Most of us are guilty of fronting on social media now and then. We put forward our very best selves, sand down the rough edges, then give it a little burnish, and then some laqueur, and then run it all through the Rise filter on Instagram.
Maybe we should have one week every year where we don’t front. Where we, I don’t know, back.
So maybe you don’t Instagram the seared albacore tuna on quinoa you’re having for lunch on Monday. Instead, post that hot dog with sauerkraut and chili you’re having on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. And don’t Facebook how humbled you were by all those accolades you received for your latest professional coup. Rather, do a live video from inside the washroom stall where you’re hiding from coworkers infuriated because you spilled yogurt into the one decent printer in the whole office.
I’d write more, but I’m off to three hours of fitness boot camp after I down a bullet coffee or two. Then it’s 15 minutes of #CrushingIt to get to #InboxZero. And then I hit the clubs with my fabulously beautiful friends, as I do always every night and never stay home doing old New York Times crosswords.