Last year I was one of five girls in my senior class to be voted "Most likely to be Presi-dent." Not that being politically oriented is a bad thing, but if you knew me, you would realize why this "honor" carried an air of absurdity.
For one, I hate "leading" because I always end up doing all the work (or maybe I have a hard time trusting other people -- but that's a whole web of psychoanalysis for another day).Besides, you should see the other girls who were selected.
Yearbook at my school practically was a career, run by an oligarchy of overachievers who made it their mission to document every single aspect of our all-girls' school life, annoying the student body to no end in the process.They snapped useless pictures and wrote copy that no one ever reads in the name of "Quill and Scroll" awards. Yet, I always will maintain that the padding of their college resumes definitely was the name of the game.
Since you can sense my hostility toward the "Y-Squad" (honestly, they received more privileges than a sports team), you can imagine that I was not thrilled to receive the little pink slip in homeroom asking me to "report" to the Current Events classroom at 7:15 a.m. the next morning for a picture with my future fellow chief executives.
I decided to comply because one of the editors was a valuable calculus resource. I had to arrive to school that early just to get a parking spot (you have to love the revival of fine arts -- a multimillion dollar auditorium and dance studio for the class of 2004? Sure, I'll park on the streets of central Phoenix while you tear up my parking lot.)
The head editor (think Melissa Joan Hart in "Can't Hardly Wait") thought it would be "cute" if we all stood on a table in front of a massive American flag, hands over our hearts and a serious colonial portrait-type look on our faces.
The only things missing were powdered wigs, riding boots and a bloodhound.This quite possibly was the most humiliating picture of my life, (next to Christmas formal, freshman year, when my date was a good 16 inches shorter than me). I'm all about patriotism, but this was just lame.
As I am obviously more of a print-for-the-masses type of girl, the Senior Mosts in the newspaper were more my style. One of my best friends and I were voted "Most Likely to Live the Martha Stewart Lifestyle." I'm sure you can envision the picture -- short aprons over our uniforms, muffin pans and mixing bowls in hand. Though I'm surprised it passed the nuns' feminist censorship, I liked the picture.
It was cute, and always will be.
Since I was rather anti-yearbook in high school, this sentiment inevitably carried over into college. No "Corks and Curls" picture for me -- I procrastinated every time I passed Newcomb in August, blaming my CHI hair straightener's pathetic performance in the battle against the insane humidity
but honestly I just hate to see myself in pictures. I'm going to be just like my mother -- for a graduation luncheon in May, I had to sift through all of our family albums just to find a picture she actually was in (and let her approve it for public display.)
The Freshman Face Book is a different story. My friends told me that I would regret throwing away the envelope I received in June. So I let them select a random photo -- ironically, I think it was one my mom took before I left to visit
U. Va. At the time, I did not realize how important this choice is in the scheme of first-year life. A bad Face Book picture will haunt you.Yearbooks are plagued by prose and ceremonial coverage of random events; the Face Book is to the point. It's all about the picture.
However, as far as I can tell from many hours of close analysis, one should never hold the FFB in too high regard.The bad pictures cannot portray individuals who are that heinous in real life (let's hope), and the decent ones are absolutely too good to be true (e.g. a professional photographer with airbrushing technology).
My favorites are the pictures of boys chosen and submitted by their mothers -- key elements include a bowtie, dimples and the presence of a real smile. It's unfortunate that this image lives only in the mind of their mother.
So if the FFB is inherently distorted, why is it so important?
The book commands a terrifyingly large audience. From late nights in the dorm to what I've heard can be quite the post-Buddhist fourth-year activity, the FFB never fails to provide a constant source of entertainment. This year's FFB even accompanied me to Southern Methodist University over Fall Break (where the viewers' comment of "Why are all the girls wearing pearls?" provoked my response of, "Why do all the SMU girls wear diamonds?")
One of my new favorite FFB activities is "Six degrees of hook-up separation." After a long night at Clemons last week, my friend and I realized we might be able to connect ourselves through other "acquaintances." It did not work, thankfully, but the attempt sparked a late night of flipping through those pages as we attempted other, less personal, connections.
Since I'm a college girl now, I suppose the days of Senior Mosts and ridiculous pictures are over. At least one has some degree of control over the Face Book entry.
Now, if only I could choose what's posted on Party Pics.
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