A Selfie Quotes

I am so ready to hunt down those tiny adorable creatures and give them what for,” said Emma. “SO READY.” “Emma . . .” “I may even tie bows on their heads.” “We have to interrogate them.” “Can I get a selfie with one of them first?” “Eat your toast, Emma.

I think being yourself—your true, entire self—is always going to feel like you’re swimming upstream.” “Yeah,” she said. “But if the last few years with you have been any indication, I think it also feels like taking your bra off at the end of the day.

WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?’ Wadjet roared. ‘YOU DARE TAKE A SELFIE WITH THE COBRA GODDESS?

Honestly, Bessie? People don't care about anyone but themselves. They don't notice anything. They are never looking at what's interesting. They're always looking at themselves.

The addiction to our mobiles may insidiously unlock evil actions by helplessly surrendering to the plague of blatant indifference, arrogant inattention, and flighty bee-lining and sophisticated acts of revenge. Smartphones may unstitch positive points in our lives and incidentally enchant us by instant selfies but, with some, they might inexorably trigger off shabby and despicable practices. ("Even if the world goes down, my mobile will save me" )

Your self…is other people, all the people you're tied to, and it's only a thread.

Selfies, they call 'em, and that makes sense 'cause even though they're sending these pictures to others, it still smells like selfish to me. Is that why they call it an "I phone"? 'Cause it's all about me me me. Like talking to hear yourself talk.

The 'Selfie Stick' has to top the list for what best defines narcissism in society today.

Our culture today is obsessively focused on unrealistically positive expectations: Be happier. Be healthier. Be the best, better than the rest. Be smarter, faster, richer, sexier, more popular, more productive, more envied, and more admired. Be perfect and amazing and crap out twelve-karat-gold nuggets before breakfast each morning while kissing your selfie-ready spouse and two and a half kids goodbye. Then fly your helicopter to your wonderfully fulfilling job, where you spend your days doing incredibly meaningful work that’s likely to save the planet one day. But

What a tragic waste of engagement (selfies). Enjoy the moment. Do something more worthwhile with your time, anything. Stare out the window and think about life.

People have to share everything they do these days, from meals, to nights out, to selfies of themselves half naked in a mirror The borders between public and private are dissolving

I think being yourself—your true, entire self—is always going to feel like you’re swimming upstream.

Truth is, we all project a false front to the world, peppering our social media pages with witty words and silly emoticons. Life narrowed down to 140 characters, staged selfies, and tirades over opinion posts. Life lived for the approval of the masses, all while tearing strangers down for the slightest misstep.

Do you want me to take one of those creepy, self-indulgent selfies of my stomach and send it to you?" Luc asked. "Then you can check me out whenever you want, even when I'm not around.

A selfie is a proof that either we are very lonely or too self absorbed to ask others to take our picture.

Yo mama so fat she uses Google Earth to take a selfie.

Beware of those who are too focused with polishing and beautifying their outer shells. They lack true substance to understand that genuine beauty is reflected from the heart that resides inside.

The only thing we can never get enough of is love. And the one thing we never give is enough love.

Jules: So first, breakfast, and afterward - piskie hunting. Emma: I am so ready to hunt down those tiny adorable creatures and give them what for. SO READY. Jules: Emma... Emma: I may even tie bows on their heads. Jules: We have to interrogate them. Emma: Can I get a selfie with one of them first? Jules: Eat your toast, Emma.

Suit yourself.’ Sadie shouldered her pack, then helped Annabeth up. ‘You say Carter drew a hieroglyph on your boyfriend’s hand. All well and good, but I’d rather stay in touch with you directly.’ Annabeth smirked. ‘You’re right. Can’t trust boys to communicate.’ They exchanged cell-phone numbers. ‘Just don’t call unless it’s urgent,’ Annabeth warned. ‘Cell-phone activity attracts monsters.’ Sadie looked surprised. ‘Really? Never noticed. I suppose I shouldn’t send you any funny-face selfies on Instagram, then.’ ‘Probably not.’ ‘Well, until next time.’ Sadie threw her arms round Annabeth.

A good selfie is when you successfully capture the feeling of that very moment!

No job is complete until the selfie is posted.

With the selfies, a photographer has finally found his place in a photograph.

A selfie has more face and fewer feelings.

Let's take a selfie. We can't, our phones are dead, remember? We'll just have to have the memory in our hearts like the old days.

In the last 10 years, we have seen a rise in selfishness: selfies, self-absorbed people, superficiality, self-degradation, apathy, and self-destruction. So I challenge all of you to take initiative to change this programming. Instead of celebrating the ego, let's flip the script and celebrate the heart. Let's put the ego and celebrity culture to sleep, and awaken the conscience. This is the battle we must all fight together to win back our humanity. To save our future and our children.

