#100 is very popular on Instagram, people shared the perfect snap of their perfect life their pets and holidays, but this time an Indian artist @wallflowergirlsays is tired of being privy to the unreal lives of millennials on social media.
And, this time she started sharing her own #100DaysOfDirtyLaundry project on Instagram which put a big question mark of those unreal and uncomfortable that Is really matter?
As the artist said, “I HOPE TO COVER EVERYTHING UNHOLY, UNCOMFORTABLE, CRINGE-WORTHY – BE IT COMPLICATED LOVE, INDEFINABLE SEXUALITY, MASTURBATION, PERIODS, OVER-GLORIED TRAVEL, MANIC MATERIALISM, ALCOHOL BINGES, SMELLY FARTS, BURPS, UGLY SCARS, ANYTHING & EVERYTHING I AM GUILTY ABOUT, ASHAMED TO SHARE IN PUBLIC.”
Well, we have only shared #12 days from starting, and you’ll get the idea how she is nailing it completely.
I am a millennial. As my mom would say, someone from the lazy spoilt generation. Spoilt for choice – from the bread, veggies & sauces in my Sub to the left or right swipes on Tinder. Choice is a powerful thing. Choices determine my life – be it my career, the people I choose to call my friends, my sexuality, my habits; in short they’re a reflections of who I am. Don’t be afraid to be the REAL you, Dove screams at me.
I am a millennial. As my mom would say, someone from the lazy spoilt generation. Spoilt for choice – from the bread, veggies & sauces in my Sub to the left or right swipes on Tinder. Choice is a powerful thing. Choices determine my life – be it my career, the people I choose to call my friends, my sexuality, my habits; in short they're a reflections of who I am. Don't be afraid to be the REAL you, Dove screams at me. . . But the hard truth is, we millennials are often choosing the 'unreal' us.. We are choosing wrong to carefully construct alternate identities of who we want to be rather than acknowledging who we really are. We are curating & constructing ideal version of ourselves, all thanks to huge bubble of social media. If I judged people by their constructed social profiles, I would be assuming that my entire friend list is either vacationing or partying. If not that, atleast social media tells me everyone is happy. Like perennially euphoric. But I am neither perfect nor forever happy. Nor is anyone I know. Why then is all I see around unreal versions of people? . . Because, lets admit it, who wants to hang their dirty laundry in public, when I can't even hang my bra in my balcony without my next door aunty judging me. Nobody wants to talk about their dirty thoughts or anxiety disorders or their wild desires, just because we don't want to be judged. . . But my pile of dirty laundry has been growing and is now so big, I have decided this – why not do a 100 day project on the dirty pile? So here goes #100daysofdirtylaundry – I hope to cover everything unholy, uncomfortable, cringe-worthy – be it complicated love, indefinable sexuality, masturbation, periods, over-gloried travel, manic materialism, alcohol binges, smelly farts, burps, ugly scars, anything & everything I am guilty about, ashamed to share in public. . . This project is going to be uncomfortable to do. But such dirt is a part of who I am. Who we all are. Just that some acknowledge it, some speak about it but most people hide it. I am just going to draw and rant about it. (Continued in comments)
DAY 1: I sometimes love loud, smelly farts and I cannot lie. All my life I had been conditioned to believe that farts are ugly.
