• kaitlyn gatto

Here's a Catchy Title

That’s me—maybe there’s no ring light, but there is a window right in front of my face. Natural lighting and a filter that I downloaded from some bogus “instabeauty” app created a photo I deemed “okay” enough to post on Instagram for the world to see.

I’m sorry. After I wrote that sentence I had to tell myself to STFU. For the WORLD to see? We’ve been so conditioned to focus on appearances and have been misled to believe that the whole world even cares. Even still, I look at this photo of myself, in all its edited glory, in the most perfect form I could (in my biased opinion) create, and think to myself my nose is too big. my skin tone is uneven. I look awful. Why didn’t I smile? Why am I even taking this photo, it’s not like I’m ever going to need to use it.

Let’s start there. I took this photo to motivate myself to write. shit. down. That seems counterintuitive and maybe makes absolutely no sense to most people. But here’s the thing: I love to go to Barnes & Noble and look at the hard cover books—the new releases especially—and find the author’s picture on the back flap of the book jacket. God, this person has MADE it, I would think. Then I would put the book down.

I WOULD. PUT. THE BOOK. DOWN. I cared more about the author’s picture than I did about what she had to say. Taking this photo, I was more concerned what the photo on the back of my book would look like than I did about the content that I am so proud to have created. Here's the kicker: I DON'T EVEN HAVE A BOOK. What I have is a bunch of manuscripts I'm too scared to submit because rejection and judgement and hate and shade and whatever the heck else it is that kids say these days. I'd rather put this photo out into the world--this photo that to a certain extent is fake--than I would genuine, whole-hearted words that have the potential to effect someone in some way. What a joke.

Here's the best part: when I'm scrolling through my camera roll and see this photo, I'm not inspired to write the next great American novel. I'm inspired to punch myself in the f*cking face for thinking that appearances matter more than what's in my heart.

Edgar Allan Poe said it best: "write hard and clear about what hurts," don't hide behind the facade of photoshop and fake smiles and the perfect Instagram angle. I'm so sick and tired of that shit.

Thank you and goodnight.

Also, sorry, Mom, for cursing.

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