Wednesday, February 9, 2022 — 7
Michigan in Color
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

It all started as an innocent way of 

sending funny pictures of yourself to 
your friends on Snapchat and “harm-
lessly” touching up small blemishes 
on our faces to appear more flatter-
ing in our selfies. Now, social media 
has transformed into an inescapable 
reality where significantly altering 
your appearance to seem more “pol-
ished” and “socially acceptable” is 
the norm. The existence of Snapchat 
and Instagram filters, Photoshop 
and Facetune has become normal-
ized, drastically changing the natu-
ral state of our bodies in order to be 
perceived as desirable. 

I’ve been using social media since 

I was 12 years old. I’ve witnessed the 
change from casual Snapchat con-
versations and unedited Instagram 
pictures to Photoshopped faces and 
unrealistic edits. Facetune, Pho-
toshop and Snapchat filters have 
absolutely demolished society’s per-
ception of normality to the point 
where there is a stark difference 
between our natural appearance and 
the body that is posted on our feeds. 
Filters and apps smooth out every 

single possible blemish on one’s face, 
dramatically enlarge lips, change 
eye colors and more — all in order 
to make people appear perfect. They 
put us into a body completely differ-
ent from the one we really live in. 
What used to be a fun way of sharing 
life with friends has now turned into 
a modality centered on overanalyz-
ing every miniscule part of a picture 
to make sure our posts portray us as 
the best and most perfect versions of 
ourselves. 

It’s extremely difficult for me to 

get into the mindset of accepting my 
face and body as beautiful the way 
they are when I’m constantly sur-
rounded by other people who appear 
to be perfect. It is so tempting to fix 
my insecurities when one can easily 
tap a few buttons and become “per-
fect.” I desperately try not to use 
them because I have noticed how 
much they destroy my self-esteem, 
but because I am constantly sur-
rounded by “perfection” on my Ins-
tagram feed, it’s hard to beat the 
temptation of downloading Photo-
shop. If these apps can turn me into 
my idealized image of myself, why 
wouldn’t I want to use them? 

The widespread use of filters and 

Photoshop is largely attributed to 

the rise in the commodification of 
social media. As Social Media Influ-
encing has become a job, one’s per-
sonal brand is important to uphold. 
To make your life seem desirable and 
to keep the brand deals rolling, you 
have to look perfect and post aes-
thetic content. Simply put, the more 
people that are envious of your life-
style, the more brands will want to 
work with you and the more money 
you will make. I completely under-
stand that this is a way that many 
people make a living, but I honestly 
don’t know how much more of being 
“influenced” I can handle — espe-
cially if it means I am constantly 
surrounded by unrealistic expecta-
tions of what I should look like and 
how I should live. 

In addition to the alternate reali-

ties these filters create, they are 
also extremely problematic for non-
Eurocentric features and non-white 
skin tones. Filters are way too small 
for my Afrocentric lips. They place 
a white cast over my Black face, 
and turn my dark brown eyes light 
brown, blue or green. They even 
work to contour my nose to make it 
look visibly smaller. Filters create an 
unrealistic view of what our society 
looks like, not only by polishing peo-

ple’s faces to perceived perfection, 
but also by erasing non-white char-
acteristics in an attempt to create 
a “pretty” or “perfect” person. Fil-
ters continue to reinforce European 
standards of beauty and they don’t 
seem to be stopping anytime soon. 

I understand why people use fil-

ters and Photoshop. They’re great 
for hiding sleepy eyes, unexpected 
pimples and other unfavorable qual-
ities of our pictures. I also under-
stand how addicting editing your 
pictures can be. It is so easy to turn 
your body into your idealized self, 
and the praise you receive when 
you present yourself in this way is a 
serotonin booster. However, I miss 
the casual use of social media that 
we used to have. The constant state 
of perfection that society pressures 
us to adhere to is suffocating. It used 
to be so liberating to post whatever I 
wanted on social media; now I have 
to overanalyze every aspect of any 
photo I want to post.

This problem seems to grow even 

worse every day. Apps are becom-
ing so accurate in how they mold 
filters to our faces that it is getting 
harder and harder to tell if a filter 
or Photoshop is applied. People have 
expressed the desire for “Old Insta-

gram,” when it was a less judgement-
al and more casual space to share our 
lives with others. A recent attempt 
to restore the casual nature of Ins-
tagram has emerged through “photo 
dumps,” or the act of posting casual 
and unrelated pictures of one’s life, 
along with a few selfies in a single 
Instagram post. However, even these 
types of posts are deliberately curat-
ed in a way that makes life seem per-
fectly imperfect. It is just another 
way to show your “real life,” but in 
a polished way. If we continue down 
this path of normalizing the altera-
tion of how we appear for the atten-
tion of Instagram, our perceptions of 
beauty will fall deeper into this false 
reality we have created and we will 
continue to lose our sense of self. 
The more we change what appears 
on our screens, the more we will 
hate what we see in the mirror. 