#100daysofdirtylaundry Day 1 – #farts . I sometimes love loud, smelly farts and I cannot lie. . . All my life I had been conditioned to believe that farts are ugly. That if ever find yourself in a social situation where you had this uncontrollable urge to fart, you waged a war on it, fought it out till it died a slow, silent death. And then when the aroma starts to diffuse around the room, you slowly but disgustingly look around trying to pass on the blame onto unsuspecting grand mommies or even your dog. . . All this drama, till I read this article that screamed, Don't hold your farts, you could die. Ok, not that dramatic a headline, but still it went to say how it's always always better to let go of your flatulences and it is actually an indicator of your well-being. Farts are just our digestive systems working it out and it even went on to say that inhaling farts (containing hydrogen sulphides) actually reduces our risks of strokes. There you go, now go fart away! . . My favourite fart yet? (Judge me, it's ok) – The second time I farted when I was around my guy. The first time I did, must have been hardly one month into our relationship, it was a super noisy one and I went red with embarrassment and ran into the washroom. But the second time? Oh it was such a hell of a smelly, noisy one that I should have jumped onto a rocket and disappeared into space. But what did I do? I went into a manic fit of laughter. So did he. And that's when I knew, hey this relationship is here to stay. And so are the life-long farts. . . So all I am saying is, I sometimes love loud, smelly farts and I cannot lie. . . . Inspiration: Pic on Myntra
DAY 2: A song that I heard long back goes like this, “Hey girl, why parade around wearing swim suit like clothes, when there is the ever modest saree. Why crave for unnecessary attention of strange men, when that magnificent body of yours is ONLY for your husband to see”
#100daysofdirtylaundry Day 2 – #Croptop . . A song that I heard long back goes like this, "Hey girl, why parade around wearing swim suit like clothes, when there is the ever modest saree. Why crave for unnecessary attention of strange men, when that magnificent body of yours is ONLY for your husband to see". All this the hero sings while simultaneously hitting on the bum of the heroine and blowing cheap air kisses to her. . . Alas, the heroine should have worn the burqini (burqa meets bikini, Google if you haven't seen one) to win the Hero's nod of approval. Also, if a guy said this today, we would be the first ones to scream moral policing. . . Fashion is a strange thing. Eye-sore inducing frilly pink frocks and oversized baggy pants were the 'in-thing' when I was a teenager. Today, I saw the teen next door cycle around the neighbourhood wearing a barely-there crop top and ripped shorts. I judged her for her choices. Judged her mom for letting her parade around in those clothes. Until hypocrisy hit me. How am I any different from that narrow minded hero or even the lyricist? . . I keep hearing this. Freedom of choice to wear what you want is great, but you kids of this generation are taking it too far. Too far from what? How far is too far? Are you sure your peekaboo-navel modest saree is so modest after all? . . If my great great grand mother suddenly re-appeared today she would get a heart attack if she walked through a mall or high-street today. From the nine yard draped saree she was used to, where have we come with with the holey shorts, low waist jeans, sheer see-through dresses and neon bras that play peekaboo. Whatever dafuq is wrong with you kids she would wonder. . . But as I said, fashion is strange. Whatever is an eye sore today, it is the fashion staple tomorrow. Today it is normal for my 50 year old mom to wear a sleeveless top and a jean, imagine convincing my great great grand mother about it. May be when I am 60, I will be strutting out for a coffee with my crop top clad oldies gang. . . (Continued in comments)
DAY 3: The possessiveness monster Forget boyfriends or girlfriends, one time a so-so friend called my best friend, his best friend.
#100daysofdirtylaundry Day 3 – The possessiveness monster . . Forget boyfriends or girlfriends, one time a so-so friend called my best friend, his best friend. Like how could he? I swiftly punched him in the eye with my red Natraj crayon. This was kindergarten. I know, my mother should have had me tested like Sheldon Cooper did then. If only. . . Thy mine is fair enough, thy ONLY mine is where the line is crossed. The first lesson my teacher Shireen taught me on possessiveness after the Crayon-puncher episode aired. . . Let's just make this piece short. Just saying don't be like me ya. Don't punch crayons into unsuspecting kids' eyes, don't be that friend who restricts your best friend from hanging out with others, don't be that girlfriend who snoops on your boyfriend's phone, don't be that couple who has to go everywhere and do everything in two's like life is a mixed doubles match, just don't be this clingy, over possessive, jealous drama queen/king. . . How? Even I am figuring that out (Yeah, ever since kindergarten).For starters, there's a WIKIHOW on how to slay the possessiveness monster that has 92% approval ratings. Maybe try that? Or maybe keep repeating, "If it's meant to be, it will be" 100 times or forward it to 25 people on Whatsapp? . . Or maybe, just let the other person be? What I crave for in any relationship, more than the love or the attention or even the free pizzas, is actually freedom. To do things I like. So why not give the other person just what you would want. Let them be. Whoever they want to be, whatever they want to do, whoever they want to spend time with. So simple, yet so fucked up. But this wisdom ever-so-slowly works, well only sometimes. For other crazy times, please wear sunglasses, you never know who's going to hit you in the eye with a crayon, it's a two way street after all 🙈 . . #the100daysproject #dirtylaundry #illustration #instaart #fears #jealous #possessiveness #sketch #thegreatdiscontent #instagood #design #instalike #instagram #millennial #picame #jealousy #acceptance #indianillustrator #love #graphicdesign #artistsoninstagram #indianartist #india #stories #womenwhodraw #positivity #art #artist
DAY 4: “I am not at all drunk, just one more pint”, “Just one more episode, I really really want to know who actually poisoned that bloody Joffrey”
#100daysofdirtylaundry Day 4 – #Binges . . "I am not at all drunk, just one more pint", "Just one more episode, I really really want to know who actually poisoned that bloody Joffrey", "Let me just quickly check if the profile picture has hit 100 likes yet", "Just one tiny little drag, no harm right? Promise, not a single one from tomorrow", "A quickie before we head out?", "Let me have just one more slice, what if I get hungry midnight and there's nothing to eat?", "Just this one dress, common, it's a steal at 50%". . . Go on, keep binging, cos YOLO right? ✌🏻️ . . #the100daysproject #digitalart #illustration #instaart #desi #goddess #sex #sketch #thegreatdiscontent #selfcontrol #design #instalike #instagram #millennial #picame #addiction #acceptance #indianillustrator #shopaholic #graphicdesign #artistsoninstagram #indianartist #india #stories #womenwhodraw #trippy #art
DAY 5: I had scars on my legs long before I knew Little Black Dresses and Summer skirts would become the standard of feminine beauty.
