My God, I'm so angry. I swear, it seems like this world we live in is designed to be triggering. The deeper we fall into scientific development compounded with the informational trades of the meta-verse, we are further and further away from what God intended.
My irritability no doubt comes from the fact that I had *eight* hours of screen time today. My body feels stiff and my eyes are in terrible shape. And because the internet is the internet, it knew exactly what content to show in order to piss me off.
First, it was Cameron Diaz–– two photos of her placed side-by-side, one at 21 years old and the other at her present 45. These are the types of posts that haunt me, and I always stupidly check for the comments that I know will be there, verifying that she was, in fact, prettier in her youth.
A sundry of other posts followed that one, all of them in some way or another re-enforcing the crippling ideals of beauty that make my stomach churn. I carefully assessed the profiles of former Victoria's Secret models to decide if they are still as beautiful in their middle age, if the various procedures anti-aging they've undergone actually worked, or if they just look like every other cosmetically altered person in the celebrity circle.
I sighed some comment to Chad about my ever-present fear of getting (looking) older and he mentioned a guy named Bryan Johnson, who supposedly, despite being 46, has a biological age of eighteen and is on track to live past 200.
The dude takes 111 supplements every day, doesn't eat after noon, and goes to bed at 8:30 every night, all in an effort to live as long as possible. He is frequently sporting hoodies and t-shirts from his own merch collection, identified by his straightforward brand moto (and ultimate goal) printed broadly across the chest: "Don't die."
His page is littered with photos from longevity summits he hosts at his home in Venice. Among the attendees are other bio-hacking pioneers, a slew of Kardashians, and big-name Instagram models I used to follow during previous seasons of my life.
Deeper into the spiral: I click on the tag of a girl I once idolized–– objectively perfect in every physical way, and has built a massive online following touting that fact. I unfollowed her some time ago, and I was amazed to see that in six years, she hasn't changed a bit. I can't help but wonder how much of that has to do with Bryan's age-defying practices.
The reason I went to her page in the first place is because I was curious to see if she had adapted with the times past the pre-pandemic, over sexualized era of Instagram. It seems to me that has gone out of style, but maybe that's just my own taste. I have to imagine there's some type of evolution required for a girl who builds her career as sex icon. I mean, she can't keep it up forever, can she?
And of course, saying these things makes me feel like a judgmental suburban Karen who is secretly harboring jealousy and truth be told, I really have no idea where I land with my sexuality, how much of it I want to use for my personal branding and how much effort I want to spend chasing perfection. I certainly don't want to end up like the "Don't die" guy.
All I know is, the burden of carrying these expectations is extremely heavy, and living in a world where they are constantly pressed upon every inhabitant is exhausting.
Ttyt,
Hannah