Even as a child, our author did not like exaggerations. He advocates for greater normality, also on Instagram.
Berlin is the hottest anyway. Photo: Annette Riedl/dpa
When I just want to scroll a little, a linen sheet flies across my phone screen. A novel and the title: “The best day ever!” appears on it deliberately and involuntarily. Glowing heart emoji.
Two screen durations later, one sunset: underneath it is written “Best weekend ever.” I'm upset. No again. How many more best days of your life do you want to have? How many best places, best nights and best trips do you still want to publish? Reading in bed, yes, it is comfortable, but it is not the best day. Who are you kidding?
One more time? It just can't be.
I realized we exaggerate too often when I was five, when I tried to get the seahorse badge with permanently blue lips. My swim instructor would sit me on the edge of the pool after every lesson and tell me, “That was your best swim lesson!” Again? It can't be possible, I thought.
I really wasn't good at swimming. I made too small movements in the cold water and only managed to sink the red ring to the bottom of the pool after five attempts, if at all. But no matter if I made it or not, it was always my “best moment.” The man probably wanted to motivate me, but I felt cheated.
Things continued like this at school. When the class teacher said goodbye after three years, we were his “best class.” In college we argued more brilliantly than in any other seminar group, “really.” Most people's cameras were off during the online course. At the same time, laundry was being hung up and Candy Crush was being played, but there were certainly no passionate arguments.
Exaggerated and mediocre days
We use superlatives as if there is something to be gained. Many hype days are just mediocre, let's face it: we eat something for lunch and then drag ourselves to exercise without being motivated. The days are filled with missed buses, missed calls, missed package delivery people.
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And that's totally fine. But I still can't find unloved dishes or unmade beds on Instagram. Or overflowing organic waste? It can also look like art. Solitaire socks arranged in a grid like memory cards so you can look for pairs in the photo.
Maybe we should share more of this so we don't feel like we're falling asleep in front of the TV in a neck-hating pose every three days while others are supposedly having the best time in the world.
This cannot be true, because in reality the year is structured like Cornetto ice cream. There are fruit ice cream days, a friend is coming to visit, the project is finally finished, you can wear open shoes again for the first time, good morning. Then there are waffle days, they are dry, crunchy and crumbly – everything stinks.
Cornetto's ratio
And then there are the peak chocolate days. Half frozen, the delicious remainder of the ice cream cone breaks between your teeth and the dry cookie dough is forgotten. The days of chocolate lace erase the days of waffles from our memory. But in reality they only appear in the Cornetto ratio and not in how the best days of my life in my feed.
And that's how it should be shown. Because if everything is always the best, how do you face a chocolate day? It no longer stands out from the everyday. It no longer represents that rush of endorphins like that of a long run, but rather fades away between the best days, which are actually normal. As a Berliner, I prefer to limit myself to the highest praise that the capital offers: there is no need to complain about that. And that's enough most days.