Hashtag

Who remembers when there was no such thing as a hashtag? I remember using the pound sign when I was done entering my PIN over the phone. Pound pound pound. The feel of my finger crushing the small plastic key. Who remembers buttons on phones? 

I remember when I didn’t care about follows and photo editing tools. Now I Snapseed; VSCO; filter my way into the Top Posts. It’s twisting my world through the lens of a kaleidoscope and I love it–superficial, rose-coloured, pixilated. I love it. 

It makes everything fit into small squares. It simplifies. Beautifies. Angle the camera. Add a lens flare. Birds-eye view. Folded clothes. Books on the shelf. Follow me. #selfie #art #truelove 

Is is my obsession with perfection that keeps adding hashtags? My fear of failure condenses everything into structured, streamlined, sanitised, satisfying, sensational photos. It keeps slathering tiny blue hypersensitive hyperlinks, anxiously awaiting a K beside my numbers. 5K. 15K. 35.7K. Stats. Photos. Edits. 

Hashtag 

It isn’t real. But it’s so beautiful. I don’t have to wait hours on a plane to fly off to Thailand. 

Hashtag

He loves me. He loves me not. Relationship goals. Actors. Models. Sex. 

Hashtag

Shop til you drop. What should I buy next. Ask a Kardashian. 

Hashtag

Couldn’t I live like this, always? Why ever leave my room, lol. Meme. 

Hashtag
O Brave New World, that has such #people in it!

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