A few days ago I read an article about the difference between intrinsic and extrinsic value in relation to Aristotelian philosophy. Trivializing the concept: something that finds an end in itself against something that is tied to external variables. Fame, for example, argued Aristotle, is not an extrinsic value, is bound to the favor of other people and, therefore, can never coincide with sincere happiness.
Cursed/blessed fame with which the digital talents fight/flirt in their world, frequently driven to show themselves for how users expect them to show themselves, to say the things that followers would like them to say and desperately feel indebted to comment, like and extra follower. A real phenomenon of subjection towards an audience that too little often is grateful to creativity, attention, research, advice and even more often yearns to receive more, more and more… in exchange for?
Sometimes, however, the human connotation of the social media heroes comes out and as it sets in motion a process of claiming their rights: “I show myself for what I am”, “If you don’t like me, you’re free not to follow me”. And in this specific case, related to the grand universe of body positivity: “I’m not pregnant, I didn’t have breast surgery. I just gained a few kilos […]”. These are the words of the beautiful Gabrielle Caunesil, formerly called the French Emily Ratawtoski, wife of the former historian boyfriend of Chiara Ferragni and initiator of many digital fortunes, Riccardo Pozzoli.
Following a series of provocations regarding the rising of her breasts in quarantine, the model took over the reins of the situation and shared a post on the reached awareness of her body, touching different keys distinctly sensitive and admitting great difficulty in the process that led to acceptance of herself in a context in which exposure to others has never stopped.
Slipping into an inflated content vein but for the moment, unfortunately, not yet rooted, I spontaneously wonder how much more we will have to justify the kilos gained in a moment of stalemate, the dark circles of a complex period, stretch marks, water retention, acne and eyebrows, too thick or too inconspicuous.
How much longer we will have to duel with stereotypes that have culturally mapped us and that we struggle to get away from habits, for which we have a beastly fear of escaping from the system, even if only by a little. How long will the images be used to tell the stories and send someone else’s message and never ours? Because I take the responsibility to say that the photographs built, without flaws, beautiful but alone without their personal opinion to manifest, have frankly exhausted the space in my hardisk of tolerance.