It may seem as though the self—your self—is the “thing” that does the perceiving. But this is not how things are. The self is another perception, another controlled hallucination, though of a very special kind.

The age of the Internet, it is said, is the age of the self and the selfie. The world is full of people full of themselves. In such an age, “I post, therefore I am.

In the fancy spectacle of life, aspire to find a joy that does not need an audience.

The rise of selfie culture isn’t about vanity; it’s about women taking back control of our images—and our self-images. I don’t think that’s a bad thing. Discuss amongst yourselves.

I truly believe this generation is full of moronic idiots. Baes and Hashtags? Selfies? What the hell happened

Anyone can smile for a photo, but who is still smiling after the selfie?

Soon we were downloading ourselves into laptops, phones or pads, freer than we had hoped, floating centrifugally across the Internet to swim alongside forgotten selfies, spam emails and porn

A TIP FOR MEN The more selfies a woman takes, the more selfish and self-absorbed she is. She produces serial images of herself because she lacks true substance and has nothing else to offer. And also, any woman who holds her head up way too high is trying to breathe from her own pollution. A TIP FOR WOMEN: The same goes for men.

What’s really important is the essence of the life lived. A college degree isn’t going to tell me how well somebody lived, now is it? Does having a boat mean you lived a good life? Or a summerhouse? What about saving each valentine your son made or even working a roadside jam stand? A million, what do they call it?—selfies—on some silly website. What does it all mean, in the end?

What a tragic waste o engagement (selfies). Enjoy the moment. Do something more worthwhile with your time, anything. Stare out the window and think about life.

My selfie my life!

If I didn’t take selfies, my friends wouldn’t even know what I look like.

A beautiful face will age and a perfect body will change, but an awesome person will always be an awesome person.

Taking a lot of selfies doesn’t mean you live an examined life.

Whenever someone begins pompously complaining that civilization is on a downhill slide, because people participate in harmless behaviors like taking selfies or watching reality television, a good response is to stare at them and respond, “You know, we used to burn people for being witches. That’s what people used to do in their spare time.

One of the dictums that defines our culture is that we can be anything we want to be – to win the neoliberal game we just have to dream, to put our minds to it, to want it badly enough. This message leaks out to us from seemingly everywhere in our environment: at the cinema, in heart-warming and inspiring stories we read in the news and social media, in advertising, in self-help books, in the classroom, on television. We internalize it, incorporating it into our sense of self. But it’s not true. It is, in fact, the dark lie at the heart of the age of perfectionism. It’s the cause, I believe, of an incalculable quotient of misery. Here’s the truth that no million-selling self-help book, famous motivational speaker, happiness guru or blockbusting Hollywood screenwriter seems to want you to know. You’re limited. Imperfect. And there’s nothing you can do about it.

True friendship is trading photos from toilets. It’s a willingness to be vulnerable and stupid and irreverent in a way that other people can’t accept and that you can’t accept from other people.

Let’s all stop pretending that selfies are an aberration of the high art we’re creating with our smart phones or that posting a photo of yourself is somehow an interruption of the high-level discourse we are used to sharing on social media. You know what selfies can show you? Yourself. And you are worth looking at. You are worth marveling at.

Ask yourself this question: at the end of your life, is it really going to matter how many Likes you got?

Selfies are disgusting.

Ivy was it for me. She was my forever girl. For so long, I thought she didn’t exist, but now I saw I wouldn’t exist without her.

Selfie: A portrait of someone we used to know. Taken by someone we used to respect.

Lark: You got a phone??? I love the selfie. Zach: I did. I’ve joined the 21st Century. Lark: Does this mean you’ll send me a dick pic later? Zach: Let’s not get carried away.

Of course you're not egotistical. I checked, and you look very humble in all 900 of the selfies you posted on facebook.

According to Aristotle, friends hold a mirror up to each other. This mirror allows them to see things they wouldn’t be able to observe if they were holding up the mirror to themselves. (We think of it as the difference between a shaky selfie and a really clear portrait taken by somebody else.) Observing ourselves in the mirror of others is how we improve as people. We can see our flaws illuminated in new ways, but we can also notice many good things we didn’t know were there. Until a friend specifically requests you bring your lemon meringue pie to brunch, you might not realize you’ve become an excellent baker. Until a friend finds the courage to tell you that she never feels like you’re listening to her, you might not realize this is how others are perceiving your chatterbox tendencies. After the third friend in a row calls you for help asking for a raise, you might finally give yourself credit as a pretty good negotiator. Once you’ve seen yourself in a mirror of friendship—in both positive and challenging ways—the reflection cannot be unseen.

