I’d like to snatch up my little family and run to a cabin in the woods.
Just a simple abode: two small bedrooms, a modest kitchen with a wood-burning stove, and ample forest to explore and discover the secrets of. Preferably enchanted, bonus points for being mildly haunted. Super bonus points for at least one (tame) Chupacabra.
Oh, and no WiFi.
Because, what in the name of everything holy is going on in the world? The former President was nearly killed — or maybe it was all staged. Right? Maybe it wasn’t a bullet but a piece of the teleprompter. Maybe that respectable, brave ex-firefighter and loving father was in on it and wanted to boost Trump’s numbers so much that he took a bullet for the man.
Probably not. And God, I seriously hope not. I prefer my assassination attempts to be committed by crazy, misguided wingnuts who think they’re doing the world a favour. I prefer them to be conspiracy-theory-free; thank you very much. Besides, what does it say about the kind of world we’re stuck in if it was all a big ruse?
Gross.
Speaking of gross, what’s with all the Botox? Women half my age are getting something called “baby Botox,” which is some sort of strange attempt to stave off the negative effects of old age, even though they all end up looking older than Cher anyway.
The beauty industry is going after our kids, too, albeit (hopefully) unintentionally. My daughter was watching some terrible Disney show (what the heck is up with Disney?) whose main character is literally one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, and her reaction shocked me. My beautiful, sweet nine-year-old lamented that she would probably never be that beautiful, and that hurt my heart more than words can express. I muttered something about genes and that she was beautiful, too, but when I looked it up? All surgery. Botox. Fillers, eye-lifts, face shaving, nose jobs.
Fake. Fake, fake, fake. And the girl was in her twenties. She’s got nothin’ on my gorgeous, wonderful child.
I’m no authority on this, but besides some hair dye and the occasional nose job, I don’t think celebrities eighty years ago burdened us quite so much with all of these impossible beauty standards. And even if they did, they were celebrities. The world’s richest and most famous untouchables were the only fair humans who could afford to buy their way to beauty while we mere mortals made do. These days, things are different, and any old internet personality or influencer is getting their boobs done or shaving down their nasal bridges or removing their buccal fat for some unknowable reason. In the online world of beautiful, flawless influencers, you won’t find a noble nose, a smaller chin, baby cheeks, or, God forbid, A cups. The days of unique physical traits that have been passed down from generation to generation are over.
Because sadly, everyone and their dog is shelling out wads of cash to get a battery of cosmetic procedures up the wazoo. And probably literally up the wazoo, too, I don’t know.
While I’m on the topic of influencers, why do we care what they think about politics? By all means, sell us your mattress promotions and show us your extremely reasonable and totally believable day-in-the-life videos, but I don’t really need to hear your opinions on Putin or Israel or Trump. Why does anyone care about who that guy who played some guy in some B movie you watched as a kid voted for? Why does anyone care what Leonardo DiCaprio has to say about climate change?
Why are they idolized, and worse, why do their throngs of crazed fans demand to know what these false idols think about politics and world events?
Are we really unable to form our own opinions about these things without asking the world for its input?
Why this rant? I don’t know, really. Maybe it’s because the bizarre aftermath of the Trump assassination attempt threw me off, and I was already teetering on a very wobbly ledge. For years, I’ve suspected that I don’t fit in with the rest of the world and their crazy views, but the sheer volume of blatant and excessively vile wishes for another human being’s death (and the subsequent death of democracy, which is something that many of these death-wishers clearly haven’t considered) was downright appalling. I don’t understand you people. I can’t find it in me to relate.
Don’t get me wrong, I understand the hatred for the man — I cried in 2016 like any other sane woman at the time, wondering what on earth had become of the world. I was mad, too, and I’m not even American, but what happens to America seems to trickle down to the rest of the world.
Anyway. My plea to anyone still reading is this: choose love. Choose light. Choose the path of understanding and acceptance, even in the face of intense dislike or disagreement. People will have different views than you. That doesn’t make them any less of a person than you. It doesn’t make you better. But holy hell, how about we all tone it down a notch or two? Not everything is a symptom of the patriarchy or racism or a far-right scheme or a liberal agenda item. We’re all just people, doing people-y things. None of us are perfect, and very few of us are right 100% of the time.
Take a breath. Go outside; touch grass. Bring a cake to your neighbour’s. Call your mom.
Be a good human. And maybe unplug from your socials from time to time.
Previously Published on Medium
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