the death of #goals.

Engagement ring the size of a newborn’s head = #goals.

Shiny new Mercedes = #goals.

Sculpted Instagram model body status = #goals.

But what if I told you that that ring was attained from a wealthy, unhealthy relationship, the car a waste of the money needed for a downpayment on a house to finally stop calling mom + dad’s basement home, her body a “perfect” product of hours of fasted cardio after thousands of dreadful trips past every mirror.

Social media is like our big IRL Edit Button. Nip tuck that cupcake right off your thighs after a huge sugar binge. Cut out the girl in the photo who smiles brighter than you, so your followers don’t see the comparison. Wear the coating right off of the backspace button, hoping that underneath it you’ll find the perfect words to say to that boy.

And that’s the thing about delete buttons and photo apps and carefully worded captions: they’re all a conscious choice. The choice to share the beauty of one moment versus the hundred ugly ones before it. The choice to Snapchat the 47th perfected puppy filter because the other 46 won’t get HIS attention. The choice to tweet a song lyric instead of thoughts from your own brain because polished and poised gets more attention than your 2 AM rambles.

The #goals versus the #forrealz.

Are your goals even real?

Probably not. Life isn’t polished and poised and nipped and tucked. It’s real, it’s raw, it’s, well, life.

Example time.

“She and her boyfriend spend so much time together, I wish I had that, #goals!”
He actually never left her side because he didn’t trust her. She didn’t have a life outside of him. 

“Your brows are honestly uh-mazing, #goals!!”
She cried herself to sleep last night because she hates her natural reflection.

And herein lies the problem, friends; social media is what we choose to share. The peachy keen, the happy + bright.

Don’t set your goals to be a regurgitation of someone else’s. Do you, boo. Be you + LIVE for YOU.

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