The ego—one’s sense of self—is an abstract concept; it’s hard to define it concretely. Picture it as a house built brick by brick. It protects you from the stresses of the outside world, providing a metaphorical home to shelter in—a safe place.

Until you showed up, I thought we were going to have some fun. Maybe play some games, throw a party, break into a top security building and take selfies? You pick, though I’m leaning toward the latter. I’d love to see the inside of the Pentagon.

Confidence is not posting endless selfies, or repeatedly protesting how happy or in love we are, it’s a subtle yet noticeable sheen that emanates from our being - our eyes, our words, our body language.

Do you ever just want to shut it all off? Not have to think about the next second of your life? Go on an unplanned road trip? Have a one-night stand with the cute guy you scrolled past on your timeline? Social media makes you think you have all this freedom, but you don’t. Not really. You’re stuck behind a device watching others live out their dreams. You post selfies of fake smiles and expensive clothes, hoping that someone will envy you. Reassure you just how good you have it. All the while hating your life. “Smile, dear, you never know who is watching you,

paint your nails black, rub glitter on your face, take so many selfies, compliment all your sisters (no, not just your cis-ters), & hex any man who catcalls you. - a note from me scrawled on your mirror.

Do you really see our bodies as so unworthy of wearing your clothes? But the hard truth is that a lot of people in the fashion world would really prefer that I weren’t in it. And I think a lot of plus-size women feel that way in our day-to-day lives. For us, something as simple as posting an outfit-of-the-day selfie is a political action, and we have to live with all

Sylvia was an early literary manifestation of a young woman who takes endless selfies and posts them with vicious captions calling herself fat and ugly. She is at once her own documentarian and the reflexive voice that says she is unworthy of documentation. She sends her image into the world to be seen, discussed, and devoured, proclaiming that the ordinariness or ugliness of her existence does not remove her right to have it.

If you weren’t an extrovert, if you weren’t shoving yourself out into the open all the time, posting selfies everywhere, demanding attention, talking constantly, people just gazed right past you. You got overlooked.

To get lost in a story, or even a study, is inherently to acknowledge the voice of another, to broaden one’s perspective beyond the confines of one’s own understanding. A good book is the opposite of a selfie; the right book at the right time can expand our lives in the way love does, making us more thoughtful, more generous, more brave, more alert to the world’s wonders and more pained by its inequities, more wise, more kind.

Often, people can display selflessness outside their home. People may help out in their community, or at temples or schools, and some may even make sure that they get a selfie to announce to the world that they have helped. But at home, they may not express the same service mentality. I believe that selflessness starts at home; with the ones we love the most. Are we doing what we can to help them? Are we there for them to help them physically as well as emotionally?

Don’t call me that.” She looked down. I tipped her face back up. “What?” “Baby.” Shit. I called her baby? “Why not?” I asked. I was supposed to tell her she’d been hearing things. That grief was making her cuckoo. “Because I like it.

Have you ever jumped out of a plane in a parachute, down to meet up with people who’d take selfies of your blood on their faces for breakfast?

I'm looking for something new to believe in that isn't the way people yearn at night in the city.

I don't take good selfies, so I can only imagine how I'll look in a mug shot.  

Okay, where’s the camera icon?” Setne fumbled with his phone. “We have to get a picture together before I destroy you.” “Destroy me?” demanded the cobra goddess. She lashed out at Setne, but a sudden gust of rain and wind pushed her back. I was ten feet away from Annabeth. Riptide’s blade glowed as I dragged it through the mud. “Let’s see.” Setne tapped his phone. “Sorry, this is new to me. I’m from the Nineteenth Dynasty. Ah, okay. No. Darn it. Where did the screen go? Ah! Right! So what do modern folks call this…a snappie?” He leaned in toward the cobra goddess, held out his phone at arm’s length, and took a picture. “Got it!” “WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?” Wadjet roared. “YOU DARE TAKE A SELFIE WITH THE COBRA GODDESS?” “Selfie!” said the magician. “That’s right! Thanks. And now I’ll take your crown and consume your essence. Hope you don’t mind.

This is where low self-esteem gets built into the core of the machine. For Aristotle, a person had innate potential and was naturally moving towards perfection. But for the Christians, a person was born in a state of sin and falling towards hell. God, not the individual, was where perfection lay. This meant that a person wanting to become more perfect would have to engage in a constant war with themselves – a war, not with forces out in the world, but with their own soul, their conscience, their mind and thoughts. And because perfection only existed outside the human realm, that struggle would always be hopeless. The Christians had given the Western self a soul, and then begun to torture it.

