Eat My Heart Out - Zoe Pilger
The Love Affairs of Nathaniel P - Adele Waldman
teenager
The Wand of Narcissus: a case against selfies featuring a NEW selfie-aiding contraption
I feel pretty comfortable in asserting that Vincent Van Gogh was one of the greatest artists in all of human history. If you were to ask me, I’d tell you he was the best of them all. His use of colour really is simply awe inspiring. To my fortune, I was able to see his famous “Starry Night” on display at the Museum of Modern Art in New York. Nothing but a few feet of air and a thin sheet of glass separated me from that magnificent maelstrom of blue and gold.
However, this *magical* experience was somewhat lessened by the red LEDs and blinding front-flashes darting across the surface of its protective frame. While I sought to savour the experience of seeing one of the world’s most celebrated pieces of art with my own eyes, most of the other patrons, all huddled around emitting snapping-sounds, decided that it would be best viewed through the lens of their iPhone. That is to say, a grainy square of colour behind their right ear featuring their own vacant smile dominating the foreground and an outstretched arm half visible at the bottom of the frame. Not quite as beautiful a replication as Van Gogh might have hoped for.
I suppose I would mind less if they stuck around afterwards to actually get a good, long look at it. But alas, as soon as they’ve snapped their selfie they just pocket their camera and walk off.
This really encapsulates why it is that I dislike selfies. They reduce experiences into events, a mere checklist to work through so that you can tell all of your friends and colleagues that “I’ve been there” and “I’ve seen that”. You insert yourself into your photographs as if there was some doubt that you were ever there at all. Perhaps it also enlarges the importance of the ‘self’ versus the event/scene/gallery – it is undoubtedly the selfie-taker who is the focus of the “Starry Sky”-selfie.
Worse still is the “selfie stick” that I’ve been seeing with worryingly increasing frequency: A telescopic monopod you can clamp your camera into so that you can decapitate pedestrians when you stop to take a selfie in the street. One would assume that such a device was invented so that you could hold your camera an additional arm’s length away, letting you squeeze more into the already overcrowded frame. However, the ergonomics of holding an expensive paperweight on the end of an extensible stick makes holding the damn thing at arm’s length rather unwieldy. At least, that’s the impression I get whenever I see someone with their elbows jammed into their sides trying to offset the weight, all but nullifying the extra reach it gives you (and as any A-level physicist will tell you, making the stick longer would only make the problem worse!)
So the Wand of Narcissus, as some people have taken to calling it, isn’t worth the aluminium that it’s cast from. Luckily for you, dear reader, I’ve designed a suitable replacement: The Selfie Harness! The harness is comprised of three perpendicular, extensible sections, running along your spine, over your head and coming down to face level, all the sections and joints are re-orientable so you can get that 45 degree angle that all selfies need to be shot at. This will give you all the length a selfie stick should give you, provide a stable platform to take your photos from and it even leaves your hands free to throw up the obligatory V signs. It shouldn’t matter all that much that you look ridiculous wearing it. After all, you are taking a selfie; you were always going to look ridiculous.
If you want my advice, next time you want a photo taken of yourself, grab the next bystander who passes by and get them to take it.
IF you wanna, feel free 2 comment your reactions/opinions about selfies below… it is evidently a debatable concept with many citing self esteem/narcissism/peer pressure/aesthetics etc as factors to consider…
by Gabriel Munn, 18, a passionate non-seflie-taker
It is not the ‘mentally unsound’, but the attitudes towards them, which are the real insanity
We may have done away with electroshock therapy and barred windows, commonplace lobotomies and female hysteria, yet the stigma encasing mental health is horrifically prevalent. Self-harm is mocked as a teenage cliché. Admitting to seeing a counsellor or therapist sounds ridiculous. Being ‘fucked up’ is alluring. Strait jackets are Halloween costumes. Akin to feminism, depression, and the entire umbrella of mental health, has become a dirty word.
The dictionary definition of depression reads “a mental state characterised by feelings of continual gloom and inadequacy.” Yet this description of a crippling illness has been disfigured. “I feel depressed”… because of (insert reason here: your text/that movie/the shop not stocking my favourite chocolate) has become commonplace in our language and thus confuses menial sadness/disappointment with genuine melancholy (which is then greeted with the obligatory “you’re being… dramatic/attention seeking/grumpy”).
