A shutter closes; a phone flashes; the selfie-stick clicks. Just a fraction of a second, and the world is captured inside a tiny, impossible chip. Sometimes within a roll of film. Or on a polaroid that only dated people shake these days. Wherever it resides, I’m sure it is a happy photograph. Posed, with big grins and a carefully chosen backdrop.
But even if it is a candid shot, I’ll bet someone is laughing, or staring tearfully at a new-born. Maybe they’re wearing a meringue of a dress, confetti clinging to strands of carefully twirled hair. Perhaps there is a hand clutching a new set of keys, or someone perched in front of the Colosseum, or being handed a piece of paper, rolled up and tied with ribbon. Maybe that paper will get them a job one day.
We see photos like these every day. They are the fabric of our online lives. They delight us and evoke envy in equal measure. We all know this already. The politics of those pixels occupies countless articles and debates. The worlds they depict are artificial. Idealised. And have you noticed that not a single person has acne?
I have a guilty conscience. Let me explain: those who read this column regularly will know that I travelled for a time during the summer. This in itself is not the reason for my shame, other than the anxiety it caused my parents. No, leaving our cold shores wasn’t the problem. It’s what I sent back, carefully edited and sorted into perfectly titled Facebook albums, that I can’t settle within myself.
Photography is a wonderful artistic medium, and I spent the majority of my trip snapping away at the new architecture, people and landscapes. Looking back through those pictures is worth every minute I spent taking them. But where others see a shot of my beautiful best friend standing in the train station in Bologna, I know that only an hour before I had been sobbing uncontrollably. We had run out of money and were stranded, neither of us knowing if we were going to make it to our next destination.
If someone was to look through the photographs from Rome, they might note a handsome young man reappearing in many of the shots. They may wonder where we met, or if we’re still in touch. Most likely they wouldn’t notice at all. When I look back, I see a face that doesn’t keep promises. It is harder to smile in holiday snaps when your heart is bruised. I managed.
My face, freckly and a touch burnt, doesn’t appear much in the later photos. Paris looked idyllic in every shot, like a magazine editorial. Not a single croissant out of place, or a boutique without a meticulous display. The French say ‘lèche-vitrine’ to describe window shopping. It directly translates as ‘window-licking’. I would have happily licked every pane of glass that appeared in my photo album.
In reality, I struggled to even walk across the streets to take the photographs. A few days before stepping on the train to Paris, I fell down a ravine. A quick trip to A+E followed, compounded by a pharmacy prescription that drained my resources even further. Paris felt like a dream. Mostly because I spent the entire trip out of my mind on painkillers.
I could spend days writing captions to every photo, detailing exactly where the lies are hiding in each one. There are two reasons why I will not do that. The first being that nobody wants the illusion to be shattered. We all buy into it, otherwise we wouldn’t have social media accounts. There are plenty of places in the world to see people struggling. Most don’t want it in our newsfeeds. The second reason is that it is difficult to admit to. At the time, these beautiful, perfect pictures were one of the reasons I managed to continue our adventure. Travelling is a privilege. That doesn’t make it easy.
Most articles about this subject end in a similar manner. They suggest that we put our cameras down, and learn to appreciate ‘being in the moment’. I think this concept is just as idealised as the photos they deride. I adore using my camera, and my guilt over my picture-perfect holiday won’t alter that. What has changed is simple – next time I get out my lens, I will fill the tiny chip with some of the bad times too. I just wonder if anyone will want to see them.
By Alice Florence Orr | 15 September 2016