Nothing had changed and yet everything had changed, and it was this invisibility that he found most disturbing, for it depicted by omission all the old freedoms. The vitality hidden in things that may have once got on his nerves had been snuffed out: there were no groups of tourists taking selfies; no men of God yelling fire and brimstone; no demonstrators marching or chaining themselves onto railings; no feverish sounds, or smells of sugared almonds and poisonous hot dogs – unbelievably no smells at all. The loudness of these absences was unendurable; it was all Mr Rubens could do to click his eyes wide open, and cast around for memories that might oppose the deadly dearth.

Develop a healthy relationship with food. If you’re hungry, eat. If you’re full, don’t eat. Eat vegetables to be good to your body, but eat ice cream to be good to your soul. Take pictures of yourself frequently. Chronicle your life. Selfies are completely underrated. Even if the pictures are unflattering, keep them anyway. There will always be mountains and cities and buildings, but you will never look the same way as you did in that one moment in time. Your worth does not depend on how desirable someone finds you. Spend less time in front of the mirror and more time with people who make you feel beautiful. Close doors. Don’t hold onto things that no longer brings you happiness and do not help you grow as a person. It is okay to walk away from toxic relationships. You are not weak for letting go. Forgive yourself. We all have something in our pasts that we are ashamed of, but they only weigh us down if we allow them to. Make amends with the old you and work every day to become the person that you’ve always wanted to be.

Celebrities understand the economy of thinness, and most of them are willing to participate in that economy, taking to social media, where they pose for selfies with their cheeks sucked in to make themselves appear even gaunter. The less space they take up, the more they matter.

We are imperfect creatures created with egotistical defects, insecurities and an incomprehensible desire for perfection and the excessive use of social media feeds the raging fires within, most of the time adding salt to wounds we never knew existed and at times creating new ones.

It all goes back to the red string of my imaginary kite—if you believe something, other people will believe it, too. You can’t convince someone else—whether it’s a potential employer, a loan officer at the car dealership, or someone you’ve been crushing on—that you’re amazing and terrific if you don’t actually think you are. This isn't the false confidence that comes from getting a bunch of "likes" on your Instagram selfies, but a deep-down, unshakeable self-confidence that persists even when things aren't going all that great.

The fact that she was even lying here in this bed with me right now was a freaking miracle. I’d never treated any girl so horribly in my life. Wasn’t that a sobering thought? The one woman I wanted above all others was the one I treated the worst.

The Daily Telegraph reported next day on how the local authorities were apologizing for not having given enough notice about the film unit’s plans to people who lived in the city, and how public confusion and offence had soon shifted to a mass taking of selfies.

Expert Pamela Rutledge explained in an article for Psychology Today that taking selfies is indicative of the tornado of narcissism. The selfie is the appropriate snapshot of the state of identity in the West. Paranoia that people don’t see us, understand us, or find us essential is pushing, pushing, pushing self-expression to the center of our daily life.

Western culture prefers us not to believe we're defined or limited. It wants us to buy the fiction that the self is open, free, nothing but pure, bright possibility; that we're all born with the same suite of potential abilities, as neural 'blank slates', as if all human brains come off the production line at Foxconn. This seduces us into accepting the cultural lie that says we can do anything we set our minds to, that we can be whoever we want to be. This false idea is of immense value to our neoliberal economy. The game it compels us to play can best be justified morally if all the contestants start out with an equal shot at winning. Moreover, if we believe we're all the same, this legitimizes calls for deregulated corporation and smaller government: it means that men and women who lose simply didn't want it badly enough, that they just didn't believe - in which case, why should anyone else catch their fall?

Our culture today is obsessively focused on unrealistically positive expectations: Be happier. Be healthier. Be the best, better than the rest. Be smarter, faster, richer, sexier, more popular, more productive, more envied, and more admired. Be perfect and amazing and crap out twelve-karat-gold nuggets before breakfast each morning while kissing your selfie-ready spouse and two and a half kids goodbye. Then fly your helicopter to your wonderfully fulfilling job, where you spend your days doing incredibly meaningful work that’s likely to save the planet one day.

Ever wondered why front camera of cellphones makes people look better while the rear camera makes them look how they are? Because when you click picture using front camera, you see yourself on screen, and that's how you should look at yourself, a better version of yourself. Whereas, the rear camera shows how other's see you. With your flaws and qualities. No added layer to hide or enhance your ownself. This is how you should learn to overcome your flaws and better your qualities.

