Is A Picture Worth Taking If You Don’t Put It On Social Media, We Investigate


IT’S a question that has baffled narcissistic social media users since the dawn of Bebo, is there any merit whatsoever to a picture that is not subsequently loaded up onto a social media profile?

WWN sent its chief Womanly Female Girl Things correspondent Anne Trope to find out:

After posing side on in the mirror to ensure you could see my pert bottom (I placed a bagel on each cheek underneath my dress to accentuate my curves, you can’t beat a bagel for a bum boost) I pressed the button on my phone and voila, my image had been captured. But this photo would be different, I would not upload it simultaneously to Facebook, Twitter, Whatsapp, Snapchat and Instagram. This is a photo I would not share online.

For those unfamiliar with what I’m saying, it may seem complex, but a brief look back on the history of mankind will enlighten you. As far back as 2011, many humans captured their image in .jpg form, but kept the image private, only occasionally sharing it after printing it out on an archaic machine known as a printer. The sharing would occur in homes, with the printed picture handed to friends, mothers, fathers, aunts and uncles.

I know it sounds strange but we’ve come such a long way since those backwards, electricity-less days.

What happens after taking the photo and not uploading it?

Not much is the answer, it sat there on my phone for what seemed like minutes, but was in fact a single minute. I stared at my selfie on my phone, my face smiling intensely, but something didn’t seem right. It felt empty, almost pointless.

Just what the fuck was the point of photographs before the internet was invented? There was no merit, no worth to this selfie. Where were the likes? The comments from men I’d never met, informing me what they’d like to do with me.

This photo, this offline creation, it had done nothing for my esteem, in fact my confidence was at all time low as I’d never felt more stupid. Taking a picture in my bedroom, on my own, and for what? So that no one could see how happy and fulfilled am I?

I began to become angry at being given this assignment, it was irresponsible of my employers to allow someone to take a photo they knew wouldn’t go on to re-grammed by random food bloggers who were just looking to pick up some extra followers. I was incensed.

What a waste of my time, this would probably get 500 likes easy if I uploaded it. Just look how fucking cute I looked!

What happened next went against all my journalistic principles, but it was in my mind the right thing to do.

Hand finger gravitated to a button, then another button. A blurred flurry of furious finger tapping mayhem. Before I knew what I had done, the photo became my new profile picture on Facebook, my latest Snap, my latest Gram, my everything.

It was an adrenaline rush like no other, and I began to question how foolish an assignment it was I had been set. But thankfully that itch beneath my skin was well and truly scratched.

However, a sinking feeling anchored itself in my stomach as the rousing sounds of notifications on my phone failed to materialise. The phone wasn’t broken, had it forgotten how to upload a photo so it had been so long since the last time I did it, an hour ago?

No response from friends, family, college buddies, coworkers, weird men on the internet?

What a waste of my time, it was worthy of 500 likes easy. Just look how fucking cute I looked!