Ignorance and definition abuse are not the only problem with society’s misconception of mental health. It seems engrained in our culture that physical ailments are far more important and severe than any illness associated with the mind. Are we, as human beings, still stupid enough to believe that if we cannot see it, then something fails to exist? Perhaps I am going too far but I am almost certain that if I went to A&E with a severe case of depression, I would not be treated as fast as the patient with the broken finger. After all, what is more urgent, a fractured digit or suicide? Mental illness, in many cases, can be a life threatening disease, yet is it treated in a similar manner to other terminal illnesses?
The taboo does not stop there, alongside the lacerating symptoms of a mental disorder, there is the shame and isolation which comes only too freely (woo!). Try talking to someone about the hurt and hopelessness you are experiencing, and often you will find awkward squirms, eye rolls with the silent sigh of ‘here she goes again, dramatic rant’ or the opinion that anything can be fixed with a can-do spirit and a plucky attitude: “Just think positively and all this will go away!”
One in four will be affected by a mental health issue in a year. Suicide is the most common killer of men under the age of 35. Over 80% of those with clinical depression are not receiving specific treatment. Society and the economy are ill-equipped to deal with such a disease (and look out – it’s on the rise!). I am well seasoned in doctors, physiatrists, psychotherapists and psychologists; both private and on the NHS. And in both sectors, I have experienced ridiculously long waiting lists, insensitive forms, inaccurate diagnoses and ill-trained staff; “do you mind if I record the session for my supervisor? Can you speak up a little; the camera isn’t detecting your voice?”, “watch your mother cry through a two-way mirror”, “your illness must be due to bereavement, change or relations with those around you.” – (this was then followed by a sense of guilt as the ‘reason’ behind the way I was feeling did not fit into any of those aforementioned boxes). Psychiatry may be a money-making scheme to prey on the vulnerable to fork out 80 pounds an hour to discuss a dream they can analyse themselves (thank you very much). And even if sessions are useful, the fact that demand exceeds supply is still very vivid. Being granted a mere 6 slots of one hour per week will not untangle a harrowing illness, it is a waste of the time for the patient and the professional. This is a long-term illness without a long-term solution. It is vital that the government re-think their approach to mental health. There are more sufferers than there are helpers. A victim of depression may not be able to wait 8 months for aid without causing severe harm, and this needs to end.
I do not mean this to be a long-winded and pessimistic rant of self-pity. But as someone who has been diagnosed, I feel I am entitled to speak my grievances. I do not know if a shorter waiting list would have prevented my dropping out of school. I do not know if an expert psychologist would have thwarted acts of self-harm. If I had not been persistently told that ‘it was all in my head’ or ‘to try harder’ then maybe my self-loathing would have decreased. Perhaps if my friends and family had been understanding, there to listen and to help, and generally educated in mental health, I would still be as disheartened and lost as I am today. But I am sure that the above would have acted as some sort of support or comfort; relieving if only a little bit of the hurt which depression patients find practically inescapable. And that assistance or reassurance can make all the difference.
Depression is not a clichéd, trite, insignificant drain on resources – it is an illness, just because it is inside the cranium does not make it any less cancerous, bloodied or agonising. And if you still think all this is merely off-your-rocker-round-the-bend-foolish-melodramatic-weak-coward-pull-yourself-together-madness, then it is not the ‘mentally unsound’, but the attitudes towards them, which are the real insanity.
What’s the essence of adolescence?
When I was younger, my parents always told me to always ‘be myself’.
At the time I had no idea what they were on about. I looked like myself, didn’t I? It made little sense to me -I shrugged it off, because how could I possibly be anyone else?
But now, at 16, there are trends I’m expected to follow, and people I need to impress; thus ‘being myself’ became forgotten and much less important in the grand scheme of things. Generally it seems, once you hit 11 years old, the awkward self-consciousness settles in, and the way others perceive you becomes the most important thing. If you somehow manage to miss out on this ridiculous rite-of-passage-of-sorts, you’re lucky, because it is possibly the worst thing ever. Society is excellent at leading you to believe that you have to look and act a certain way to be accepted, which is totally untrue.
