LinkedIn You is a photo of your face and the shoulder parts of your navy lady sport jacket against an off-white wall. You’re competent and experienced, as evidenced by your two skill endorsements drafted by a friend and a coworker you never talked to from your first service job in high school. Your entire résumé is detailed with an ever-growing list of previous job experiences that include office work at your uncle’s law firm and a now defunct remote social media internship. Throughout these valuable experiences you learned that teamwork is everything, that you are willing to do any task assigned to you in order to serve the greater company goals, and teamwork. LinkedIn You also has an intense and unrelenting proficiency in Microsoft Office. You’re 22 years old but have cobbled and fudged your way to a résumé of someone at least 23.
Instagram You is chill. You can be chill. Once you laid in a field at dusk. Chill. You’re easy going and your hair has wave, but that doesn’t stop you from being on the cutting edge of a seriously Mapplethorpian photographic movement. Some of your pictures only show half your face. You follow skinny tattoo artists and skinny fitness models like they are the modern day Moses guiding you across the red sea of doubt to the promised land of self-actualization. One time you posted a photo of your boyfriend leading you by the hand to the Hoover Dam. It was a Spring Break trip. You broke up before posting the photo. You’re 22 years old but the kids you babysat for in high school have more followers and you think about that sometimes.
Facebook You has grown significantly over the nine years you’ve had an account, minus the week you deleted it for personal reasons. What used to be Hand-On-Hip, Emo-Side-Bangs You is now Share-Relevant-Nate-Silver-Endorsed-Stats-On-the-Federal-Reserve’s-Fluctuating-Effect-On-Inflation You. Chalk it up to the political times or personal maturation, you still use a profile picture that’s a little bit sexy. You never know when Matt from high school will undergo a stalk-filled Sunday afternoon. You have thoroughly curated your feed as time has gone on, untagging and unfollowing pictures and friends that make you look fat or conservative. But you’re still “sisters” with three girls from high school who live in LA now? Beirut? It would feel weird to Facebook-estrange them. You don’t post photos anymore but love to be tagged in a good one. You’re 22 years old and seem exactly 22 years old.
Twitter You is sassy and irreverent! Yes, you’ll retweet Elizabeth Warren when she stands with Planned Parenthood but Twitter You is also about that hard earned wit. The satirical world is your oyster, but Twitter You unabashedly proclaims to prefer laying in bed with pizza and without a boyfriend because you are crazy like that. You make life observations about the subway and overpriced salads and those snappy little things maintain a 4-6 like average. Would you rather have one retweet or three likes? It’s still too hard to say. You’re 22 years old, but seem like a Jack Nicholson rom-com curmudgeon in the body of a feminist pizza box.
Where Twitter You makes crazy jokes pointing out the absurdities of everyday life in whichever big city, Snapchat You only laughs when boys speak. Whether it’s bopping in clubs with lighting so bad all you can see is the bathroom vanity at the end of a hall, or 2 PM brunching because brunch is a feeling and not a time of day, you are slamming the phrase “youth is wasted on the young” back in the faces of those without Snapchat. You’re 22 and feeling it.
Hot, cute, nice, funny, sweet, loving, intelligent, nice, funny. You’ve matched with hundreds over the two years you’ve had the app and told people you don’t have the app. You’re 22 but down for whatever age.
Who are you really? The world may never know. But in the words of that therapist you had to fire, compartmentalization is bliss.