I’m terrified of what this is 

doing to society’s perception of life 
and beauty. We don’t see real life 
through a pretty filter. Our bodies 
are not meant to look perfect. If they 
are creating this false sense of life, 
are filters and Photoshop even ben-
eficial? Does editing ourselves really 
give us the satisfaction we want it 
to? 

A few weeks ago, I heard the FaceTime 

call notification buzzing from my phone. 
My eyes shifted and saw that it was Mom 
who was calling. Calls from Mom bright-
en my mood because on days that school 
takes up so much of my time, it’s nice see-
ing and hearing her face and voice from 
all the way back home. Mom called to 
ask about when my spring break for this 
school year was. After a quick Google 
search for the UMich academic calen-
dar, I told her the dates. The next thing I 
knew, she was talking about sending me 
to Mexico for spring break. 

I thought to myself, “Mexico? Mexico!” 

I’ve always wanted to go to Mexico, but 
I wasn’t expecting to go so soon. I had 
talked with my mom about wanting to 
go and we had decided to go together 
next year after I graduated. I thought to 
myself again, “Why am I going so soon? 
And without Mom?” I was excited, but I 
didn’t know the reason for the trip. This 
would be my first time stepping foot in 
Mexico and finally getting to meet my 
family. Up until this point, all I’ve had 
are laggy Whatsapp video calls. The plan 
had been to go to Mexico with Mom, but 
it was too urgent to wait.

Mom told me that I needed to go see 

Abuelita.

The reality is that Abuelita is getting 

older and her health is becoming a con-
cern. Our whole family knows this, and 
Mom wants me to see her and enjoy as 
much time with her as I can before things 
get worse. Abuelita has always been 
the one who visits us, but not this time 
around. Now I’m the one who’s visiting 
her. Over the years, it’s gotten harder for 
her to travel from Mexico to the U.S.; she 
has difficulty walking and doesn’t like to 
travel by air due to all the stress, com-
motion and long periods of waiting and 
sitting down. Abuelita’s health is get-
ting worse with every passing year and 
I needed to see her. I want to hug her, I 
want to hold her hand — for Mom, who 
hasn’t been to Mexico in over 30 years. 
But mostly, I want to create more memo-
ries with the person that I love so dearly.

Thankfully, my family has been lucky 

enough to have visited my grandma 
throughout the years but sadly not as 
much as we would have liked to. Geo-
graphic conditions make it difficult for 

me to connect with my family in Mexico, 
and I don’t get to see them as much as I 
would like. You see, these are the things 
you go through when you are part of an 
immigrant household. Our families liv-
ing in the U.S. and Mexico are miles 
apart, divided by a border that shows no 
remorse and imposes stringent immigra-
tion laws.

When my family lived in Los Angeles, 

Abuelita would visit us regularly, but I 
was too young to remember. At the time, 

she was 20 years younger and happy to 
see all her new grandchildren and be 
surrounded by my tíos, tías, primos and 
primas. A lot of our family migrated to 
Los Angeles, so it was like a second home 
away from everyone in Mexico. 

When I was five years old, we moved 

to Wyoming, Michigan. It took about 
five more years for Abuelita to visit us 
in the Midwest. I was 10 years old when 
Abuelita first visited. I still remember her 
adventurous spirit joining my siblings 
and me to explore the backyard, which 
is primarily forest; for many years there 
was a large, sand dune-like hill and vast 
empty lot being prepared for construc-
tion. Once you pass the woods and lot, 
you are within walking distance of a Dol-
lar Tree and liquor store.

