A recent academic conference focused on the phenomenon of “Selfies.”
On its face, the conference theme invites ridicule. A meeting comprised of self-involved scholars (redundant, I know) talking to themselves about . . . let’s see . . . themselves.
The motivation behind opening such a door is unclear. In this instance, the butt of the joke seems to not only open the door for sure-to-arrive ridicule, the butt provides valet parking to enhance the ease and convenience by which the ridiculers can enact the making-fun.
For those who seem in a heightened state of self-awareness (and absorption), the concomitant lack of self-awareness is a paradox worthy of late night TV monologues.
One speaker had labored for years and years, methodically creating a selfie-a-day. Hard work, no doubt. But someone’s got to do it.
Now totaling thousands and thousands of images – each with the same, identical and predictable subject and, doubtless, one more fascinating than the previous – the scenario seems one capable of construction only by Mel Brooks. Maybe Jimmy Fallon.
Striding to the podium, “Let me begin by talking about me,” one imagines the speaker saying. Though probably only to an audience of only himself. Which, of course, is self-approving.
In fact, there was an audience for the presentation. Small, as one might imagine.
After a few minutes – oh, okay, a half an hour – we again imagine the speaker cheerfully remarking: “Well, enough about me. What do you think of me?”
That attendance at the selfie conference was, shall we say, slender, should come as a surprise to about no one. What would be the point of going to a conference where the focus was not on you?
As most by now know, the latest trend in visual masturbation is photographing one’s shoes or feet.
Hard to resist, isn’t it?
Where’s my camera?
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