I’m standing outside of the Eiffel tower in Paris. Permanently. From the way the small camera phone is tilted you can see my smile and a good portion of the tower. I, as well as everyone else behind me, is stuck in this position. Permanently. Our bright smiles completed by our empty, anxious eyes. We all look good. We’re in Paris after all. Permanently.
I am your picture. The one you posted on Instagram and Facebook, the one all your friends and family cluttered around like fish clutter to the surface of the water at feeding time saying things like “Oh! You look so happy!” or “Wow I wish I was there”. How many likes did you get? Do they like the experience they think I’m having or do they like the way the camera is tilted and my smile? Either way, it’s not me they like.
Please don’t think I’m trying to shame you. You are me. We are one. Only you are the better one. I am the one with tired feet thinking “Let’s just take the picture, get to the top, take another picture, and then go get something to eat.” I have been walking all day, trying to cram in as much of Paris as humanely possible, for I may never get another chance. I may never get another chance to prove to all my friends that I am actually very worldly, that I am actually cultured and experienced, not to mention I have the money and the time to take a plane all the way to Paris. I am the one with the vacant smile, trying to fool the camera that I am happy; and it works.
You are the better one. You will tell your friends of all the beggars that came up to you and bothered you. You’ll tell them about all the amazing food, the amazing people you saw, your hotel room, the person in the restaurant you talked to while eating escargot. Your stories are so interesting, your life so perfect! But you won’t mention me. Only briefly, maybe. It’s okay! I don’t blame you! I’m not particularly interesting. I’m just a photograph of a tall metal building and a face with a distant smile. You made me just to show that you have done the mandatory, boring things about being in Paris. You’re not alone.
From where I permanently stand I can see all the people taking pictures. Taking pictures. Taking more pictures. Tour guides telling people why they should take pictures. Beggars asking foreigners for money, and getting a surprising amount of money from those suckers. Pickpockets. In general, if I must say, there is a very unpleasant mood in the atmosphere, so it is not surprise that you prefer not to go into detail about this place. And it’s no wonder my smile does not meet my eyes, just as the camera cannot reach the top of the Eiffel Tower.
My friends are here too. They’re not in the picture; they’re taking their own picture. We’re not incredibly talkative at this time. After walking all day there’s only so many times you can hear “Wow, this is so amazing” without trying to rip your eardrums out. Because there is absolutely nothing amazing about sore feet and hunger until after they’re both gone. As long as they are present, not even God himself is amazing.
I am in the scariest place right now.
I am in pain, hungry, tired. My friends might not want to be friends with me anymore after this and we were once so close! I have gone way over my spending limit; I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m in debt, and I don’t like any of these people around me right now. They are all as shallow and insecure as I am, seeking validation through their travels and pictures. They want someone to tell them they’re exotic, someone to tell them how incredibly beautiful it is to have done what they’ve done.
None of us are great people but we act like we are. We act like we have control, happiness and high self-esteem. It’s all a façade. We don’t have any of that and that will not change, whether you have travelled the world or never left your hometown. Everything we think we are is a façade.
Next time you look at me I want you to think about what I am. I am vacant smiles with pain lurking just underneath the surface. I am a façade. I am your façade.
And we are both on a fast track going nowhere.