I watched The Social Network for the very first time the other night. It’s been nice to finally check a few things off of the long list of stuff my mom decided I was “too young” to see when they were released. Back then, I had no real consideration for what movies were actually winning Oscars. I only really understood that I got to see the glitz and the glamour arrive on the red carpet, watch the beautiful people cry when they won awards. I digress.
My Facebook account dates back to 2016 when I got my first real job and most of our scheduling was done via a Facebook group of “team members.” I was just about to graduate high school, and the only social media account I had was on Instagram. Having never seen The Social Network and having never paid any mind to what Facebook was prior to signing up so I could call out of work in 2016, its years-long and sort of dark history had never really been of that much importance to me.
Sitting down to begin working on Taking the L, I wanted to find a load of photos of myself and all of the “bad haircuts” I’ve had throughout my life. There are a number that I blame on my mother, who always found my hair to be easier to care for at a shorter length, and there are a few on which I have no one to cast blame but myself and my need to control things when things feel so out of control. I combed through old photographs, knowing there had to be something that would make the readers laugh. I was led to the Facebook pages of my family members, people whose pages date back about 11 or 12 years, when the site was first gaining real traction with people who weren’t in college. It then occurred to me, rather quickly, that in the many years prior to my being present on social media, I was, in a way, already there, even in the foreground of other people’s photos.
My social media image, the one I call my own, at least, has been so carefully cultivated to be the one that I want people to associate with my being. Most of the photos I am about to share with you are never the kinds of pictures I would have shared of myself but are rather the kinds of things that people thought would just be sweet, fun memories. We’re all about to take this L together. You’re welcome, and I’m sorry.
Not my finest haircut. Or my finest fashion choices. Or the finest lighting. I was very into the color red at the time, and I don’t think I have bought anything red in 10+ years for this exact reason.
I have no idea who the kid in the mask behind me is. I am the pirate, who just that morning dropped a cupcake on this costume during my class’s Halloween party at school. I made a very cool pirate. Let’s be real.
My cousins and I have this group chat we started one night at a family milestone event so we could send old embarrassing photos of each other, knowing this was a bit we could keep up for quite some time. This particular gem was unearthed, and I have not heard the end of it in, quite genuinely, years. This is the most famous photo of me from said group chat. You might be able to see why.
Loving the sweaty bangs, loving how much I look like I don’t want to be in this photo. My little brother, seen in the white shirt on the right, had just dropped a slice of pizza on his brand new white shirt and was asked to turn that shirt around specifically for the picture. My matching blue shorts to my blue and white top? Fashion.
Surely there is no way I had any concept of what Facebook was at this point in my life. I’m sure classmates of mine were on it, but our computer was a million years old, if I had a cell phone by now, it was certainly only for emergencies, and my biggest worry was that this haircut made me look more like Harry when I had wanted to be Hermione. I was really rude to the girl at Party City when we bought this costume because she didn’t know enough about Harry Potter ~culture~. I am not proud of that.
I got nothing to say about this other than that meme that’s like “how do you delete someone else’s post?” I hate other people’s Facebook pages.
There were two years of middle school in which I thought it was hilarious to not care about things like my school pictures or Halloween or things like that. I wanted to wear my regular clothes, and I didn’t want to dress up, but I wanted to trick or treat. My aunt Michele is very cool and just put some “zombie” makeup on my face. Instead of sending this photo to my mother, which is what I thought she did for all these years, this photo was apparently on Facebook. (That Princeton sweatshirt is ~famous.)
I appreciate that this photo is at least a little cute. At least that sort of looks like me? I saw my hairdresser just that morning, and my bangs were still growing out, so she figured out how to fix them so they weren’t right over my face, which was much appreciated. This is, I guess, a photo I can live with on social media, if only because the haircut isn’t completely horrible. Not sure about the photo of Gary Coleman on Mike’s iPod touch?
7th grade Kate… she was something else. So was whatever I used to do with the part in my hair. I look dirty as hell in this picture, but I guess I will have to live with it. It was for a good cause. I am almost certain that this photo is hanging in my mother’s office. I do not take comfort in this. The very carefully crafted image of myself which exists on the social platforms carrying my name would not approve.
As we’re getting closer to an “I should have known better” territory with every single one of these pictures, I want you, the readers, to know that I am only doing this for your amusement and my own reflection. I thought, for quite a while, that it was very cool to cut the sleeves off of your t shirts and wear them that way, especially in the summer. I got lucky that this particular shirt had a massive hole in the armpit after a single wear, so my mom wasn’t mad about it. I am, however, mad that I even posed for this photo. What is my arm? Why is my face? What are those sunglasses? Ok, Kate.
Old enough to know better would certainly be right. Good lord. I showed this photo around this week and was told “I could spot you from a mile away.” Very original highlighter yellow joke content.
I have a vivid memory of being dumb enough to pose for this photo. I had been wearing a dress I didn’t much like, and when everyone started to clear out of my grandmother’s house, I started to change my clothes into something more comfortable when I heard “Kate, come back downstairs for the girls only picture!” Thus, this photo of me in a Taylor Swift tour shirt, a headband, and sweatpants was born.
I wanted to find a picture from a time when my self esteem was a little bit higher than bangs and bowl cuts and covering myself up, and I still find the time to laugh at this one. Clearly, no one is ready and not in the cute candid “awww no one is looking at the camera on purpose!” way. I’m asking if anyone can see the sweat stains on my dress or the tear tracks on my face. (It had been an emotional night.) It’s not something I would have chosen to display on my own social media, but it reminded me that this is the version of me that others tend to see, the one who isn’t always ready to smile for the camera.
I started doing this little project as a way to make myself laugh, but it ended up gnawing at me a little bit. In spite of all that’s going on in the world right now, I’m supposed to be graduating college, entering a new phase in my life. I looked back through all of these pictures and got to see myself grow up through the eyes of people who love me. Hopefully, they won’t be posting any of them as a congratulatory message in a couple weeks, but even if they do, I’ve beat them to it here.