So, maybe we’re the generation of the selfie, but we’re also the generation that grew up in a tainted, Photoshopped world with every impossible beauty standard shoved down our throat through a tube because eating has become a guilty pleasure and condemning beauty ideals won’t go straight to our thighs. And if, by chance, we are able to destroy the demons that you’ve planted inside of us with your constant advertisements and rules that play behind our eyelids and take root in our brains, then let us take our fucking pictures and capture that moment when we felt beautiful because all this world has taught us is that our beauty is the greatest measure of our worth. Scoff at our phones all you like, these delicate extensions of our fingers, but know that through this technology that you couldn’t even begin to understand, we have smudged the entire world with our fingerprints. We are the generation of knowledge, and we are learning more than any that came before us. So, frown at my typing fingers; I am using them to grasp power by the throat. Try to invalidate us, but we’ve heard our parents talking about the world’s crashing and burning since we had sprung from the womb. We know you’ve fucked up, and we’re angry about it- the kind of anger that fuels knowledge, that I feel in my veins every time I read the news from my phone before school, that sticks in my throat like honey in a debate; the kind of anger that simmers, that sharpens teeth into daggers, that makes this generation more dangerous than you could have ever imagined. We are the generation of change, and goddammit, we’re coming.

Kad ti sljedeći put naumpadne da "okineš selfi", pokusaj uslikati dušu. Jer, to si ti! Tijelo koje predstavljaš je Allahovo davanje koje je On učinio kakvim je htio. A dušu ti je u emanet ostavio, da je uljepšavaš, ili upropaštavaš. Da se ona slika, malo bi fotografija bilo stavljeno na uvid čak i pred vlastite oči.

Our culture today is obsessively focused on unrealistically positive expectations: Be happier. Be healthier. Be the best, better than the rest. Be smarter, faster, richer, sexier, more popular, more productive, more envied, and more admired. Be perfect and amazing and crap out twelve-karat-gold nuggets before breakfast each morning while kissing your selfie-ready spouse and two and a half kids goodbye. Then fly your helicopter to your wonderfully fulfilling job, where you spend your days doing incredibly meaningful work that’s likely to save the planet one day. But when you stop and really think about it, conventional life advice—all the positive and happy self-help stuff we hear all the time—is actually fixating on what you lack.

Really neat that human beings conquered the Earth invented poetry and mathematics and the combustion engine, discovered that time and space are relative, built machines big and small to ferry us to the moon for some rocks or carry us to McDonald's for a strawberry-banana smoothie. Very cool we split the atom and bestowed upon the Earth the Internet and smartphones and, of course, the selfie stick. But the most wonderful thing of all, our highest achievement and the one thing for which I pray we will always be remembered, is stuffing wads of polyester into an anatomically incorrect, cartoonish ideal of one of nature's most fearsome predators for no other reason than to soothe a child.

Brody’s problem is that he has zero respect for the opposite sex. “Does he really refuse to take selfies with a girl, or was he making that up to toy with me?” Sabrina asks. “No, that’s a real thing for him. He thinks that any pictures of him with a girl pressed up to his side would drive other potential hookups away. Selfies are a sign of commitment.” He’d expounded on this topic at some length after instructing me to keep my Tinder account active and to not tell anyone I was having a kid. “Ugh. He’s so gross.” “I signed up for a fake Instagram account so I can troll him. When he posts something, I’ll wait a day or so and then pop on to comment about how cool it is that he and my grandpa are rocking the same shirt. I’ve done that twice now and each time, I’ve seen him shoving the shirt down the apartment’s trash compactor.” Sabrina throws back her head and cackles. “You do not.” “Hey, we all have to get our jollies somewhere, right? For me, it’s negging Brody on Instagram and choking my baby mama in breathing classes.

We never really had a beginning. For months, we fought and insulted each other. Then we combusted into bed. We pretended what happened didn't matter, but it did, Blondie. You matter." "Braeden," I whispered and took a step farther into the room. He shook his head. "All the shit with Missy, and Zach… hell, even with my father, it got in our way. I let it. This is me swearing I won't let it again. This is me swearing this is our beginning. You're it for me." He took a breath, and I watched his chest rise with it. His dark, chocolate eyes latched onto mine. "Because I still don't like you, Blondie." I started to roll my eyes. "I love you." My heart stopped. Everything stopped. That place deep down inside me burned and tingled. "I don't like you either." My voice wobbled. The intensity of his stare drilled right into me, like he was seating desperately for my reply. "I love you so damn much," I confessed. -Braeden & Ivy

It might be extremely dorky to point out, but who you are is singular. It’s science. No one else in existence has your point of view or exact genome (identical twins and clones, look for inspiration elsewhere, please). That is why we need people to share and help us understand one another better. And on a bigger level than just taking a selfie. (Not hating on selfies, but a few is enough. You look good from that angle; we get it.) We need the world to hear more opinions, give glimpses into more diverse subcultures. Are you REALLY into dressing your cat in handcrafted, historically authentic outfits? No problem, there are people out there who want to see that! Probably in excruciating detail!

