It Hangs in My Closet
The Social Gaze: On Watching and Being Watched
“Today everything exists to end in a photograph.”
– Susan Sontag, On Photography
Sontag’s remarks were deemed controversial in the late 70s. In the digital age of image saturation, however, she’s the disseminator of the gospel truth. Everything today from our casual interests, beliefs, interactions across mediums, and even our personality – exists to end up in a 1080 x 1080 pixel and 4:5 aspect ratio photograph, nestled in a thoughtfully curated grid – for the feasting eyes of the other.
The malleability provided by social media platforms to alter our identities has been a matter of discourse since its inception. Our online personas have never existed in a vacuum. As social creatures, we’re in constant anticipation of the outsider’s gaze, in both awe and fear. The inherent need to be seen is always accompanied by the fearful clasp of judgment tight around its neck. The human herd instinct to seek approval makes most of our behaviour in social settings performative. From the clothes we wear and the movies we watch to the opinions we hold more often than not arise from the need to achieve a sense of belonging – the one slated third in Maslow’s hierarchy of human needs[1].
While the performances persist, it’s only human to slip up at times.
Entrée the power of social media.
Social media platforms like Instagram, Snapchat and X (formerly Twitter) allow us to not only create a production out of our existence but up the ante as well – we get to control who views our performance, along with the parts they get to see.
Here’s a thought experiment. Imagine you’re (doom)scrolling through Instagram when you come across a post by a conventionally attractive, white woman. She’s seated in an outdoor cafe. The sunbeams bounce perfectly off of her black sunglasses. Her profile faces the camera as she peers into her phone’s screen, carefully reapplying her lipstick.
Seems cool enough right? What if you zoom in just a bit?
Those sunglasses are the coveted Tom Fords in Whitney, and her lipstick is the classic Rouge Dior. What else, the bottom half of the picture seems to cut off a pack of Marlboro Lights and what appears to be an incredibly expensive lighter!
There’s at least a fifty per cent chance that you’ll believe you’ve stumbled across the feed of an heiress out to lunch in Italy. Such is the power of branding. The mere association with brands established as luxurious converts a simple photograph into an identity definer, as Professor Nita Mathur notes, “commercial brands and luxury commodities have come to serve as signifiers of identity in society”[2], allowing individuals to construct, deconstruct or reconstruct their social identities.
References
https://psychclassics.yorku.ca/Maslow/motivation.htm
https://sk.sagepub.com/books/consumer-culture-modernity-and-identity
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=14JGQ1JWSgc&t=632s
https://www.forbes.com/sites/forbescommunicationscouncil/2023/01/26/why-and-how-to-implement-social-media-branding/?sh=3c975389793b
https://internetprincess.substack.com/p/standing-on-the-shoulders-of-complex
https://academic.oup.com/jcr/article-abstract/32/1/171/1796334?redirectedFrom=fulltext
https://www.wired.com/story/business-gen-z-social-media/
https://creative.salon/articles/features/is-social-media-over-for-the-younger-generation
https://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/life-and-relationships/new-nihilism-how-gen-z-is-embracing-a-life-of-futility-and-meaninglessness-20231016-p5ecra.html
https://www.businessoffashion.com/reports/news-analysis/the-state-of-fashion-2024-report-bof-mckinsey/
more from this issue —
I never wanted to wear white.
I know it’s what most do
— It’s what all my friends did
regardless of length or style —
But white was for purity and innocence
And I’d waited too long
To be called such things anymore.
I’d always imagined
There would be splashes of color
— Scarlet red, or maybe sky blue in the
bodice or the skirts —
Or I’d dye the train in a rainbow,
A perpetual kaleidoscope
Glittering in the sun
As I walked down the aisle.
That was more my style.
I never knew,
What exactly my dream gown
Would be, what it would look like,
I never had visions of the perfect day
growing up.
Going to that boutique
I just thought I’d know it when
I saw it,
Or at least I hoped I would
For a gown that would cost so much
And be worn for so little,
It really had to be something special
Something I could love and cherish
And make an eternal promise in.
A different kind of suit of armor.
Funny that it happened just that way:
A drop waist gown
With lace and pearl beading,
Long sleeves with a sweetheart neckline,
And in ivory with champagne petticoats.
Not white. Off white. Like me.
A match made at first sight.
It felt strange putting it on that first time
Like it was and wasn’t meant for me,
So regal and chic, fit for a princess,
And not my barely together 30-year-old
self,
But there wasn’t another choice for me.
It was decided
My heart invested
My soul in agreement.
Now it hangs in my closet
In its pristine wardrobe bag
Waiting for a day
That may never come;
the original occasion
cancelled with a single e-mail and the click
of a mouse.
I’m not sure what to do with it,
This beautiful gown made for love
A gown I chose and it chose me.
What does one do with such an expensive
piece of fabric,
That was tailored to be your second skin
On the happiest day of your life?
I can’t open it and look at it yet
I know if I do too soon,
It’ll split my heart in two
Just as its begun to stitch its broken pieces
Back together,
But I have no interest in giving the gown
away.
So for now it’ll stay
A reminder of what was had
Maybe even a hope,
For what may yet still come.
Appears in —
Saroya
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