‘We show only our best selves on social media’: Fran Whiting on our carefully curated lives

Does anyone drop in anymore? And if not, why not? Why do we curate our lives so carefully?

VSomeone looking to “drop in”.

The drop in. Or, in South Australia and Victoria, I believe, the drop by. Either way, I think it’s over.

I haven’t dropped in on anybody for a long time and I can’t remember the last time someone casually turned up at my house either.

I can’t remember the last time there was a knock at our door and friends were standing there saying, “We were in the neighbourhood, thought we’d drop in.”

I used to do it myself. I’d be driving with a friend and we’d pass a mutual acquaintance’s house and I’d say, “Oh, that’s where Matt and Susan live – we should drop in.”

Matt or Susan would open the door, and they’d be thrilled to see us.

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They’d offer us a cup of tea or a glass of wine and one of them would say, “Sorry, the house is a bit of a mess” and I’d say, “Oh please, mine looks like someone’s just excavated it” and everyone would laugh and have a pleasant time for an hour or so.

But now, I’m fairly sure if Matt and Susan saw us pulling up outside their house without due warning/two weeks’ notice/and a Google calendar check, they would both commando roll under the nearest piece of furniture.

I live in a house with a glass front door – I know, bold choice – and I live in fear of casually walking past it to find someone I know on the opposite side of it. I have nowhere to hide. Nowhere.

I cannot, as my friend Mary does when she hears her front doorbell, immediately step behind a rather large ficus she has in her lounge room, which is very effective. But the thing is, there was a time when I wouldn’t have wanted to.

And my question is, does anybody do the drop in/drop by anymore? Do you? And if not, why not?

I have my own theory on this, and it is that our lives are now far more curated than they used to be.

Frances Whiting. Picture: David Kelly

We present our homes, our children’s achievements, our new outfits, skills, friends and gatherings in such a way that they all look fabulous.

This is, of course, the 21st century’s Great Lie, and we all know it.

I know, for example, that my friend Veronica’s children do not spend their lives in pastel clothing chewing on a bit of wheatgrass, just as my own garden does not look like it could double as a wedding venue on weekends (although it is remarkable what a floral arch can do), but we persist in only showing our best selves on social media.

This, I believe, is what has killed the drop in. And it’s a shame, because I think I’ve had some of my best times with friends when it has been unplanned.

When an afternoon glass of wine turned into a takeaway dinner. When a morning drop by turned into a “Why don’t you stay for lunch?”. When we saw our friends in their messy houses with the dishes still in the sink, and their clothes draped over chairs, and no one cared because it was life, glorious life.

And we loved each other, just as we were.