We have our moments and then there's Jesus. Four girls who are all recent grads of esteemed universities are tossed into the real world and face the trials, tribulations, and hilarity of trying real life. We face all battles with a smile, but even we have to admit we don't know shit.

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

I Didn't Know I Was a Fish


Catfish. When I first saw the previews for the MTV docu-series, I told myself that I wouldn’t watch it. There was no way in hell that I was going to actually watch a show about fish. Then I heard the premise of the show: introduce people who have been in online relationships to one another in person. Still, I said that’s dumb, I won’t do it. Despite myself, I found myself watching the very first episode. Then I watched the second, third, and so on. What makes the show engrossing, I have no idea, especially since its formula, thus far, has been the same: a lovesick man/woman reaches out to Nev about how in love he/she is with somebody they’ve had an online affair with for like a year or so, Nev Skypes them to talk about the person of their affection, then he and Max, the camera guy, fly out to visit this person. The episode’s central problem generally stems from some mysterious reason why the two people haven’t met or even Skyped one another. The episode culminates in a disappointing meeting, where the other person is not who they said they were. Later on the two people meet and talk, but ultimately, the decision is that it’s not going to work, that the affection they once shared is no longer the same.

At first I thought this was humorous. That a person could place another person whom they never met or interacted with face-to-face on such a high pedestal, and even go so far as to proclaim being in love, was comical and ridiculous to me. I guess that’s the cynic in me. But what’s even more hilarious is how utterly disappointed the person is when they discover that the face they always attached to the person they were talking to isn’t actually theirs. It’s hilarious for different reasons that are embedded in their paradoxes. The first is that the unconditional love that they seem to share is actually proven to be conditioned by the fact that their love suddenly disappears because their “love” doesn’t have the same face. The second is that the “catfish,” the pretender, actually believed that they had formed something genuine despite the fact that they passed a face that doesn’t belong to them as their own, thus, creating a foundation of deceit. But what is probably the most hilarious aspect of all of this is the other person unintentionally involved—the one whose face has been claimed by some self-conscious person in some obscure state like Montana.

Imagine channel surfing, passing by MTV and being startled by the image of you on the screen. Next to it, however, is someone else’s name. Surprised, almost to the point of stupidity, you run to the nearest mirror to make sure that your face is actually YOUR face. Then you log on to your Facebook account to check your pictures and holding your computer screen up next to your television, you confirm that your Facebook profile picture has indeed been re-represented as The Catfish.

Before Catfish, the movie and TV show, came along, I didn’t even know you could search an image on Google. I knew you could find images from typing in keywords, but taking an image and placing it into the Google search engine was something that I just didn’t know about. I suspect that I didn’t know about it because I never thought searching one’s own pictures was necessary. Until Catfish. I mean, these people will take your entire album and stake claim on your entire life. And even though they usually have some sad story about their low self-esteem to accompany their explanation for their deceit, I can’t help but see the humor in it. It’s so extreme. And disrespectful, not just to the other person, but mostly to the person whose identity you’re stealing. They don’t even know you. And what makes it even more comical is how extremely opposite the stolen identity is from The Catfish. It’s polar opposite in every way, excluding race; no white girl/guy ever perpetrates as a black girl/guy. But everything else, including gender, is up for grabs.

As funny as it is, when my laughter subsides, I can’t help but wonder if there’s some black girl/guy out there using my pictures as themselves. And as easy as it would be to just Google search my image, I don’t want to do it. What if I find out that somebody is pretending to own my face? What’s the protocol for handling that? I mean, one could make the argument that my searching my own images could be considered an exercise in vanity and arrogance. So maybe it’s best that I just don’t know.

Yeah, I’ll just wait until I see my face on MTV.

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