#100daysofdirtylaundry Day 5 – Scarred . . I had scars on my legs long before I knew Little Black Dresses and Summer skirts would become the standard of feminine beauty. I was in high school when I developed a minor skin condition. Slowly the monster erupted all over my legs and just stubbornly sat there ever refusing to heal. Weekly swimming classes became a nightmare in single piece bathing suits that deemed leg show necessary. I would be the first one into the pool and the last one out. Every wardrobe choice from then on had to pass the will-this-hide-my-ugly-scars test. Forget bikinis, it came down to no shorts, no skirts, no dresses ever. Fresher's Party, Tennis practice sessions, First time Snorkelling – all carry memories of awkward movements in fully covered body suits. . . Fair, wheatish, dark or extra dark, beauty does come in a riot of colours. But have you noticed how every woman of every colour celebrated, be it Fair Angelina Jolie, chocolatey Priyanka Chopra or Dark Lupita Nyong have at least one thing in common? Their pure flawless skin. I felt cheated. Beauty was indeed skin deep. . . A friend of mine once accidentally poured over a pot of boiling milk over her body. She carries around her scarred breasts. An acquaintance once met with a terrible car accident. She still carries around the gory stitches on her legs. My friend recently delivered a baby. She pinged to ask if Bio-Oil would help her remove the ugly stretch marks. . . Scarred women, I thought, all of us. We didn't have a cool story to tell like Harry Potter did, when someone asked how did you get that scar. Maybe, our scars would never heal. Maybe, our hearts did, over time, learning to atleast accept them, if not embrace them scars. . . #the100dayproject #digitalart #illustration #instaart #desi #goddess #beautypageant #sketch #thegreatdiscontent #innerbeauty #design #instalike #instagram #millennial #picame #beauty #acceptance #indianillustrator #scars #graphicdesign #artistsoninstagram #indianartist #india #stories #womenwhodraw #bodypositive #art
DAY 6: Loneliness or Solitude? Do you remember the last time you were completely by yourself, taking in the solitary moment alone, not having the urge to pull out your phone to check that Facebook notification or wanting to strike up a conversation with the next person?
