We Are *Such* Fucking Liars, Camille

Ever notice how when the women get together on any random Housewives show, they spend the first 8 hours of their time complimenting each other on their hair, makeup, outfits, shoes, etc.? Ever feel like it’s all fake AF? Sure, it’s all a show for the cameras. But maybe it’s a little more than that.

More and more, “screens” have become the default divider between people. Whether it’s a TV screen, a movie screen, a computer screen, a phone screen…we’ve created this barrier between us and “them,” whoever “they” are. For the introverts among us (me at the head of the ranks), these screens help to shield us from the more awkward parts of human communication. So, yay screens! But I think they’ve also turned us into a generation of fucking liars.

I used to weigh 110 pounds more than I do today (and at 5′ and 125 lbs., that’s saying a lot). At my top weight, I looked like a giant marshmallow with curly hair on top. I mean, I looked like I was gonna drop dead from an overdose of Jack in the Box churros. Really bad. Unhealthy bad.

But no matter how much weight I gained or how frighteningly sick I looked, people on FB and IG kept telling me how beautiful I was. They literally told me how I hadn’t aged a day since high school (when I weighed about what I do now). They complimented my cleavage. They cooed over my hair. They posted fire emojis and heart eyes emojis. AND THEY WERE ALL FUCKING LYING.

Think how much easier it is to lie in writing than it is to look someone in their eyes and fib. As a writer, I do it every. Single. Day. (J/K! I always tell you guys the truth, I swear. And you look GREAT, by the way.). I bet you do, too. Just like those bitches on Housewives–who tell people they look amazing when their wig’s askew, they’re wearing giant 80s-style shoulder pads, or they’re 55 and twerking in a fishnet swimsuit coverup (I’m looking at you, V. Gunvalson)–you tell your fat old friends on IG that they look like teenagers, when you secretly think they look like shit now that they stopped dying their roots. You tell your least fashionable friends you love their outfits. You tell them what a cute couple they make with their ugly AF husbands. ADMIT IT. YOU’RE A FUCKING LIAR.

I’m not judging. I’m just here to report on culture, not be its arbiter. Quite honestly, I *want* you to lie to me. Tell me I look hot. Tell me that you love my outfit (thank you, Old Navy, my fave designer). Tell me that I look gorge AF, even after I’ve been up all night.

And because I love you, I’ll lie to you, too.

Brianna

Yes, I’m laughing at you. Don’t take it personally. My great genius is discovering Jordan’s great genius and making chili. If I’m not here, I’m floating along a coral reef in the Caribbean.

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