Do I really like anything I see online?
I’m a girl who drinks matcha, carries an Owala, and listens to Clairo. I’ve read Normal People by Sally Rooney, and I have White Nights by Fyodor Dostoevsky on my to-be-read list. According to the internet, that means I have a “clean girl aesthetic”: someone who likes minimalism, prioritizes organization and routine, and does everything I mentioned above in a manner that seems very effortless or no-fuss.
You may already have an image of me in your head based on what I like, but how did we come to attach an identity to a random assortment of objects?
I made a personality out of the products I saw on social media, in the hopes that it would make me interesting or a better person.
I discovered most of the things I like, from niacinamide moisturizer to the Paper Bunny arc bag, while doomscrolling. I didn’t really mind all the ads or influencers telling me to buy something, but the more I saw these products, the more I thought that they could fit into my life. Maybe I was in fact a girl who liked wearing off-shoulder tops and long skirts. Maybe I should watch this TV show because apparently everyone likes it. But after a while, the clothes feel like somebody else’s skin, and my TV watchlist feels more like a chore than something I look forward to.
Some recommendations have stuck with me, but more often than not, I was becoming an amalgamation of items that were shown to me online. I made a personality out of the products I saw, in the hopes that it would make me interesting or a better person.
But that’s precisely their appeal: we depend on the products we see on social media because we’re afraid of trying new things and failing to like them. We crave cool and quirky personalities but not the dirty work of getting there. We see these products and lifestyles that people claim are good, that work, and we roll with it because it’s easier than going through the experience of figuring out who we are with no blueprint.
I think about the recent “performative male” trend, and how people started to make fun of the male archetype that drinks matcha, reads niche books, and listens to Clairo to woo a girl. In the grand scheme of things, aren’t we all performing when we show our interests? We place Smiskis, Hironos, and other trinkets in our person to signal that we are part of a community. We all want to belong, and with the lack of physical spaces, we have clung to material goods to find like-minded people. But with the oversaturation of social media and rapid trend cycles, it becomes harder to really connect. We are all provided similar products and experiences; it becomes harder to discern where our true personality ends and social media’s idealized version of us begins.
Sometimes, I wonder how much of myself is actually part of my core being. I usually introduce myself to others, especially now as an adult trying to make friends, based on my interests. When I post on social media, I tend to highlight a piece of clothing or an experience that makes me interesting. But I question what makes me interesting and authentically myself. What makes me worth knowing apart from what I post online? If I strip away all my trinkets, the media I consume, and everything tied to being a consumer, who am I?
I want to be remembered as kind, witty, and passionate. I want people to hear my stories. I wish my clothes and the way I present myself came organically from my adventures and the life I’ve lived.
I want to be remembered and thought of by what I have put into the world, rather than what I have taken from it. Perhaps it’s harder to sit with that feeling of being lost and confused, but it’s in distancing myself from the echo chambers of consumerism and immersing in experiences and being with people that I think I can find out who I am.
