From his meteoric rise to fame as a teenager to his more recent successes in music and personal growth, Justin Bieber’s journey has been closely followed by millions. However, it’s not just his chart-topping hits and sold-out concerts that keep fans invested in his story; it’s also his willingness to share his struggles and vulnerabilities, particularly through social media platforms.
In 2023, Bieber made headlines when he decided to end his Justice World Tour prematurely to prioritize his health. The reason behind this decision was his diagnosis of Ramsay Hunt syndrome, a condition that comes from the same virus as chickenpox.
Despite the disappointment of canceling tour dates, Bieber chose to be transparent with his fans about his health journey. Taking to Instagram, he shared a candid video, showcasing the temporary paralysis he experienced—a symptom of the condition. This openness not only provided insight into his challenges but also fostered a deeper connection with his audience.
Recently, Bieber once again turned to social media to share a glimpse into his emotional state. In a series of photos, the 30-year-old singer showcased various moments from his life, including moments on stage, and casual snapshots. However, it was the final two images that sparked a strong response from fans. In these selfies, Bieber can be seen with tears streaming down his face, his vulnerability laid bare for the world to see.
The outpouring of support from fans was immediate and heartfelt. Comments flooded in, expressing concern, empathy, and encouragement. Some reassured Bieber of their unwavering support, while others offered words of solace and prayers. Even Bieber’s partner, Hailey Bieber, joined in, affectionately remarking on his appearance as a “pretty crier.”
What makes Justin Bieber‘s openness on social media so impactful is its authenticity. In an era where carefully curated images often dominate feeds, Bieber’s willingness to share both the highs and lows of his life serves as a powerful reminder of our shared humanity. By showcasing his vulnerabilities, he not only invites empathy and understanding but also encourages others to embrace their own imperfections.
My 81-year-old grandma started posting selfies on Instagram with heavy filters.
The notification popped up on my phone, another Instagram post from Grandma Rose. I sighed, tapping on the icon. There she was, her face smoothed and airbrushed beyond recognition, a pair of oversized, cartoonish sunglasses perched on her nose. A cascade of digital sparkles rained down around her. The caption read, “Feeling my vibe! #OOTD #YOLO #GrandmaGoals.”
My stomach churned. At first, it had been a novelty, a quirky, endearing quirk of my 81-year-old grandmother. But now, weeks into her social media blitz, it was bordering on unbearable.
It had started innocently enough. She’d asked me to help her set up an Instagram account, intrigued by the photos I’d shown her of my travels and friends. I’d thought it was a sweet way for her to stay connected with the family, a digital scrapbook of sorts.
But Grandma Rose had taken to Instagram like a fish to water, or rather, like a teenager to a viral trend. She’d discovered the world of filters, the power of hashtags, and the allure of online validation. Suddenly, she was posting multiple times a day, each photo more heavily filtered than the last.
The captions were a whole other level of cringe. She’d pepper them with slang I barely understood, phrases like “slay,” “lit,” and “no cap.” She’d even started using emojis, a barrage of hearts, stars, and laughing faces that seemed to clash with her gentle, grandmotherly image.
The pinnacle of my mortification came when she asked me, with wide, earnest eyes, how to do a “get ready with me” video. “You know, darling,” she’d said, her voice brimming with excitement, “like those lovely young ladies on the internet. I want to show everyone my makeup routine!”
I’d choked on my coffee. My makeup routine consisted of moisturizer and a swipe of mascara. Grandma Rose’s “makeup routine” involved a dusting of powder and a dab of lipstick.
The worst part was, my entire family was egging her on. They’d shower her with likes and comments, calling her “amazing,” “inspiring,” and “a social media queen.” They were completely oblivious to my growing dread.
I was trapped in a vortex of secondhand embarrassment. What if my friends saw these posts? What if my coworkers stumbled upon her profile? I could already imagine the whispers, the snickers, the awkward attempts at polite conversation.
I found myself avoiding family gatherings, dreading the inevitable discussions about Grandma Rose’s latest post. I’d scroll through my feed, wincing at each new notification, my finger hovering over the “unfollow” button, a button I couldn’t bring myself to press.
One evening, I found myself sitting across from my mom, the glow of her phone illuminating her face as she scrolled through Grandma Rose’s profile. “Isn’t she just the cutest?” she gushed, showing me a photo of Grandma Rose with a digital halo and angel wings.
“Mom,” I said, my voice strained, “don’t you think this is… a little much?”
My mom looked at me, her brow furrowed. “What do you mean? She’s having fun. She’s expressing herself.”
“But it’s not her,” I argued. “It’s like she’s trying to be someone else.”
“She’s adapting, darling,” my mom said, her voice gentle. “She’s embracing technology. She’s living her best life.”
I knew I wasn’t going to win this argument. My family, in their well-meaning attempt to support Grandma Rose, were completely blind to the awkwardness of the situation.
I decided to try a different approach. The next time Grandma Rose asked me for help with her Instagram, I sat down with her and gently explained the concept of “authenticity.” I showed her photos of herself, unfiltered and unedited, her smile genuine, her eyes sparkling with wisdom.
“You’re beautiful just the way you are, Grandma,” I said, my voice sincere. “You don’t need filters or slang to be amazing.”
She looked at the photos, her eyes softening. “Do you really think so, darling?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
“Absolutely,” I said, squeezing her hand.
Grandma Rose didn’t stop posting, but she did tone it down. The filters became less intense, the captions more genuine. She even started sharing stories from her life, anecdotes that were both heartwarming and hilarious.
And slowly, I began to appreciate her online presence. I realized that it wasn’t about trying to be an influencer; it was about Grandma Rose finding her own way to connect with the world, to express her joy, to simply be herself. And in the end, that was more than enough.
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