Editor's Note, 2/20

It would be an act of self-betrayal to not identify the fact that this is my penultimate editor's note, and yeah, maybe I'm a little wistful. Whenever I begin to write one, I feel compelled to launch into a justification of my subject. These things are fairly open-ended. We've written on a bunch of different topics. And now it's fleeting February, and I'm running low on opportunities to ramble to you, so there's some new pressure to become heavy and sweeping, to transcend, to ascend, to bare all.

But as the writer in this relationship, I need to actively resist that compulsion to justify. My occupation of the space on the page is swollen with obligation. The fact that I am writing about something I've thought and talked about a lot is enough to warrant that occupation. Maybe refusal to justify is still a justification. Well, then. Whatever.

I've been thinking a lot about the task of occupying various spaces of my life—roles and relationships, but also what it means to craft representations of myself for other people to consume.

Thanks to distance, one of my most significant friendships has been rendered almost entirely Internet-based. We exchange a great deal of instant messages about what this means. There is a lot to pick apart in light of the fact that we've been understanding each other within boundaries set by websites. These chat boxes act as our medium, a sort of third-party that has some role in structuring how we talk.

What are the boundaries of composing an identity online? I'm trying to determine them while also attempting to expand them. Facebook itself is anything but marginal, and the sections of the profile and auto-selective news feed, however customizable, are restrictive. In terms of visual aesthetics, though, Facebook gives some space for your face or otherwise primary photo up on top, and there's a place for your "cover photo." It's a banner that acts as the first thing someone sees when they try to creep your profile, the millennial handshake.

As of this moment, I've have 74 cover photos. Some are related to bands I like to listen to, while others are bits of nice memories. A pretty landscape, a funny screencap, a painting. I see the cover photo album as a (compulsorily) public compilation of what looks good enough to see regularly and present next to my name, and my definition of "good" is appropriately flexible.

Occupying space as a woman, as a young person, as a human being in general, can be terrifying. We are often told, directly and indirectly, that it is a bad idea to do so. Here's my quasi-obligatory editor's note call to arms: screw that. Say stuff, and say it exactly how you want to. Take ownership of what you can control: your Twitter bio, your Tumblr theme, your cover photo. Fetishization of authenticity is kind of silly, but still, there's something to be said for the unflinchingly genuine. Put yourself into every little part. Then write a didactic rant that's actually aimed at yourself. It's a different sphere of expression than the paper you just turned in for a grade, but it's gravely important.

Fill the spaces given to you until they overflow. Find new ones and fill those, too. Stretch out and spill over. Denounce the fear of being too much. Maybe someone will tease you for changing your cover photo so often, but you don't have to answer to them. You don't have to justify a thing.