Eventually though, most of us understand that there are so many things bigger than popularity and fitting in – like doing well in exams and being happy. However, it is difficult to achieve these theoretically simple goals, when we are forced to over-think everything we do. Even leaving the house to get milk becomes a nightmare, as we are scared of the possibility of being judged incessantly as appearance seems to be of paramount importance.
And don’t get me started on school. Theoretically, school is great; we learn important stuff, make friends and eventually get to vaguely understand the way the world works. There can be the struggle of unnecessarily hurtful ‘jokes’ and worrying about looking good enough to everyone else, but that’s sort of expected. Then comes exams, which in theory are fine as well. Except we have to work really hard, and deal with lots of stress, (and aren’t teens meant to be lazy, wild and irresponsible?) Anyway, amidst this stress there are still people entering the exam halls looking pristine and seeming to be effortless in their successes. On top of exams causing short-term panics, their importance in the long-term also casts a shadow of doubt, pressure and responsibility over the 2014 adolescent. The way we are shepherded into exam halls to label our papers with numbers hardly encourages you to really try and “be you”.
We aren’t made to break out of our shells or encouraged to do our own thing so being ‘true’ to ourselves only becomes harder. And that’s unfortunately just the beginning, because the balance between your social life and also working ridiculously hard at school is frustratingly difficult. Which, of course, leads me on to another struggle us teenagers face – working out our futures.
At the age of 14, I was forced in front of a school computer screen and made to take a quiz, which would work out the perfect future career for me. This sounds fine of course; everyone appreciates a bit of guidance, especially when they are completely lost at what to do after they turn 18. The quiz told me I would be an excellent nail beautician. Unfortunately, it didn’t question my tolerance of the smell of nail varnish, nor other people’s feet! There is, of course, nothing wrong with deciding to become a nail beautician. I guess this could make sense if I had received a suggestion that suited me a tad better. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure doing people’s nails all day is super fun, but clearly it’s just not for me.
The point is we’re expected to decide our futures way before even thinking about buying alcohol or driving a car. Apparently we are not responsible and grown up enough to do these things, but we are mature enough to decide what we are going to spend the rest of our lives doing. That’s pretty illogical, is it not? However, logic isn’t at the centre of adolescence – pressure over grades, looks and “being yourself” is constant. Staying sane is a challenge on a good day, and hellish on a bad one. Adolescence is far less about living, and far more about surviving.
Eden Bo Dower, 16
A Grinning Fool… and Nigel Farage
On a wet Saturday in June I found myself standing face to face with arguably one of the most reviled men in British Politics; Nigel Farage. For months I had been heavily criticising Mr. Farage and his controversial party, UKIP. At last my chance had come to tell him what I thought of both him and of UKIP.
Until May of this year UKIP had been a struggling party trying to break into the mainstream political scene. Now they are the United Kingdom’s largest party in the European Parliament and in line to becoming Britain’s third largest party in the House of Commons at the General Election next year. Scary, right? Wait until you hear their manifesto.
Obviously, UKIP’s main policy is to leave the European Union which in turn would mean that millions of jobs would be lost as global manufacturers would move to lower-cost EU countries, international travel would become harder and over £400bn a year in trade would be threatened. However, UKIP has a number of other startling aims and policies. For example, detailed plans were proposed to privatize the NHS, scrap paid maternity leave and reintroduce corporal punishment in schools. To me these plans do not sound like those of a “democratic, libertarian party” as the party describes itself, but those of an extreme right wing party. UKIP also have questionable views on same sex marriage, immigration and even the number of foreign players allowed to play for football teams!
So, when I was standing in Dulwich College next to Mr. Farage in his stripy blazer I was ready to explain to him why I thought UKIP is a xenophobic, homophobic, racist party. Unfortunately, nerves kicked in and I didn’t tell him what I thought about him and his horrendous party. (Although I feel this article is slightly doing my nerves justice!) “What did you say?”- I hear you ask? Well, like a typical 21st century teenager I found myself saying,
“Can I take a selfie?”
@euan_rowe, 15, Knowle
Scuffle 