If the pursuit of happiness pulls us all back into childishness, then fake freedom conspires to keep us there. Because freedom is not having more brands of cereal to choose from, or more beach vacations to take selfies on, or more satellite channels to fall asleep to. That is variety. And in a vacuum, variety is meaningless. If you are trapped by insecurity, stymied by doubt, and hamstrung by intolerance, you can have all the variety in the world. But you are not free.

Take more selfies. Not because you need validation or likes or comments. but because you are here on this earth. Alive and holy and true. And yes, your beauty deserves to be seen and known, most especially by you. You are worthy of being the subject of your own art. It is okay to capture the process of your own becoming. To be your own kind and gentle and fierce witness. To learn the truth of your eyes and your skin and your bones. To choose to show what wants to be shown, to name what wishes to be named, to claim ownership of the story that is told about you by being the one to tell it. Dear girl. YOU are the greatest art you will ever create. The masterpiece. The magnum opus. You’re it. However you want to be. Look at yourself now, miracle that you are, look at yourself and soak in the wonder, until you no longer want to look away.

Already, every day, millions of us are needled and outraged by the hysterically stated views of those with whom we don’t agree. Our irritation pushes us into a place of fiercer opposition. The more emotional we become, the less rational we become, the less able to properly reason. In an attempt to quieten the stress, we begin muting, blocking, de-friending and unfollowing. And we’re in an echo chamber now, shielded from diverse perspectives that might otherwise have made us wiser and more empathetic and open. Safe in the digital cocoon we’ve constructed, surrounded by voices who flatter us with agreement, we become yet more convinced of our essential rightness, and so pushed even further away from our opponents, who by now seem practically evil in their bloody-minded wrongness

So why is it so hard to be kind? Why does being nice feel so embarrassing? Why can't we just say "Hey, it could've been me. I've sent those emails. I've taken those selfies. I've tried to hide stuff from my parents. It could've been me, so I'm gonna help you through it. I'm gonna stand with you through the waves of mortifying embarrassment and it's gonna be okay. It's gonna be okay because we're gonna make it okay." Imagine what would happen if compassion were normal. Imagine how many people would still be here. Imagine that.

Very cool we split the atom and bestowed upon the Earth the Internet and smartphones and, of course, the selfie stick. But the most wonderful thing of all, our highest achievement and the one thing for which I pray we will always be remembered, is stuffing wads of polyester into an anatomically incorrect, cartoonish ideal of one of nature’s most fearsome predators for no other reason than to soothe a child.

Everything about my best friend was misleading to the men of Chicago. She was eccentric and loud, prone to heavy drinking and all-night partying, comfortable with casual hookups, always the funniest and most shocking person in any room, and she posted mostly nude selfies with increasing regularity. She was enigmatic, the closest to the stereotypical male fantasy I’d ever seen outside of a movie, but deep down she was, completely, a romantic.

Social networking technology allows us to spend our time engaged in a hypercompetitive struggle for attention, for victories in the currency of “likes.” People are given more occasions to be self-promoters, to embrace the characteristics of celebrity, to manage their own image, to Snapchat out their selfies in ways that they hope will impress and please the world. This technology creates a culture in which people turn into little brand managers, using Facebook, Twitter, text messages, and Instagram to create a falsely upbeat, slightly overexuberant, external self that can be famous first in a small sphere and then, with luck, in a large one. The manager of this self measures success by the flow of responses it gets. The social media maven spends his or her time creating a self-caricature, a much happier and more photogenic version of real life. People subtly start comparing themselves to other people’s highlight reels, and of course they feel inferior.

Everyone and their TV commercial wants you to believe that the key to a good life is a nicer job, or a more rugged car, or a prettier girlfriend, or a hot tub with an inflatable pool for the kids. The world is constantly telling you that the path to a better life is more, more, more—buy more, own more, make more, fuck more, be more. You are constantly bombarded with messages to give a fuck about everything, all the time. Give a fuck about a new TV. Give a fuck about having a better vacation than your coworkers. Give a fuck about buying that new lawn ornament. Give a fuck about having the right kind of selfie stick. Why? My guess: because giving a fuck about more stuff is good for business.

The contemporary West is the most individualistic era of all time. Its central values are in ethics, autonomy; in politics, individual rights; in culture, postmodernism; and in religion, ‘spirituality’. Its idol is the self, its icon the ‘selfie’, and its operating systems the free market and the post-ideological, managerial liberal democratic state. In place of national identities we have global cosmopolitanism. In place of communities we have flash-mobs. We are no longer pilgrims but tourists. We no longer know who we are or why.

