Who am I without the filters? Without the makeup? Without the masks? Without the expensive clothes and Coach bags? Who am I underneath the high doses of Valencia and Mayfair obscuring every pixel on my Instagram pictures? I am a girl cowering behind societal stigmas in fear of facing ruthless judgement. We all want to be accepted, and apparently theses masks and filters are the only way to achieve the life-long goal of appreciation. 

 

In a world blackened with brand names and bar codes, each individual is given the opportunity to express themselves in their own "unique" way. Nike or Adidas? Fraternity Collection or Chubby Shorts? Lily Pulitzer or Coco Chanel? These titles do not define us, however, they are solely present to give insight to who our souls really are. 

 

What is the difference between adjusting my tooth paste brand and electronically filtering my teeth to dazzle with whiteness? 

 

How does putting a filter on my Instagram picture define my character? My emotional, psychological and mental attributes would be identical regardless of my physical caliber of beauty. Who am I underneath the 345 likes I get? Or the 35 favorites and retweets I obtain? I am the girl who works hard to look good in Instagram pictures. I am the girl who is too quiet to acknowledge a comedic thought I had aloud so instead I let 140 characters define me. My Facebook statuses apparently are the only true form of identification I have. 

 

 I am just like every other 17 year old teenage girl, trapped behind a glass screen. Like a game of Pac Man, I weave in and out between the gaps alongside the icons of the social media apps, changing my mask with each turn to fit accordingly.  

 

Society stands before us and challenges us to acknowledge our natural beauty as it chucks bottles of foundation, eyeliner and eyeshadow at us from a distance because we're obviously too disgusting to look at without it. Apple suggest these application games you'll just love! They offer us the ability to take a selfie and electronically alter our physical appearances. Here's what you'd look like with blue eyeshadow, short hair, strong eyebrows, tan skin, blue eyes, brown eyes, green eyes, red eyes, purple eyes, as if that defines who we are.  They've created apps like Tinder which categorize us by our physical beauty. Speed dating based on our genetics, on our filters. Challenging us to channel our most shallow methods of selection. Adjusting the contrast and the exposure on our pictures to work to our advantage directly correlates to the numbing effects of alcohol.  It blurs the truth, numbs the pain and gives off the impression of perfection all around you.  Filters allow us to pinpoint our blemishes and obscure every imperfection, while at the same time blowing up the focal points in such a way that the problem zones seem to fade out of existence without a trace.  

 

Growing up in a world where electronics were still just breaking the horizon of society, we had to look at other sources to decide our potential.  The older girls, the beautifully stunning women on the cover of Cosmopolitan magazine were the role models for our existences. We spent years attempting to fix our hair to cascade our shoulders in the most perfect way, or trying to mold our waists to cinch at the optimal circumference as if that would allow us the opportunity to be loved. We later saw magazines like PlayBoy and we learned that lust is an equal component in the concoction of being a beautiful woman.  We began letting our crew neck t-shirts crumble into v-necks, all in hopes that a boy would notice a small shadow of cleavage on our chests and decide we were worthy of affection.  We have been raised in a society where being beautiful is more influential than an individual's personality.  

 

These filters are a way to mask our impurities, which growing up, we were told must be obscured.  We watched women like Cinderella, a common household slave, have gorgeous men fall in love with them based on a simple change in wardrobe. As if it were that simple. So find me a couple of birds, a few mice and some woman with a magical stick of plastic to convert me into this majestic form of a woman, because, obviously, I'm not enough.  Peter Pan said You can fly! With a little bit of faith, trust and pixie dust. Well I guarantee if I jumped off a roof right now, no matter how much I trusted in my abilities, I would splat into the ground like the smashing of Cinderella's pumpkin at midnight. Without that dust my existence cannot be deemed sufficient. Without these filters I have been categorized as sub par, as ugly.  My filters are my fairy godmother, because I wasn't actually given one. 

 

When Catholics go to confession, they have the opportunity to stand behind a curtain and confess their sins to the God they believe in. As if God can't see them. As if it truly is a blind conversation, as if love were truly blind. But in this day and age, we are told to be beautiful, to wear heels, to smile brighter than any other girl in the room. To fix our hair, to dress to command respect, yet we know we'll never be enough. Because alongside those demands for our beauty, they are chased with the calls of hatred and contrast. Be beautiful, but not so much.  Wear heels, but those make you look like a hooker.  Smile so bright you'll be seen from space, but don't artificially whiten them because then you're just fake.  Dress to command respect, but don't be intimidating because no man likes a strong woman. Make your profiles so stunning the world can't help but stare, yet if you use filters to enhance your beauty your appearance is just as irrelevant as you are. Our filters are the pieces of duct tape we use in attempt to clog the holes in the titanic disaster of our physical beings.  Our filters are the Hail Mary attempt at being viewed as beautiful, stunning ... worthy.

 

So society asks, Well, who are you actually? I am an insecure high school girl, who has undergone severe bullying, death of loved ones, depression, anxiety, paranoia and awkward moments.  But my filters do not define me.  They define society.