As my siblings and I followed Abuelita 

through the bushes and trees, I stopped 

and froze when I saw the biggest spider 
I had ever seen. I had been comfortable 
exploring the backyard for some years, 
but my fear of spiders always stayed with 
me — I was terrified of spiders as a little 
kid. Everyone walked right past the spi-
der, but not me; I was stuck. Tears began 
to flow faster and faster down my cheeks. 
I knew that I had to pass the spider to 
be with my grandma and siblings, but I 
couldn’t pull myself together. The tears 
kept coming and everyone else became 

desperate. Abuelita got a little impatient 
but it’s not my fault; I wasn’t raised in 
the Mexican countryside like her where 
spiders and snakes were commonplace. 
Once Abuelita yelled, “Apúrate!” I knew 
that was my cue to get it moving. I was 
so little, but I knew that Abuelita wasn’t 
scared of anything and that she would 
push me to overcome the smallest of 
obstacles. I knew, even then, that her 
age and short stature never defined her 
because regardless of the adversity she 
faced in life, she never turned away. And 
I wanted to be like Abuelita. Fearless. As I 
got older, I began to understand what her 
history and upbringing were truly like. 
Abue’s mom lived through the Mexican 
Revolution in the early 1900s, where she 
had to hide from Mexican officials. 

There is a history of resilience in my 

family from the women who have shaped 

me into the person I am today. 

Some other memories I cherish with 

Abuelita when she visited were the times 
we went cherry picking, napped on the 
same bed, prayed alongside each other 
with a glow-in-the-dark rosary before 
going to bed and when I watched her 
take down shots of tequila like water. 
She didn’t visit often, but reflecting back 
on the times when she was here, I was 
always present with her. One of the most 
recent — and one of my favorite memories 
 

— is when we sat down and made brace-
lets together. 

The last time I saw her was when she 

most recently visited us in the summer 
of 2017. She spent the hot summer days 
inside the house nestled in our massage 
chair sewing or outside on a bench on the 
deck, knitting away. Abuelita loves to knit 
and quilt. It was something she enjoyed, 
but more importantly, it was also how she 
made money in Mexico. She was born in 
1933 and never got an education. Abuelita 
was born and raised en su rancho with 
no schooling, so she started working as a 
young girl. She doesn’t know how to read 
or write either, so selling the things she 
knitted and quilted was one of the best 
ways she could earn some income. She’s 
extremely talented, from making her 
own blankets and scarves to counter-
top mats and sweaters. She always adds 

a special touch to her pieces, knitting in 
floral designs to make it her own. I’ve 
always wanted to learn how she does it 
because I want to create some of my own 
clothes in the future.

During this particular summer, I 

would read books beside her in my own 
nook and occasionally glance over and 
watch as her tense hands worked their 
knitting magic. At some point, I put the 
book down and decided to sit next to her 
and just watch. She was knitting together 
a red hat. I wanted to join her but I knew 
that my skills were very limited. After 
telling her this, she taught me some of 
the knitting basics, but soon I lost track of 
the steps and gave up a little too quickly. 
When I put the yarn down on the floor, 
I saw her little box containing all of her 
supplies by her feet and I began to dig 
through it. There were so many different 
colors of yarn, so many different types of 
yarn. All different shapes and sizes. 

After failing the knitting experiment, 

I asked her if there was something easier 
we could try. This is when she brought up 
the idea of making bracelets. 

She told me to pick the color of yarn I 

wanted to use and I ended up picking the 
pink and yellow yarn. We sat by the win-
dow for the next 20 minutes working on 
the bracelet together, with the pink yarn 
in her hand and the yellow yarn in mine, 
creating this bracelet together as she was 
walking me through the process. 

“¡Así no mijo!”

 “¿Cómo?” 

“Mira, ¿ves? Fácil.” 

When completed, the bracelet was 

fresh bright pink and bright yellow. It was 
something that I created with Abuelita 
and it’s something that I’ve worn every 
day for the past four and a half years. 
It’s a reminder that Abuelita is with me 
wherever I go. Now my bracelets are a 
part of me; and when I don’t have them 
on, I don’t feel like myself. When I’m 
nervous, I fidget with the strings and 
I like to shake my bracelets out of habit 
to hear the beads beat against the yarn. 
Whenever I look at my bony left wrist, 
I’m reminded of that summer day spent 
by the window sill with Abuelita tying 
together this bracelet. 

1. Choose a topic. Pull up your notes app 

and reunite with the neglected thoughts 
in the dusty reaches of your brain. Cringe 
over an idea you jotted down before bed 
weeks ago. Don’t just scan your notes, 
squint hard so you don’t miss that phrase 
snuck between grapes ramen conditioner 
frosted flakes hand cream soy milk and 
fall 2020 Zoom links. Squint hard until 
your vision blurs. Until tears well up and 
the next thing you know it’s sophomore 
year you’re sobbing uncontrollably before 
your desk during the ending monologue 
in “Lady Bird.” Sometimes you think your 
life would be easier if you were a white 
girl from Sacramento. But instead of Sao-
rise Ronan, you would be the best friend 
who struggles with her body image and 
daddy issues.

