, it was a clever and funny insert in an otherwise serious “Last Judgement” fresco. Art is not mindless. Creativity is not devoid of intention. Amrita Shergill, Frida Kahlo,  Manjit Bawa, Tagore, Hussain, Monet, Van Gaugh etc. weren’t doing self portraits out of habit. They were doing it for cash or creativity not because they didn’t know what to do with themselves.

 When Narcissus saw himself in the pond, his village did not join in. Why not? Why are multitudes obsessed now? What is this mass hysteria? Why aren’t people fidgeting, or doodling or chewing their hair anymore? How has the camera phone replaced every human quirk? Something even a camera couldn’t do. I wish I had answers. I wish I understood this self-obsession with the self itself.