I am running out the door of my apartment into a premature spring day in Melbourne when I feel a buzz from my Apple Watch. It's not reminding me to stand up again. It's not telling me my Uber is approaching. It's declaring that now is the #TimetoBeReal. I pause next to the dumpster, swipe my phone open and channel my inner Tumblr teen as I angle the lens up to capture both the clouds and my own face, squinting into the golden hour light.
Pause, pose, post.
Later, at dinner with my girlfriends, we take pictures of each other and our food. Some make it onto our Instagram Stories, others become the sixth or seventh instalment in a photo dump weeks later. Most will languish forever in camera roll limbo, never
