Will you accept this rose?

Left to our own devices for fifteen months, we have been immersed in an online space that was no longer voluntary but compulsory. With work existing remotely, video hangouts the new normal, and mobile dating apps and social platforms promoting safe digital ways to spend time with someone, there was no longer a way to opt-out of virtual existence.

In IRL, I am stone-faced and cold. I am ambivalent to a fault, casually indifferent, and exuding an eyeroll I never display. Icy to the core, I am emotionally distant; empathetic only to the chosen. I have a presence without uttering a damn word. I am surrounded by the fragile walls of porcelain I have built, patching cracks with clay, and the whole façade is destined to crash around my feet at any moment.

Social media penetrates our daily existence, and so does the carefully curated mask we exhibit to the world. We currently live within a “culture of self-disclosure”, where our daily actions are perceived to be vulnerable, emotionally charged insights into our insecurities and ‘true self’[1]. This constant self-branding as a compassionate, insightful, and self-realized individual peppers every feed: the humble brag image with the hashtag #blessed; vague-booking about gratitude in the face of perceived slights; disappearing images equally suited for a confessional booth or fifty cent peep show; heartfelt essays about trying to keep it real.