2. Talk over your ideas. Attend a shift 

in the newsroom and meet with your 
friends, who are your editors. You com-
plain about how Chipotle didn’t put let-
tuce in your order, which you think is 

a hate crime against Canadians (Dis-
claimer: the author is Chinese Canadian). 
Observe the romance that brews in the 
newsroom. Watch people discover their 
newfound love for writing and editing. 
Watch columnists’ eyes turn into cres-
cent moons above their masks. Watch 
people approach another section’s table 
for candy and end up staying there for 
hours. Sometimes you are a part of the 
romance; sometimes you are merely a 
pedestrian that passes a late night diner, 
fascinated by the light and warmth inside 
which ultimately excludes you. That’s 
okay, you tell yourself, because you are 
just here to talk about ideas. Loneliness 
envelops you but it is only temporary, 
because an editor/friend finally finishes 
his homework and is traversing single-
digit temperatures to hear about your 
first column. You shit on the month of 
January together and joke about not hav-
ing a work life balance. Still, your idea 
weighs on your tongue like a Jolly Ranch-
er that’s too big to swallow. 

3. Scroll through Tinder, the app you 

told everyone that you downloaded for 
journalistic purposes, whatever that 

means. Close the Google Docs tab and 
take out your phone. Be sure to turn your 
brightness down to the lowest setting and 
tilt your screen away from the people sit-
ting near you in Trotter. You swipe left 
at the sight of men in her first photo or 
“Black Lives Matter” or “Feminism” in 
her list of “passions,” because you are 
tired of people who wear politics like 
an accessory. After almost developing 
thumb arthritis, you land on “Movies” 
“Coffee” “Cats” “Hiking.” You go through 
her selfies and judge her top Spotify art-
ists. A pop-up notification obscures her 
eyes, “How’s the piece going?” You do not 
respond.

4. Consume a lot of boba. According 

to your Snackpass Wrapped, you were 
embarrassingly among UniTea’s top 1% of 
customers in the past year. “I will be liv-
ing dangerously close to three boba plac-
es next year,” you joked when your mom 
picked you up from the airport for win-
ter break. “Bubble tea is disgusting,” you 
recall her responding. You think about 
the internalized racism and self-hatred 
she has imparted, and the years it took 
to unlearn it all. How in every story you 

write, there is a mother, even though you 
can barely recall the last time you shared 
a casual conversation. You think about 
how writing, especially for Michigan in 
Color, is an act of resistance, to her and 
to the beliefs she stands for. You wonder 
if there will come a day when she reads 
your articles. If she will read through 
each line with a Chinese dictionary open 
on her phone. If she will finally under-
stand your sadness, and then you will 
regain your mother. 

5. Next, pan-fry kimchi pancakes after 

midnight. Because kimchi pancakes are 
fucking delicious.

6. Now, it’s time to ask your editor for 

an extension. Wait till the last minute to 
text her because, just hours before the 
deadline, you believed you could finish. 
You were wrong. She graciously grants 
you some extra time, but now you are 
more than terrified. Capitalism has made 
you internalize that time is linear, thus 
more time must equal a better product. 
So exit the window and tell yourself that 
inspiration will come in a few days; it 
won’t.

7. Type. Take up the blank space with 

your words. Let your joy and grief spill 
like a broken faucet. Recall the reason 
why you started writing in the first place, 
when your story was read aloud before 
the class in 3rd grade. Or when you per-
formed self-directed skits for your fam-
ily during kindergarten. Because what is 
writing if not thinking and scraping and 
thinking and scraping and rehearsing in 
your mind 1000 times before even typ-
ing out the first letter? Remember the 
people you are writing for. Write for your 
friends who call you during breakdowns 
in between classes. Write for your friends 
who can recite the entirety of Lisa’s rap 
in “Ice Cream.” Write for your friends 
who took a shot to every homoerotic 
moment in Red Velvet’s “Bad Boy.” Write 
for your friends’ smeared mascara write 
for your friends’ couple rings write for 
your friends’ avocado salad recipe write 
for your friends’ Snackpass gifts write 
for your friends’ curated Spotify playlist 
write for the people who stay with you 
and cheer and clap until your editor hits 
“Publish.”

8. Go back to your friends. For they are 

the reason why you write at all. 

The filter problem

Mi amor para mi abuelita

How to write your first Michigan in Color column

Design by Rita Sayegh

MARIA PATTON

MiC Columnist

 JUAN PABLO ANGEL MARCOS

MiC Columnist

LOLA YANG
MiC Columnist

Read more at MichiganDaily.com

