SNAPS CHAT

Sarah-Kate’s life won’t be put into ‘perfect’ pictures

Ialways thought a selfie was a photo taken by oneself. So how is it, I wonder, that so many selfies these days feature both arms of the “self” in question who is sometimes a long way away from the device capturing the image? That ain’t no selfie, it’s an otherie. What we used to call in the old days just a “photo”.

Not that I’m against otheries. Not by a long shot. As a selfie-taker of the banana-fingered variety, I have way too many images of the top of my head, the bottom of my neck, the guy standing three metres behind me whom I don’t know or a lot of out-of-focus drunk people. Although I do know them – and am sometimes one of them.

Still, a pretty picture it does not make, so it’s perfectly sensible to get another set of hands involved. That’s evolution, that is, right there in front of your very iPhone.

Otherwise, how can a bikini-clad influencer ever possibly pose just so to one side keeping the pout at the right angle, the hip turned appropriately, the butt cheeks front and centre, the leg bent and the foot flexed? If they actually tried moving the way some of these photographic marvels are contorted, they’d likely end up in A&E – or the Harry Houdini museum.

Anyway, Beyoncé and Jay-Z have apparently gone as far as having someone follow them at all times taking their selfies for them. Not for them the Instagram embarrassment of having loo paper on their shoes or a pig-sty bedroom in the background.

Instead it’s a parade of stunning outfits, adorable children, marital bliss, Parisian balconies and lavish birthday cakes. If I had a life like theirs and gave more than one-tenth of a hoot about social media, it would definitely be the way to go.

As it is, here’s what my official Instagrammer would see: reluctance to get up in the morning, reluctance to get out of PJs, a lot of typing and bad hair, an occasional deeply un-photogenic flirtation with the gym, a bit of arguing with the Ginger about what we’ll have for dinner, reluctance to go to the supermarket and some telly-watching.

Once in a while, I might go out for dinner and get the ’grammer to take photos of my food, but they’d have to be quick, if you know what I’m saying. When I am doing something exciting – like travelling to write a story – I can’t tell you how many times I’ve licked my lips, pushed an empty plate away and said, “Oops, I meant to take a photo of that.”

So the ’grammer would be handy to have around then – but I don’t want them within cooee if it’s lying by the pool time. There are things I don’t want to see myself, let alone have committed to the universe – and my pale, hairy winter body is one of them. Although slightly more than one just at the minute.

So I therefore give my imaginary official otherietaker the rest of their life off. Besides, I like the top of my head and the bottom of my neck.