If Instagram Depicted Reality

It’s no secret that for many of us, Valencia, Clarendon, and Inkwell are not the only ways we filter the photos we publicly share. We also regularly filter our lives and the truth.

I get it. I do it. A lot. Nobody wants to show everyone that minging, hungover, triple-chin selfie you sent to your mate last Saturday. Imagine the horror of our ex boyfriends or girlfriends, friends, classmates and workmates seeing it and thinking “oh my god, they’ve gone so downhill!”

Except they probably don’t care. They’re probably not looking. And if they are, they hate everything you post anyway.

Sometimes I see other women who, from what their photos tell me, have a Hygge-home, perfect nail-polish and well-behaved children and I can’t help but think oh JUST PISS OFF with your picturesque life, Sandra.

If I don’t even like you, why am I secretly aspiring to be more like you?

Then again, you’re probably not even like you.

For a while I’ve been looking at what I post and depending on whether it’s a bit bullshitty or not, taking an alternative to capture what’s really going on. So here’s what I posted, vs. what I hid; or as the title suggests – if Instagram depicted reality.


Yes I did create an account called Lellylatru.



I could only afford half an eyebrow.


If I filter, you filter.

We all fucking love a good filter.

I don’t believe the average mum has a tidy home, nice hair and a big grin on her face every waking minute. And if she does, she’s most certainly not got a tidy mind. We all have issues, addictions, strange habits and ugly days.

A couple of days ago a friend of mine shared a completely unedited, natural photo. She didn’t make a special account to do this. It was beautifully refreshing and it made me smile. It was real. I want to be like that.




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