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