Truthiness in Blogging

Two introspective (and, possibly, slightly melodramatic) posts in two weeks! Sorry, dear readers. But you’re the most honest sounding board I know and I’d love to hear your thoughts on this…

Last week, I went through a social media breakup. I’d never met the other person in real life, but I had enjoyed our online relationship and I was sad for it to end. It takes two to tango, though, and – well, these things happen. Even recognizing that, it felt personal in a different way than a friend break-up ever has before. I was over the rejection by the time I woke up the next morning, but I’m still trying to enunciate why it affected me in the way that it did. Here’s where I've ended up:

Bloggers talk all the time about how much of our real lives we share over the interwebs. It seems like you can’t turn around without reading a plea for more authenticity online; we’re all tired of seeing curated bookshelves and styled dinner tables presented as the norm. I completely endorse the movement towards realism, but, regardless, we can’t deny that we choose the best version of ourselves to make public on the internet. Yeah, I've Instagrammed pictures in my PJs on the couch with a sleeve of Girl Scout cookies, and some nights really are that slobtastic. But I’m even more of a sloth on other nights, and those are the ones that I screen from Twitter. The best way to describe how we present ourselves on social media is with a word courtesy of the inimitable Steven Colbert: truthiness.

We select which parts of ourselves we share with the world. I can show you only real things – my actual bookshelf, the current state of my dining table, etc – but you still only see the aspects I want you to. It does’t mean that I'm lying about who I am and it doesn't mean that those bits and pieces aren't real, but it does mean that you get a picture of me that is truthy rather than true.

Unless you’re masochistic or you have some strange ulterior motive, that truthy version of you that the world sees is going to be the most idealized you can present. For example, you know about the bowl of pasta I made the other night – indulgent, maybe, but not decadent – rather than the two packets of Kraft Mac & Cheese that I microwaved and wolfed down in the space of five minutes. The world of social media gets the real me, but it gets the best real me I can present.

So here’s the question that the breakup left me with: what does it mean when someone doesn't like the best real you that you can piece together, and where do you go from there?