El primer plano hace que el cuerpo aparezca en su conjunto de forma pornográfica. Lo despoja del lenguaje. Lo pornográfico es que al cuerpo lo despojen de su lenguaje. Las partes del cuerpo filmadas en primer plano surten el efecto de parecer órganos sexuales: "El primer plano de una cara es tan obsceno como el de un sexo. Es un sexo. Cualquier imagen, cualquier forma, cualquier parte del cuerpo vista de cerca es un sexo." En el primer plano del rostro se difumina por completo el trasfondo. Conduce a una pérdida del mundo. La estética del primer plano refleja una sociedad que se ha convertido ella misma en una sociedad del primer plano. El rostro da la impresión de haber quedado atrapado en sí mismo, volviéndose autorreferencial. Ya no es un rostro que contenga mundo, es decir, ya no es expresivo. El selfie es, exactamente, este rostro vacío e inexpresivo. La adicción al selfie remite al vacío interior del yo.  Hoy, el yo es muy pobre en cuanto a formas de expresión estables con las que pudiera identificarse y que le otorgaran una identidad firme. Hoy nada tiene consistencia. Esta inconsistencia repercute también en el yo, desestabilizándolo y volviéndolo inseguro. Precisamente esta inseguridad, este miedo por sí mismo, conduce a la adicción al selfie, a una marcha en vacío del yo, que nunca encuentra sosiego. En vista del vacío interior, el sujeto del selfie trata en vano de producirse a sí mismo. El selfie es el sí mismo en formas vacías. Estas reproducen el vacío. Lo que genera la adicción al selfie no es un autoenamoramiento o una vanidad narcisistas, sino un vacío interior.

This is how it should have been that first night down on the sand," he whispered. "This is our beginning Ivy. I want to make it official. I want there to be no doubt, 'cause I'm gonna do stupid shit all the time." I giggled, and his white teeth flashed. "I'm gonna leave the toilet seat up. I'm gonna be overprotective, probably bossy, and my temper is always gonna run hot." "I don't care," I told him, sliding my hands up to rest on his chest. "Tell me you'll be my girl, and I swear I'll love you with everything I got." "I'm always gonna be stubborn. I'm not gonna take your shit. My makeup will be all over the bathroom, and I still don't have a major. Oh, and I want to keep Prada. You have to like her, too." "I already told Rim to get your adoption paperwork ready for that rat." Then in lower tones, he said, "She's grown on me." I smiled. He totally loved Prada. "So what's my answer?" He tightened his arms around my waist. I pretended to think it over. A girl should never sound too eager-even if she was practically peeing herself with glee. "Blondie," Braeden growled. "I'm already yours, B. I have been for a long time.

Women with dark skin are sharing selfies on social media after decades of being underrepresented in the mainstream media. From what I have observed much of the dark skin adoration on social media appears to come from us - black women. We tend to use the appreciation hashtags with our own pictures of photographs of dark skin women whom we feel are stunning. While I am loving this fierceness.. There is just one sidetone to this revolution: I feel as if we are much more appreciated if we show more skin. The timelines are filled with absolutely beautiful dark-skinned women but most sadly most of the time they are all oiled up and showing their body parts in different angles. Now, I am definitely in to art and as a model I know that this comes with the territory. But we most not forget that we are Queens.. We need to stop degrading ourselves for likes on the gram. You don't have to be naked to show the world you're beautiful. You my sister are an African Queen. I feel as if black women are only appreciated if they wear very provocative clothes or if they do naked photoshoots. To me, it's degrading and reminds me of the time that we couldn't ride the bus because we were black. Women were seen as servants. The black women that weren't servants were sex slaves. We are not objects, we are not meat and people need to stop looking at us as sex objects. BUT we need to start respecting ourselves first! A black woman is a woman first and it should not even be necessary to specify the colour but this is the society we live in and I feel like I had to share this.