#100daysofdirtylaundry Day 6 – Loneliness or Solitude? . . Do you remember the last time you were completely by yourself, taking in the solitary moment alone, not having the urge to pull out your phone to check that Facebook notification or wanting to strike up a conversation with the next person? Yeah, me neither. Surrounded by constant connectivity, there is always yet another Whatsapp text, another party invite, another night out with colleagues, another Tinder date always lurking around the corner. So much so that we have come to look at solitude as a pitiful sad monster. But what will you do all alone on a Sunday evening, you should come with us for this party! . . I have backpacked solo to strange places. No longer a stigma right, solo travel? The wannabe-cool-thing currently my guy says, on solo travel. I grudgingly half agree. Yet he and most people reserve their most appalling looks when I tell them I often go out to catch movies all alone or go out for a meal all by myself. From waiters giving me a second look when I ask for a table for one or the hushed whispers of next seat couple in the movie hall seeing me alone, everyone's quick to brand me sad and anti-social. You call it loneliness, I call in solitude. Nope, not Po-tae-to, po-ta-toe, what's the difference. . . Don't get me wrong, I enjoy people & their company. But sometimes, solitude is something I shamelessly crave. The art of being alone, a lesson we are seldom taught growing up. That's the sad part, definitely not solitude. . . . Model inspiration – Sabyasachi . . #the100dayproject #digitalart #illustration #instaart #desi #alone #solitude #sketch #introvert #loneliness #design #instalike #instagram #millennial #picame #sad #acceptance #indianillustrator #graphicdesign #innerpeace #artistsoninstagram #indianartist #india #stories #womenwhodraw #bodypositive #art
DAY 7 : The other breakup “You told Deepak the secret I told you? You are not my best friend anymore, Jenny is”
#100daysofdirtylaundry Day 7 – The other breakup . . "You told Deepak the secret I told you? You are not my best friend anymore, Jenny is". And just like that, I had swiftly replaced my best friend in 2nd grade. Moving on hasn't been that simple ever since. . . Odes have been written, beautifully sad lyrics have been sung and multitude of movies have been made on breakups between lovers. Yet hardly anyone talks about the much more important breakup – breakups with your Bae, your best dude, your best friend. These breakups aren't as dramatic as the one with your exes, you don't cry, scream, refuse to eat or refuse to move on, you simply grow apart from the person whom you once called your best friend. . . Different schools/colleges, moving to a different area or city or altogether a different timezone, you and your best friend are suddenly miles apart, mentally & physically. From people who you shared every minute detail of the their lives, now the Whatsapp texts have reduced to the important growing up stuff – Hey I cracked GMAT, I got placed, I got a promotion, save the date for my wedding. You meet up once or twice a year if you happen to be in the same city at the same time, both wondering how to play catch up on months or years of your happy, sad lives sitting in that crowded overpriced coffee shop. . . It is incredibly difficult to move on. After all, this person was witness to stories of your first kiss or consoled you after you first break up. Or maybe she is someone who knows secrets probably you haven't even told your current best friend title holder. If moving on seems so hard, you aren't able to hold the friendship together either. Both of you have changed, your circles & lifestyles have changed and you hardly have things in common anymore. Simply, you guys don't click anymore. And slowly, one or both of you stop putting in effort to sustain the friendship and one fine day, poof, your best friend suddenly becomes the title track 'Somebody that I used to know'. . . Some idiot said, "If you aren't losing friends, you aren't growing up". _|_ to growing up. And hey there ex-best friend, just sending out a hi through the void!
Day 8: Liar Liar, Pinocchio’s nose is on fire. Only you know who you really are. Kindly douse your raging fires yourselves.
#100daysofdirtylaundry Day 8 – Liar Liar, Pinocchio's nose is on fire. . . Only you know who you really are. Kindly douse your raging fires yourselves. . . . Model reference: Bharatnatyam dancer, stock photos . . #the100dayproject #digitalart #illustration #instaart #desi #lying #liar #sketch #cheating #cheater #design #instalike #instagram #millennial #picame #pinnochio #acceptance #indianillustrator #graphicdesign #trippy #artistsoninstagram #indianartist #india #stories #womenwhodraw #psychology #art
DAY 9: What is the right time to move on after a breakup? Hey but what if it isn’t the end actually?
#100daysofdirtylaundry Day 9 – Move on . . What is the right time to move on after a breakup? Hey but what if it isn't the end actually? What if he/she was your Ross/Rachel, your pre-destined lobster? How exactly does one know? Should you hold on, keep trying harder or say fuck it and move on? . . The one who moved on not even a month after the decade long relationship ended; the one who determinedly held on for over a decade after the 6 month long relationship ended; the one who went on an all-sex-no-strings-attached rebound spree for months; or the one who cried to sleep watching re-runs of 'You've got mail' while stalking the Ex's profile for days at end – Who is the biggest sorest loser of them all? . . . Pretty quick to judge, aren't we? Abstinence or rebounds, workaholic or the alcoholic, marathon-runner or the binge-eater, stalker or the griever, not everyone takes the same route or the same time to move on after a crushing heartbreak. Lend a patient ear to someone who needs it, not your two-faced judgement. If it's you going though a breakup or still hopelessly holding on to your ex, it's the lamest most cliched advice that actually works – nothing heals like time does. Listen to Murakami when he says, don't feel sorry for yourselves, only assholes do that. Go on, be happy, only because the warmest, kindest and the biggest love of them all is good old self-love, ain't it? . . . . #the100dayproject #digitalart #illustration #instaart #desi #moveon #breakup #sketch #rebound #relationships #design #instalike #instagram #millennial #picame #boyfriend #acceptance #indianillustrator #graphicdesign #healing #artistsoninstagram #selflove #indianartist #india #stories #womenwhodraw #art
DAY 10: Everyone, I mean everyone, does it. But hey no one talks about it. Me? I enjoy it. There I said it.
