Everywhere we turn these days, it seems to me that we’re hearing about taking care of ourselves first, making time for ourselves, or doing something on “my schedule”. Historians may well look back on this period, calling it the “era of the selfie”. We can date the period of extreme self-centeredness with the advent of taking self-portraits instantly, when the slogan “America First” won presidential elections and took hold as a governing principle. Where our own interests become our consuming personal philosophy.
There is a television ad that I’ve seen recently. It is for an online banking system. Apparently, the banking app allows the account holder to access their anticipated paycheck ahead of the scheduled payment. A smiling young twenty-something beams into the camera and states, “It’s my money and I should get it when I want it.” Actually, sweetheart, it’s not, until your employer, or whoever is paying you, determines the payment schedule and date of distribution. If your bank allows you a credit in advance, and presumably charges a fee for that service, then that’s your decision. I have visions of a conversation with my pension system or Social Security, explaining that I can’t really wait until their distribution date, and would they mind transferring the funds tomorrow instead? We’ve seen, too, commercials for various medications in which the afflicted are “taking control of their lives” and their treatment schedules. How is that working out? One that amuses me is the grandmother with severe vision issues – macular degeneration, if memory serves. She wisely decides to take a cross country trip on a motorcycle with her granddaughter. The treatment could cause infections and retinal detachment, and where better to be if that happens than in the middle of nowhere in a desert? Taking a selfie with a small herd of bison?
I’ve written, perhaps more than I should, about some of the fussier customers on “House Hunters”, and some are unbelievable. There was a couple featured just last night, moving from Texas to Missouri. Yes, that in itself stretched the imagination, but they were moving to be near family, so, okay. We’ll let it pass. In an opening disclosure, they’d gone through dozens of real estate agents, before a parent of one of the pair prevailed upon a family friend to give it a try. With a modest budget – which should work in Missouri, but I had to laugh because it wouldn’t have bought a space in a parking garage here in New England, they set about looking. Nothing seemed to be acceptable. Many of these hunters will comment that something “isn’t to their taste”, which is to be expected, but this pair expressed the common thread that “I want what I want”. The list of shortcomings and issues stretched endlessly for each property, as if previous owners of the properties they viewed should have prepared accordingly, both in price and style. The agent showed remarkable restraint, and we could see why this couple had run through a string of agents before the show. Another common thread among these home buyers is that fair market price shouldn’t enter into the discussion because the customers will have to expend much more to “make it their own”. Once again, we saw “your own” in the opening clips and what you have is unspeakably cluttered and overrun with animals and toys. It’s doubtful that Windsor Castle, were it emptied of its treasures, would accommodate your “stuff”.
Speaking of Windsor Castle, I’m reminded of visits to a couple of castles in England and Scotland, and, to be sure, self-centeredness isn’t new. There are gigantic portraits of former residents and ancestors. They are all standing with a leg elegantly extended through parted, ermine-lined robes. The Seventh Earl of Argyll, with that “look-at-me” expression of benign entitlement. Not one of them has a facial expression that says, “I’m so sorry. They forced me to sit here for this.” The only person in history that appears truly apologetic in photos is Abraham Lincoln.
So, into the era of selfies, where it’s not just good enough to take a picture of the Throne of St. Peter, you have to be sitting on it. Museums all over the world are reporting that visitors are blithely ignoring the rules, moving barriers to take pictures of themselves next to the Mona Lisa or sitting in Lorenzo da Medici’s chair. In the process, of course, they’re damaging some priceless historical objects, but no matter. As long as I’m in the shot, it’s fine. I mentioned in a previous writing that our dear friend Lady Peacock was having lunch in a restaurant half way up in the Eiffel Tower. We know that because we’ve seen pictures not only of the tower, but also of all four sides of the sandwich, and a closing pic of her standing next to the sandwich. While I’m pleased that many millions of people enjoy their food, I really don’t need to see those meals. If they liked the sandwich, I’ll accept that sight unseen.
Not content to view and possibly damage priceless treasures, some also risk life and limb to get pictures of themselves in places that common sense would tell them not to go. People falling off a cliff while attempting a scenic selfie of a canyon or mountains. Climbing into a zoo enclosure with a mountain gorilla or a tiger for a selfie, a satisfied grin on the tiger’s mouth as it finishes the last bite of photographer for lunch. Getting a close-up of an alligator, jaws open. A sailboat or a fishing boat whose visitors on deck wanted a pic of themselves with a whale for their scrapbook. That’s a photo that will look nice on the “In Memoriam” page, or next to the one labelled “One-legged Pete, with the Alligator.”
The reality is that we’re now in a period of unbridled entitlement. Everyone is a star whose very existence burns brightly. Sometimes I feel that way about winning the lottery. Why, just last week, I bought three tickets for a local drawing. The “megabucks” number was 5, and I had that on all three of my tickets. Without further investigation, I was already collecting the winnings, minus the taxes, and planning on the bounty. I was like the Count of Monte Cristo as he washed up on the island, looking for the cavern that held buried treasure. Yes, this was the big one at long last. Sadly, I didn’t have any other numbers to go with those bonus ones, and thus, nothing. Zero. Nada. My Mercedes, Porsche, or Range Rover gone in a flash. Our appearance on “Lottery Dream Home” evaporating, our beach house remaining but a dream. How can I stand to watch all of these people, winners on scratch tickets and lottery drawings far less worthy than I? It should be me, and it should be big. And worse, our daughter can’t create the “Elizabeth Walters Charitable Trust”, named after herself and bestowing millions on worthy causes. Because, of course, we’d do that, even though our names would modestly be on it.
We as a society have taken it upon ourselves to promote shamelessly. Maybe technology has made it too easy. Nineteen-year-old “influencers” have a divine right to influence others. (And worse, others listen to them.) Unexpressed thoughts are the thing of the past, because we’re always right and need to share. Maybe it’s the example of leadership that has made us this way. Slapping our names on iconic national buildings, or building arches and ballrooms that we can name after ourselves. Putting our wife’s name on an opera house, even though she can’t stand opera. All this while we’re still alive, because, why wait? In all probability, if we don’t, history won’t either. Seize the initiative. Build monuments to yourself, even if undeserved. Create your own social media platform so you can post whatever self-promotion you want, even if it’s largely fictional. Take what you want, even if it’s owned by a NATO ally. We all know we’re great, and it’s up to us to let everyone know.
I'm Thinking...No! 