Olavismo. 1. Estilo de pensamento filosófico muito peculiar, que substitui o argumento pelo xingamento e o conceito pelo palavrão. 2. Fruto da expansão dos meios tecnológicos de informação, que, utilizando selfies e vídeos autoproduzidos, deixam aparecer na rede pessoas como se fossem “professores” e “intelectuais”, posando nas telas ao terem no fundo estantes decoradas com livros mal lidos e mal compreendidos. 3. Nome de uma corrente de fake-pensamento. "4. Expressão oriunda da composição de “Olá” e “revanchismo”, combinando alguém que chega de repente para dar a ideia aos governantes sem ideias de en-direitar o país com rifles e rifas e quem se sentiu a vida toda complexado por nunca ter conseguido entender o que é uma ideia e muito menos uma filosofia. 5. Nome da corrente ideológica que seduz, encanta e lidera o bando de ressentidos do país. 6. Uma forma bem específica de saudosismo: saudades da era medieval, saudades da teocracia, saudades de D. Pedro, saudades dos bons costumes. 7. Modo borrágico de expressar opiniões que procuram, em tese, chocar o senso comum, mas que nada mais fazem além de corroborar o pior dos sensos (o qual, infelizmente, muitas vezes é comum e quase sempre predominou ao longo da história). 8. Movimento de desespero final de quem quer encontrar uma identidade para chamar de sua e um líder para chamar de seu. 9. Espécie de fanatismo religioso que cultua o ódio e a intolerância travestidos de intelectualismo. 10. Seita seguida por pessoas particularmente vulneráveis a uma retórica violenta e macabra, mas perigosamente sedutora. 11. Doutrina do ter-razão-em-tudo quando não se tem razão em nada. Atribuindo a base dessa doutrina do ter-razão-em-tudo ao filósofo alemão Arthur Schopenhauer, é fácil constatar como olavistas não possuem o menor conhecimento nem de alemão e nem de filosofia, tendo (mal) entendido o próprio nome de Schopenhauer como “chope raro”, que, bebido, gera mal-entendidos dos princípios básicos da erística e da dialética. Com bases em erros fundamentais, o olavismo derivado desse “chope raro” (confundido com Schopenhauer) desenvolveu uma errística dislética, que se vale de argumentos nefastos (do latim nefas que significa ilícito) para destruir as questões mais lícitas do pensamento, da sociedade e da cultura. 11. Tradução google para o português bolsonarista da tradução google para o inglês trumpista da tradução google russa do resumo dos clássicos da extrema direita europeia, assinada por Dugin, ideólogo de Putin.

There’s our homecoming picture. Last Halloween, when I dressed up as Mulan and Peter wore a dragon costume. There’s a receipt from Tart and Tangy. One of his notes to me, from before. If you make Josh’s dumb white-chocolate cranberry cookies and not my fruitcake ones, it’s over. Pictures of us from Senior Week. Prom. Dried rose petals from my corsage. The Sixteen Candles picture. There are some things I didn’t include, like the ticket stub from our first real date, the note he wrote me that said, I like you in blue. Those things are tucked away in my hatbox. I’ll never let those go. But the really special thing I’ve included is my letter, the one I wrote to him so long ago, the one that brought us together. I wanted to keep it, but something felt right about Peter having it. One day all of this will be proof, proof that we were here, proof that we loved each other. It’s the guarantee that no matter what happens to us in the future, this time was ours. When he gets to that page, Peter stops. “I thought you wanted to keep this,” he said. “I wanted to, but then I felt like you should have it. Just promise you’ll keep it forever.” He turns the page. It’s a picture from when we took my grandma to karaoke. I sang “You’re So Vain” and dedicated it to Peter. Peter got up and sang “Style” by Taylor Swift. Then he dueted “Unchained Melody” with my grandma, and after, she made us both promise to take a Korean language class at UVA. She and Peter took a ton of selfies together that night. She made one her home screen on her phone. Her friends at her apartment complex said he looked like a movie star. I made the mistake of telling Peter, and he crowed about it for days after. He stays on that page for a while. When he doesn’t say anything, I say, helpfully, “It’s something to remember us by.” He snaps the book shut. “Thanks,” he says, flashing me a quick smile. “This is awesome.

Has someone made you feel shame for taking selfies? For daring to believe so much in your beauty, in your style, in your badassery, in your joy, in your body, in your sensuality, in your humanity that you'd be so audacious, so bold, so (insert judgmental word of choice here) to want to witness and be witnessed for who and what you are. ⠀ ⠀ Has someone out there sold you their own truth that this is conceited or narcissistic or superficial? How dare you think so much of yourself that you stop to take a photo?⠀ ⠀ Forget. those. people. ⠀ ⠀ Seriously. You are worthy of capture. Of celebration. Of admiration. You are worthy of being seen and witnessed. Of being looked at with awe and with joy. Just as you are, right now. All made up and wearing the outfit that makes you feel like you can take on the world or just waking up in bed, bare skin and messy hair and eyes hazy with dreams. ⠀ ⠀ Here's the thing. Self-portraiture in art is as old as time. We are fascinated with the visible proof of our own existence, our own reality, and for damn good reason. We are infinite and complex and ever changing. We are majestic and mundane. Self-portraits, regardless of the medium, offer us a way to capture ourselves at a specific moment in time. ⠀ ⠀ For me, this is an act of self-love. Of self-honoring. Of owning myself as beautiful and sovereign. It is the way I learned to look at myself without needing to look away. It is how I learned to trace the lines of my own being with the sort of admiration I used to reserve for others, for those I loved or for rarified celebrities I never thought I could live up to. ⠀ ⠀ When I stop to take a photo of myself, it is a way to say that I am here. I have something to say that can't be spoken in words. It might be deep and poetic, or maybe I just damn well love my outfit and think you should see it. And that yes, it is a way to say I want to be seen and I no longer hold shame in that wanting.