#100daysofdirtylaundry Day 10 – Shhh! . . Everyone, I mean everyone, does it. But hey no one talks about it. Me? I enjoy it. There I said it. . . It's a double edged sword if you choose to speak about it, sharper the sword if you are a woman. Oh the horror, what pseudo-liberal kids talk about these days in the name of progressive feminism, aren't there much more important issues? A disgusting, dirty, shameful, guilty pleasure or a basic human need? Basic human need definitely. Why the secrecy then dude/miss? Not my dirty secret, Self-love. #selfservice #thankyouwifi . . . . Model inspiration: Koovs . . #the100dayproject #digitalart #illustration #instaart #desi #selflove #shameless #sketch #love #design #instalike #instagram #millennial #picame #guilt #basicneeds #acceptance #indianillustrator #taboo #graphicdesign #bodypositivity #artistsoninstagram #indianartist #india #stories #womenwhodraw #art
DAY 11: Special(read creepy) talents not on resume for very obvious reasons – stalks every new person just met, on every social media platform.
#100daysofdirtylaundry Day 11 – Stalker Alert . . Special(read creepy) talents not on resume for very obvious reasons – stalks every new person just met, on every social media platform, to judge yay or nay to a possible friendship; stalks ex-boyfriend(s) religiously, double-checking not to like pictures from 2009 or accidentally press the call button on Whatsapp while snooping on dp's; stalks every crush from beginning of time to check if they're still cute or not; first to start gossip about who has broken up with whom just by stalking if or not the two suspects are in each other's Facebook friend list anymore; hates TV, watches insta-stories instead during dinner cos who needs reel when there is real-life drama. #professionalstalkeralert #ineedalife #okbye . . . . . . #the100dayproject #digitalart #illustration #instaart #desi #weirdo #stalker #sketch #design #instalike #crazy #millennial #picame #ex #addiction #indianillustrator #graphicdesign #popart #artistsoninstagram #indianartist #india #stories #womenwhodraw #art
DAY 12: When I was a kid, me and my dad used to play this silly game. We would name each other’s funny flaws – my bony fingers, his big paunch, my small nose; then go on to proceed ‘fixing’ the flaws.
#100daysofdirtylaundry Day 12 – Touch . . When I was a kid, me and my dad used to play this silly game. We would name each other's funny flaws – my bony fingers, his big paunch, my small nose; then go on to proceed 'fixing' the flaws; which meant ample stretching & pulling to make my nose bigger, big time squishing & squashing to make his tummy smaller, painful stamping to make my legs taller and eventually loads of giggling as we both rolled over the floor fighting like Tom & Jerry. . . I was a scrawny 7 year old kid then. Our innocent games continued till I hit mid-school and then suddenly whenever we were about to play this game, my mom would suddenly appear & start lecturing my dad, "She isn't a kid anymore, she is growing up, you can't play such games anymore". My dad's feeble, "But she is still the same old kid to me" argument never stood the chance. Puberty hit, we stopped playing altogether, friends became cooler than parents and eventually I grew very distant from my dad. We were still like any father-daughter, him scolding me forever, him always being present at every milestone of my life cheering me on. But something went missing. The innocent physical touch we shared. And how it had once been my bond of love with him. . . Why is it that some touches are pure while others dirty? Why is it okay that, to this day, I can lie on my mom's lap and cry about how the world is unfair, yet hesitate to give my dad even a customary hug when he is pale & ill? Why is it that I can cry for hours leaning on the shoulder of a female friend bitching about my ex-boyfriend, yet hesitate to hug & kiss goodbye to my male best friend as he leaves to college in another country? Why is it that I can play squishy-squashy with my dog yet remain forever alert in every party not to move closer to any of the drunk guys, even though they may be friends I have known since childhood? . . Holding hands, leaning on shoulders, tight hugs, physical rolling-on-the-floor fights – things that once meant pure, unadulterated love to me. And then shitty adult life happened with its 'conditional' hugs and kisses and I could never again break the invisible wall with people I dearly love.
The posts appear to leave one undeceived about a bogus actuality that we have come to accept as a norm. But, the art is on the point.
You can also give this your read: 10 People Sharing Their Stories Of Scars With Pictures And It Is Intriguing